by Ann, Jewel E
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.
“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.
“Are they all alive? Her parents? Jude?”
“Here’s what you need to know, Dr. Jones. Jessica is alive. She’s not being held against her will. And you will never see her again. If you want to continue breathing, then I suggest you acknowledge who holds the power. You need to answer my questions, and then we will return you to your life.”
“You have my fucking life!” Luke slammed his fists on the table sending Knox’s coffee off the edge.
Knox took a deep breath. His jaw muscles clenched again as he shook the hot coffee from his hand. “Unfortunate circumstances such as this one don’t happen often, but when they do I usually give the forgotten a chance to go home. Ultimately my priority is protecting my own.”
“She’s not yours.”
Knox smirked. “I can assure you … I claimed her long before you did.”
Luke lunged across the table. “You fucker!”
Everything went black.
*
Day
The rescue shelter had told Luke the little black and white Great Dane was the runt of the litter and he probably would only grow to the size of a large Labrador retriever. At eighteen months he measured thirty-four inches in height, weighing in at just under one hundred and sixty pounds—so much more than he ever dreamed. That summed up his relationship with Jessica too.
The nearly two years since he’d met her felt like two seconds. His fear that she would settle into some sort of normalcy and the light that brought life to his existence would fade … it didn’t happen. Even with all his “studying,” Jessica remained as unpredictable as the day they met. He had yet to wake up with her in his arms. The Qin dynasty remained separated from the Nomads. She seemed content with it more than he did. Jessica never imagined him, them, Jones, living together, holidays with family—a life. She never asked for a ring or a wedding, children, or a promise beyond today.
However, Luke wanted that—and he wanted it with her—but not until he could wake up with her in his arms. He wondered if her contentment would prevent that from ever happening. The progress they’d made with her past had by all accounts been remarkable. Separating Dr. Jones from Luke presented a challenge with certain topics, such as her past lovers or as she referred to them “victims.” She doled the information out over many months. They both agreed it was one of the more difficult topics.
“Our kids are going to ride you like a horse, Jones.” Jessica laughed as Jones greeted her at the door. Even in heels she wasn’t that much taller.
Luke listened to her talk to said horse while he poured her a glass of wine in the kitchen. He loved those rare moments of hearing her talk about “our kids,” as if it was a foregone conclusion. Then on cue, he heard one clack followed by a second as she kicked off her heels, letting them fly where they may. In their almost two years together she went from messy to a complete disaster, yet he still adored her beyond words.
“Mmm …” She smiled as he handed her a glass of wine. After taking a sip, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him. That was the reason he too drank wine. It would forever remind him of how her tongue tasted sliding against his. “Therapy Thursday … let’s do this.”
He smiled and followed her to the balcony with Jones right behind them. After a solid year of unofficial therapy three days a week, she requested her “sentence” be reduced. Luke said two days a week, she countered one … so of course it ended up being one. Therapy Thursday.
“I think I’m ready to talk about the sex and blood.”
“Oh?”
Of course most of their sessions had evolved around one or the other, but Luke needed more from her. He needed the missing pieces.
One: Why did she have such a controlling attitude about sex?
Two: What made a vegetarian feel empowered by the taste of blood?
She had seemed as perplexed as him by those questions for a long time. Luke believed her because he loved her and trusted her. Dr. Jones, with his unbiased mental clarity, held a bit more skepticism. Jessica hid something or suppressed it so deep as to try and convince herself it hadn’t happened.
“So last night one of the students in my self-defense class pulled me aside after class to talk. Her boyfriend raped her, but it took her a long time to shed the guilt and acknowledge that it was, in fact, rape.”
“Because he was her boyfriend?”
“No, because he made her orgasm.”
Luke nodded, feeling uneasy about the direction of the conversation. Jessica had a way of disclosing her past with something that had recently triggered a memory.
“I know how she felt.”
Luke tried to keep his voice even as he spoke through clenched teeth. “You were raped?”
Jessica stared at her wine and shrugged. “I’m not s
ure.”
The reaction that stayed lodged in his throat was one of disbelief. How could she not be sure?
“It was three weeks after Claire died.”
“Wait, you told me you lost your virginity when you were nineteen with the guy from the jazz club. You were seventeen when Claire died.”
“Yes. I told you Pete claimed my hymen.”
He set his wine down to prevent his death-hold from shattering the glass.
“One of the men who trained me took it upon himself to make sure I hadn’t ‘lost my edge’ after Claire died. For the purpose of this story I’ll call him Mick. Anyway, I didn’t want to get out of bed or eat, let alone train for days afterward. All I wanted to do was plan Four’s death. It consumed me. So my father sent me with Mick to a remote location, one of their training facilities that wasn’t being used.
He pushed me hard for days. There wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t hurt. I could barely eat my face was so busted up, and one of my eyes had completely swelled shut. At first I didn’t fight back. It felt like a punishment for being so stupid to go with Claire in the first place. But Mick taunted me … he wanted me to make him bleed, and all I could think about was what a cathartic release it was for Four when he cut Claire. So I fought back and I made him bleed.”
Luke cleared his throat, praying to God that Dr. Jones would take over because the thought of Jessica’s father sending her off with some guy to get beat up, less than a month after her best friend was murdered, filled him with rage.
“How did that make you feel?”
She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. “Alive. It made me feel like a survivor.”
He let the silence settle over them, knowing she would soon confess something that would gut him. Just the feeling alone made it hard to breathe.
“He asked me if Four raped Claire, which was weird because I thought surely my dad had given him all the details. When I told him no, he asked me if I thought I had what it took to keep from being raped.”
Bile eased up Luke’s throat.
“I said yes. Then he asked if I wanted to bet on it.” Jessica shook her head. “I hated him so much. Mick always treated me like I was too young, weak, and naive. So I thought, fuck him, because I wasn’t the only one who looked like shit. His face had caught my fists, elbows, knees, and feet on more than one occasion. I could hold my own.