18
REECE
Jackson emerges from the bedroom in only gray sweats, his hair wet from a lengthy shower. This suite, although the size of a small apartment, isn’t soundproof. I heard everything from the living room: the hour-long shower, the blow to the wall…
My gaze shifts to his right hand. It’s not swollen or bruised, not any more than it was prior, and there’s no blood or broken skin. If he didn’t hit the wall, what did?
Without a word, he walks into the kitchen, opens a cupboard, grabs a glass, and fills it from the tap. He chugs one, then another, staring straight ahead. He stands on the opposite side of the island, facing me, but he definitely doesn’t notice me.
Any other time, he’d call me out for gawking. He’d sneer, “ Like what you see ?”
But right now, he remains quiet, his mind elsewhere, his eyes haunted, face pale. His chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow breaths. He’s crashing, with no one else here to deal with him—only me.
He places the glass on the counter with more force than necessary and shakes his head.
I rise from the couch and approach with caution. “What’s up with you?”
His gaze connects with mine, but it’s vacant. “No,” he mumbles. That doesn’t make sense, and his speech is hollow.
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. If he took something, I’ll knock his ass out and drag him to rehab.
Panic creeps in, and my voice elevates. “Jackson, what the fuck is wrong? What did you take?”
Annoyance crosses his face, and he curls his lip. “No.” He blinks once, twice, his dilated pupils focusing. He shakes his head again. “No, I did not.”
Holy shit. “Are you hallucinating?”
“No, I’m… It’s a flashback.”
Flashbacks, I can understand and deal with. I’ve been there myself a few times. “Okay, did something happen? Is it me?” I scan the shorts and T-shirt I changed into. “You swear you didn’t take anything?”
“No, it’s not you, and no, I’m not high.
” His fingers tremble, and he grips the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white.
“I got a text.” He drops his head, and there’s an agonizing pause before he glances up, eyes glazed over.
“It’s…” He trails off, his awareness fading as he envisions whatever has him so shaken.
“Aurora.” Her name sounds ripped from him, raw and jagged.
I step closer, my heart in my throat. “What about her?”
“They want her. Can you get to her?”
His mind must still be in the dark, caged. If he thought there was a genuine threat to her, he’d be gone. He wouldn’t be standing in front of me.
“Where’s your phone? Please tell me you didn’t break it.” Even if he did, I’m five steps ahead, forming a plan for every likely scenario. I’m zoned in.
He gestures to the bedroom, and I don’t delay. I find the phone intact on the bathroom floor. Thank fuck these things are damn near indestructible, and his password is still Aurora’s birthday.
The message is already open on the screen, a gritty picture that takes my brain an absurd amount of time to process.
It’s a rusty jail cell built underneath a set of wooden stairs.
Inside, there’s a filthy, decaying mattress on a wet cement floor.
There’s no blanket or pillow, nothing but a bucket in the corner.
I read the accompanying text, and my vision blurs, darkening around the edges:
9-2740
I miss you, but your girl will do. I’m saving the spot just for her.
The ID is anonymous—five numbers generated randomly.
I know this is a scare tactic. I know not to engage . But violence like I’ve never known has my fingers moving without thought of consequence.
Touch her, and I’ll tear you apart piece by excruciating piece.
And I will. I’ll call on every broken shard of me to destroy this motherfucker.
Actions and operations race through my mind. On my phone, I check Aurora’s location. She’s at a sports bar across from the arena, a few blocks away. I consider alerting Ethan, but interrupting their date is a surefire way to send her into a panic, and she’ll have questions.
I need eyes on Aurora.
Charlie
And I need to stop enabling your obsessive stalking.
This is legitimate. We received a threat.
Charlie
Location?
While I’m sending her address to Charlie, Jackson’s phone buzzes with another text:
9-2740
How about you keep your mouth shut and save us both the trouble? K, pretty boy?
My dark mood descends into the fiery depths of hell. I storm into the kitchen and slam his phone on the counter. “What did you say to Kyle when you met with him? You tipped him off, didn’t you? Did you tell him you had evidence?”
Jax stiffens and balls his fists, his muscles flexing and bulging. He’s shirtless, tattoos on display, his pulse visibly pounding beneath his sternum with each ragged inhale he draws.
“Means nothing.” He leans over the island, his tortured face inches from mine. “I grew up in it. All the memories.” He taps his temple. “ I’m the evidence.”
His words, rough and raspy, give me chills. The message, the picture—it’s unfathomable. No one should go through the shit he’s had to endure.
Still, I have to keep him talking. “Who sent the text?”
“Can you protect her?”
“Yes.” With my life. “Who?”
His shoulders slump with a shuddered sigh. “Kyle’s former partner.”
“How are you so sure?”
He swallows hard. “I just know.”
Unfortunately, I need more than that. I open the text and slide the phone in front of him. “That sound like him? Would he call you pretty boy?”
His demeanor flips, and his eyes become cold. He fists my shirt and drags my upper body across the counter. “Are you fucking stupid, Cop? What do you think?”
My skin crawls. This is his abuser. It all adds up, and I realize then that Ethan was right. I had Jackson wrong. He wasn’t merely entangled in this. He was a victim. His abuse wasn’t only psychological, which is why Ethan is fiercely protective of him. Aurora too.
I raise my hands in surrender. “Easy, Jax. I want him dead as badly as you do.”
“Doubt it.” He shoves me away. “Stop being an insensitive prick.”
Thirty minutes ago, I would’ve said he was acting like a child, but now, I get it.
His oppositional behavior isn’t all about protecting Kyle or himself, nor is it about protecting Aurora, though that’s there. It’s a trauma response. Engaging in this case is reopening wounds that never fully healed— will never heal.
“Just give me a name. I’ll find him.”