8. Jackson
JACKSON
The sleek black Aston Martin purrs beneath us as I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white.
Aliyah sits in the passenger seat, a vision in the navy pencil skirt and silk blouse I purchased.
The satisfaction of seeing her in clothes I chose wars with the way she makes them look - like sin incarnate.
"You understand the rules?" I keep my eyes fixed on the road.
I went over everything before we left the house, but she’s not exactly the best at going along with a plan. She’s spent the last few days trashing my house and trying to leave. The only thing that has kept her partly in line is the reminder that I’m blackmailing her.
Even so, when I told her I made calls on her behalf to both her bosses to let them know she would be on leave, she destroyed my office. I…guess I deserved it.
Aliyah is definitely not one to be tamed or controlled. She’s a glorious wildfire that I want to stand back and watch, only hoping I don’t get burned in the process.
"Be charming, get information, don't cause trouble." She shifts in her seat, crossing those endless legs. The whisper of expensive fabric draws my attention despite my iron control. "Though I still don't see why I need to play your girlfriend."
"Because men in my world take what they want." My jaw clenches. "Unless it belongs to someone more dangerous."
She scoffs, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. The movement pulls her skirt higher. "So I'm supposed to be your property?"
"You're supposed to stay alive." I reach over and yank her skirt back down. "And stop doing that before I drive us into a wall."
"Doing what?" Her innocent tone doesn't match the devil's glint in her eyes.
"You know exactly what, angel." The endearment comes out as a growl. "This is business."
"Everything's business with you." She toys with her necklace - one of her tells. She's plotting something.
We pull up to the warehouse. Before she can open her door, I'm around the car, hand extended. She takes it with a raised eyebrow.
"Showtime," I mutter, pulling her close. My arm slides around her waist, fingers digging into the silk at her hip. The possessive grip isn't entirely for show.
"Careful tough guy, someone might think you actually care." She presses against my side, all warmth and curves that make it hard to remember why this is a terrible idea.
"Don't get cute. Just remember - you're with me tonight. No wandering eyes, no private conversations."
"Yes, sir." She mock salutes with her free hand, but I catch the slight frown that crosses her face.
I should be focused on the meeting ahead. Instead, all I can think about is the feel of her against me and how much I want to wipe that smirk off her face with my mouth.
This is going to be a long night.
The warehouse door groans open, revealing Kazimir sprawled on a leather couch like it's his personal throne. Two women drape across him - a redhead massaging his shoulders, a blonde trailing fingers down his chest. His three guards stand at attention, faces carved from stone.
My grip tightens on Aliyah's waist as Kazimir's gaze locks onto her. His eyes rake over her body with the intensity of a starving man eyeing a feast.
"Jackson, my friend." His thick Russian accent fills the space. "You've been holding out. Who is this vision?"
"This is Aliyah." I pull her closer, marking my territory. "My girl. Couldn't leave her home tonight, I'm afraid." To my surprise, she doesn't even react to my words.
Instead, Aliyah steps forward, extending her hand with practiced grace. "It's lovely to meet you."
Kazimir brings her hand to his lips, holding the kiss too long. The blonde at his shoulder pouts. The redhead's fingers still.
"The pleasure is mine, krasavitsa."
I resist the urge to break his fingers. Aliyah slides seamlessly into the role we discussed, laughing at his jokes, asking just the right questions about his business ventures. She moves through the room like she was born to it, reading each person's tells with frightening accuracy.
When the blonde mentions her love of ballet, Aliyah launches into a story about her dance background that has everyone entranced. When one of Kazimir's men reveals his mother was from Georgia, she asks about traditional dishes with genuine interest.
"Such a cultured woman." Kazimir dismisses his companions with a wave. They scatter like leaves, leaving only his guards. "You must join me for dinner sometime."
"That's very kind," Aliyah demurs, "but Jackson keeps me quite busy."
The way she says my name - soft, intimate - sends heat through my veins. It's all an act, but watching her work the room with such precision, seeing how naturally she navigates this dangerous world of mine... it stirs something possessive in my chest.
"A shame." Kazimir's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps we can discuss the shipment details over drinks, then? I insist your lovely lady stay."
My jaw clenches. This is exactly what I was afraid of.
"Fine." I motion for Aliyah to take a seat beside me on the leather sofa. "One drink."
Kazimir's guards return with crystal glasses filled with amber liquid. The Russian raises his glass. "To new partnerships."
I take a measured sip, watching Kazimir's eyes track Aliyah's every movement. She perches on the edge of the sofa, close but not touching me, nursing her drink with delicate sips.
"Now, about those shipments-" I start, but Kazimir slides closer to Aliyah.
"Tell me more about your dancing, krasavitsa." His hand lands on her knee.
And this is why I can't ever get anything out of the man.
Before I can move, Aliyah shifts away smoothly. "Actually, I'd love to hear about the weapons order. Jackson mentioned you have specific requirements?"
I hide my surprise behind my glass. For the first time in weeks, Kazimir actually pulls out his phone, scrolling through notes.
"Yes, yes. We need something untraceable. Light enough to move quickly, but enough firepower to make a statement."
His hand creeps toward Aliyah again. This time, I grab her waist and pull her flush against my side. She fits perfectly, her body molding to mine like she belongs there. The soft gasp that escapes her lips sounds genuine enough to make my blood burn.
I glare at him, and Kazimir raises his palms in surrender, but his smirk says he's enjoying this too much. "I get it. Business first-" I don't snap at him at the insinuation, like I'm going to trade Aliyah for his purchase. "We need fifty units, minimum. Delivered in stages to avoid attention."
"I can arrange that." I keep my arm locked around Aliyah. "Cole has a new line that would suit your needs perfectly."
Aliyah leans forward, all business despite being practically in my lap. "The M4 variants, right? I heard they performed exceptionally well in field tests."
Kazimir's eyebrows shoot up. "Your woman knows weapons?"
She knows the ones I told her to bring up.
"I know many things." She traces the rim of her glass with one finger. "Including how the M4's modular design would allow for... discrete transportation."
For the next hour, Aliyah keeps Kazimir engaged with just enough flirtation to maintain his interest while steering him toward closing the deal. When he finally signs the order, I can hardly believe it.
"Your girl is remarkable," Kazimir says, tucking the contract away. "A dangerous combination of beauty and brains."
I stand, pulling Aliyah with me. Tipping her chin up with a finger, I stare into her eyes as I answer, "That she is."
The possessiveness in my voice isn't entirely fake. Neither is the way she presses closer, her hand sliding up my chest.
"I think I deserve a reward," she adds with a smile that could cut glass.
A grin tugs at my lips, even if I know she'll shove me away the second we are alone. Looking over her shoulder, I give Kazimir a shrug. "What she wants, she gets. You'll start receiving your order soon."
He doesn't look too pleased when I pull Aliyah out of the warehouse without another word, but I don't care. Not when I help her into the car and finally get her away from him.
The drive home passes in tense silence. Every few minutes, I catch myself glancing at her - the way she slouches in exhaustion, how her fingers absently trace the pendant at her throat. The diamonds in her bracelet catch the streetlights, and I notice she never goes without them. I wonder why.
Not that I should.
Inside my house, Aliyah kicks off those lethal heels with a groan. The sound hits me low in the gut. She pads across the hardwood floors in her bare feet, navigating my space like she's done it a hundred times before.
"Your couch is better than my bed." She sinks into the black leather, tucking her legs beneath her. The position hikes her skirt higher, revealing a slice of thigh that makes my mouth go dry.
But it's not the exposed skin that gets to me. It's how she looks so fucking comfortable here - head tipped back against the cushions, eyes closed, guard down. The sight of her treating my home like her own sanctuary claws at something primitive in my chest.
"You did good tonight." The words come out rougher than intended.
One eye cracks open. "Was that actual praise from the great Jackson Amato?"
"Don't let it go to your head, angel."
She stretches, arching her back like a cat. The move pulls her silk blouse tight across her breasts. "Admit it - you need me."
For more than just business. The thought ambushes me, dangerous and unwanted.
"What I need is a drink." I turn toward my office, needing distance from the image she makes sprawled across my furniture. The domesticity of it all threatens to crack the walls I've built around myself. "Can I leave you alone without you destroying my house?"
"Running away, tough guy?"
"Some of us have work to do." I don't look back. Can't risk seeing if she's watching me go with those knowing eyes of hers.
My office door closes with a decisive click. I lean against it, hands fisted at my sides, fighting the urge to return to the living room and show her exactly why running from me is in her best interest.