Jax's grip on Natasha's throat was firm but not crushing, a clear statement of ownership rather than a threat of immediate harm.
Her resignation was a fragile thing, a thin sheet of ice over a turbulent sea of despair and rage. He could see it in her eyes, the flicker of a fight not yet extinguished. He intended to shatter that ice completely.
"Obedience," Jax mused, his voice a low, calm rumble that seemed to absorb the very sound in the cell, "It's a concept you seem to struggle with. But don't worry. I'm an excellent teacher."
He released her throat, and Natasha slumped back against the cold stone, gasping for air. She watched him with wary, bloodshot eyes, expecting a blade, a spell of agony, something final and brutal. Instead, Jax simply raised a hand.
