Middle of Knight

by Jewel E. Ann

  McGraw’s men hadn’t been following her because of her requests. They knew Dr. Luke Jones and Jessica Day were going to be in the same city at the same time … and as if not even death could keep them apart … they ended up at the same hotel, the same concierge desk, and then for one last time they shared the same breath of air—the same heartbeat.

  In that moment she died. There were no more breaths to take.

  “Miss Knight, we have to go.” Two more suits pulled her toward the exit and another black SUV waiting at the curb.

  “AJ—”

  “Mr. Monaghan is already in the vehicle.”

  Luke. He loved her—adored her—and then he mourned her. But no longer. He would hate her forever.

  Before they opened the door to the SUV, Jillian fisted the jacket of one of the suits. “You tell McGraw I’ll bring him and everyone else involved to the gates of Hell if anything happens to Luke.”

  The young man swallowed hard and nodded. “I-I’ll tell him.”

  He opened the back door and Jillian climbed in.

  “Jillian?” AJ slid his hand across the seat in search of her.

  She just stared at it … stared at him.

  AJ squeezed his eyes shut. “Where is she?” he yelled.

  She grabbed his hand as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. “I’m here. I’m right here.” Her other hand splayed against her heart, slowly clawing into a fist as she looked out the window, falling apart in silence.

  “Where did you go?” AJ squeezed her hand.

  “The restroom.” Words struggled to move past the asphyxiating lump of emotions growing in her throat.

  “Did you get our bags?”

  She didn’t know.

  “We did,” the suit in the front passenger seat assured.

  They arrived at the airport, stopping a short distance from the steps to the private jet.

  “I’ve got him. Just get the bags,” Jillian instructed as she stepped out of the vehicle.

  “Have you ever been on a private jet?” AJ asked as she led him up the steps.

  “No.” Every response came out on autopilot. Jillian Knight had never been on a private jet. AJ’s distrust didn’t go unnoticed by her. Why would he ask if she’d been on a private jet when she confessed her first time on a plane with him months earlier? Because he didn’t trust her, that’s why.

  They settled into the leather seats of the exorbitantly expensive jet and within minutes they were in the air. It may have been an awful thought, but as they ascended into the clouds Jillian was thankful that AJ couldn’t see her making the occasional wipe of her weepy, red eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as if he could read her mind.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “How—”

  “I can feel your pain.” AJ held out his hand.

  She couldn’t imagine having another man’s arms around her. After seeing Luke it felt like cheating. Cheating on a man who thought she died. Cheating on a man who by all rights hated her. Cheating on a man who she would never see again.

  AJ’s hand hung in the air between them, so she took it and crawled up on his lap because she needed someone and in spite of everything that had just happened, she loved AJ and he loved her.

  “Please tell me these tears aren’t for me.”

  Jillian couldn’t answer. She just sobbed into his chest because she needed to let go of the pain that was absolutely, unbearably, relentlessly cutting her to the depths of her soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The demons from Jackson’s past continued to haunt him at every turn. If something didn’t change, he would lose Ryn. She didn’t have to say it. The marks on her body said it for her. Jillian had intimacy issues, not him. Yet since his sparring partner had been gone, there weren’t enough miles of pavement to pound, enough pull-up reps, or enough jabs to the punching bag to give him the pain he needed. That realization haunted him as much as his past: Jackson Knight needed to feel pain.

  “They don’t hurt.” Ryn pulled her jeans on over her thong that showed his fingers, bruises like tattoos on her ass from him two mornings earlier.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out and traced the bruises with a feather’s touch. Then he gently took her wrists, inspecting the red marks he left minutes earlier from pinning them above her head.

  Ryn pulled away to finish dressing. “I’m fine.”

  How could he make her understand? How could he tell her the people he’d looked up to most in life were liars, cheaters? How could he tell her years of using women for his own pleasure, a physical release devoid of all emotion, left him feeling incapable of having a normal relationship? How could her tell he was conditioned to be a killer and he needed real physical pain to remind him of his own humanity?

  Jillian’s stalker and Mrs. Baker had triggered his instinct to defend, to protect, to kill. Without that pain he felt himself crawling out of his own skin while his mind incessantly churned out worst-case scenarios that gave him a constant feeling of paranoia.

  Ryn bestowed a sense of peace amidst the chaos. When they were together he wanted to crawl inside her and drown in the feeling of peace forever. That desperation had led to him trying to get as physically close to her as possible. But nothing he did worked, it was never close enough … the demons were still there.

  Running from those demons left marks on the woman he loved. He was no better than Preston Iverson.

  “I need some time.”

  She turned, buttoning up her shirt. “Time?”

  He nodded, but he couldn’t look at her. “You can’t let people do this to you.”

  “Jackson, I said I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine!” He fisted the sheets beside him. “This!” He grabbed her wrist, turning it so they both could see the red marks. “This is not okay. This is not fine. It doesn’t matter how many I love you’s someone gives you or how many orgasms you have. You are a survivor of abuse so this can never be okay again.”

  She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t do this. If you’re done with me, then grow a pair and just say it. But don’t hand me some you’re-a-victim-it’s-not-you-it’s-me bullshit! You don’t know what I’ve been through and how far I’ve come to get to this point in my life. Stop treating me like I don’t know the difference between love and abuse. I’m not damaged goods. You have no right to jerk around with my emotions, telling me you love me one minute and two seconds later calling some timeout because you don’t have what it takes to just tell me the truth.”

  “The truth?” He stood, feeling that simmering anger threatening to explode. “Jesus, Ryn! What I feel for you is so fucking incredible the word love just seems inadequate. I’ve never lied about my feelings for you. I’m not dumping you, or breaking up, or whatever the hell normal people do. I’m just fucked up right now and it’s because I love you that I need to distance myself so I don’t hurt you.”

  Her tears spilled over. “I don’t understand.”

  Jackson sighed. “I know you don’t.” He closed his eyes for a few breaths. “And I can’t explain it to you, and I know you can’t understand that either.”

  She sniffed, wiping her fingers over her cheeks. He wanted to kiss every tear and tell her to just forget everything he just said, but he couldn’t.

  “So…” she shrugged “…that’s it? I’m just supposed to leave and wait around for you on some leap of faith that tomorrow, next week, or months from now you’re going to be less ‘fucked up’ and ready to make me the same promise you made the other night in my bed?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  Ryn laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. That’s pretty bold, even for you. You’re asking a lot.”

  “Yes.” His chin dipped toward his chest.

  “I want to love you with that blind faith. I want to trust you with my heart … I really do. But I’m not that woman anymore. I’m not the victim. I’m the ‘fucking goddess’ you told me to
be, and she would never give everything in exchange for nothing. So if you can’t tell me why you’re so messed up right now … if you can’t trust me with that, then I can’t wait for you.”

  Jackson nodded.

  In spite of what she’d just said, Ryn waited for more because she had to believe there was in fact more. When he didn’t say anything, she turned and walked to the door.

  “Someday … I’m going to give you everything.”

  She stopped with her back to him. “Sure, someday,” she whispered before walking away.

  He flinched as she shut the door behind her. That emotional dagger through the heart was a new experience for him. Jackson concluded the pain was more extreme than he ever imagined, so the sooner he could get his shit together, the sooner he could get the girl back.

  After pulling on his pants, he grabbed his phone. Five missed calls from McGraw.

  “Way to answer your fucking phone.”

  “Is it Jillian?” Jackson didn’t have time for his shit.

  “She and her nearly-dead boyfriend are on their way back to Omaha on my jet.”

  “G.A.I.L.’s jet. She already told me they were coming back. Why the five calls?”

  McGraw laughed. Jackson could just see the look on the sick bastard’s face. “Well, if you thought Matthew Green at that rest stop was the most insane coincidence ever, I think I can beat that one.”

  Jackson never thought Trigger being at the same rest stop as his sister was a coincidence, but he wasn’t going to argue that point with McGraw.

  “There was a medical conference in Houston—a psychiatric conference.”

  “Fuck,” Jackson whispered.

  “My men were on it. They were together for less than sixty seconds before they took him away.”

  “If you lay a—”

  “Yeah, yeah … some ridiculous gates-of-hell threat from your sister has already been relayed to me. I never thought you liked the guy.”

  “I don’t like any guy who fucks my sister. It’s a twin thing.”

  McGraw didn’t respond.

  “Where is he now?”

  “In a secure location for debriefing.”

  “Debriefing?”

  “We just want to know what they talked about.”

  “Then ask Jillian.”

  “Oh we will … but we need to know if their stories match.”

  “And then what?”

  McGraw laughed. “Don’t act like you haven’t been through all of this. We’ll inform him that the lives of everyone he’s ever cared about are all at stake if he so much as breathes her name again. Then we’ll give him a little something to help him sleep while we deposit him safely back home. Now if you don’t have any more questions, I have an appointment with the good doctor, but don’t worry … you’ll be seeing me soon.”

  *

  Jackson texted Jillian to let her know he’d pick them up from the airport, but she informed him McGraw had already made arrangements. He suspected it was for the best anyway. Jillian had to be running on some unbelievable, not-of-this-world strength reserve. She always managed to make it to him, but he was her safety net and when she finally fell, it was usually with barely a breath of life left in her.

  She texted a request before landing.

  Jillian: I need U to clean AJ’s place before we get there – EVERYTHING!

  Jackson: OK

  The cleaning had nothing to do with mops and dust rags. She wanted everything removed that AJ could use to harm himself, right down to butter knives, forks, and chopsticks.

  He watched from their kitchen window as the SUV pulled into AJ’s driveway. A suited man got out and typed in the garage code. The SUV pulled in as the door shut back down. They weren’t announcing their arrival to the neighborhood.

  It was wrong on so many levels that he waited for her downstairs, hands taped, mouth guard in place. She needed to cry on his shoulder in a normal grieving way, but he knew she needed to make someone bleed more than anything. And the even more fucked-up part was his need to be that someone.

  The door closed. He clenched his fists. Jillian didn’t call for him, there was no need. She knew he was downstairs. A few minutes later she descended the stairs looking the part of death. He tossed her the tape. She wrapped her hands then slid in her mouth guard.

  “Luke hates me.”

  Jackson nodded. He wouldn’t lie to her.

  “AJ is blind and suicidal.”

  Another nod. “Make me bleed.”

  *

  The pain. The blood. The fractured souls. They were the only reminders of the Knights’ mortality. In Hell everyone was immortal.

  Blood clots. Cuts fade. Pain evaporates. But the wounds in their souls would never heal. They would forever fester as reminders that they were bound to a past that could never be erased.

  “You’re angry.” Jillian stared at the ceiling next to her brother.

  The pools of sweat and splattering of blood kept them glued to the mat. The adhesion tugged like a Band-Aid on their skin when they tried to move. Neither one could remember the final blow. At some point the pain numbed itself.

  “You’re unbelievable,” Jackson said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “This morning you saw the face that I know has haunted you. The one that hasn’t allowed you to let go of Jessica. Then you had to bring your blind, sick neighbor home all the while pretending your world wasn’t shattering all around you. And yet … you’re making an observation pertaining to my emotional state.”

  “I can’t do anything about mine. We might as well work on you.”

  “I professed my love to Ryn two nights ago. She makes me feel …”

  “Feel what?”

  “Everything. I feel everything with her. That’s the problem. Every time I try to run from my past, I crash into her. I hurt her and she let me. I love her … and I hurt her. I’m a killer, that’s what I do. I hurt people.”

  “Jackson Knight is not a killer.”

  “I would have. If Ryn wouldn’t have shown up, Mrs. Baker would be dead. Kill or be killed. It’s all I know. It’s always been so black and white … I don’t know what’s in the middle.”

  “Knight. We are in the middle. As much as Jessica and Jude possessed a part of Sunny and Grant, Jillian and Jackson will forever carry the essence of their former selves. If Jessica wouldn’t have watched her best friend die … if she wouldn’t have killed a man in cold blood, I don’t know if Jillian would love AJ. But for you it’s different. You’ll stop crashing into Ryn when you stop running from your past. I think you’re afraid to let Jude love her too.”

  “Jude didn’t love anyone.”

  “He loved Jessica.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it? Love is love. Sex was just one of many ways I expressed my love to Luke. I loved just being with him. I loved our runs, our dog walks, dinner on the pier, long drives, trips to Staples … he complemented my life so completely. That was the bond I had with him. The passion—it was just one thing. Luke made me love him long before he ever made love to me. If given the chance, I think Jude would have loved Ryn.”

  She peeled herself from the mat and stumbled to an upright position with a bit of a dizzy sway. “I have to go see if AJ is awake yet, force feed him, divvy out the prescribed number of pills, and pray he doesn’t start vomiting and convulsing on me again.”

  “God I hope he knows how lucky he really is.”

  “He has a brain tumor, he’s blind, and I think he’s losing part of his memory. It’s probably accurate to say that ‘lucky’ is a bit of a stretch. But he loves me, he held me and wiped away my tears—the ones that belonged to Luke—when I think he knew they weren’t really for him. And I know you think he called me to help him die, but I don’t see it that way. He gave me his last look, and…” Jillian blinked away the onslaught of tears “…he’s going to give me his last breath.”

  “Jill?”

  She stopped with her back to him.
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  “I believe you. I believe that he loves you, but I still think you’re wrong.”

  “About?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to give you his last breath … I think he’s going to ask you to take it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Dr. Jones, can you tell us what you and Ms. Day discussed in the lobby of the hotel?”

  Jessica was alive.

  Luke stared at the steel table beneath his propped up elbows. Nauseous. Confused. The effects of the sedative lingered like a hangover.

  He’d been in Houston for three days. Charlie was supposed to meet him for the second half of the week. After coffee and an omelet with whole grain toast in his room, he left early for that day’s seminar to drop a room key off at the concierge for Charlie. He was one of three people in line: a tall gentleman in a suit who looked a little familiar, perhaps another doctor he’d seen at the conference, and a woman at the front of the line. He couldn’t see much of her except a pile of platinum blond hair when she’d make the occasional tilt of her head to the side while talking to the concierge.

  “Dr. Jones? Our goal is to get you home as soon as possible, but we can’t do that until you answer our questions.

  “You’re those people who trained her … aren’t you?”

  The muscle in “Knox’s” jaw ticked. Luke watched him, knowing he would have to decipher the truth from his actions because his words, right down to his name which sounded made-up, gave nothing away.

  “You know about us?” He smirked, but Luke didn’t miss the three rapid blinks before he answered. “What did Ms. Day tell you about her training?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “Well if you believe we—as you say—trained her, then I don’t see what you could possibly tell me that I don’t already know.”

  Once the shock of having seen a ghost wore off, the agony of how she looked settled into his chest, bringing to life a pain that felt as raw as the day he lost her. The image of her bloodshot eyes would haunt him forever. Her body sagged as much as the dark circles beneath those vacant eyes, like she hadn’t slept in days. It was real. She stood before him, but there was no life inside of her.