24. Jackson
JACKSON
Iwake to silence - besides the pounding in my head. I must have passed out after drinking.
The house feels wrong - empty in a way that sets off every instinct honed from years in this business. My feet hit the floor before conscious thought kicks in, and I'm moving down the hall to the guest room, gun already in hand.
The door swings open to reveal pristine sheets, perfectly made bed. No sign of struggle. No note. Just... nothing. The space where she should be gapes like an open wound.
"Aliyah!" My voice echoes through the empty house.
A quick sweep confirms what I already know - she's gone. That clever little devil slipped right past my security. Past me. The thought sends ice through my veins, followed by a wave of fury so intense my vision blurs.
I slam my fist into the wall, welcoming the sharp sting of pain. It's better than this other feeling - this hollowness spreading through my chest that threatens to consume me. Every second she's gone, the void grows larger.
"Fuck!"
I pace the room, fighting the urge to tear it apart. This isn't about her escaping custody. This is because…all along I didn't want to fucking lose her. She said buried herself beneath my skin and now it fucking hurts that she's clawing her way back out.
The irony doesn't escape me. All those years watching my father destroy himself over my mother's betrayal, and here I am, coming undone because some slip of a woman with dangerous eyes and even more dangerous secrets managed to work her way under my skin.
My father always said love was a weakness our enemies would exploit. I never understood until now, feeling like someone's carved out my insides with a dull blade. Every minute that passes is agony, my mind conjuring increasingly violent scenarios of what could be happening to her.
I need to find her. Now.
I grab my phone, fingers hovering over Ryker's number. Pride wars with necessity - but not for long. Not when I hate I don't know where she is or why she left - after she told me she wouldn't.
And then I scare her off by telling her I love her.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite cousin. Finally remembering I exist?" Ryker's voice carries that edge of amusement that always makes me want to punch him.
"I need your help." The words taste like ash. "Aliyah's gone."
A low whistle comes through the line. "The little waitress got the better of you? I'm impressed. And here I thought you had everything under control."
"Are you done?" My knuckles whiten around the phone.
"Not even close. Remember when we were kids and you insisted you didn't need help climbing that tree? Ended up with a broken arm-"
"Ryker." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "Find her."
A pause, then his tone shifts from teasing to serious. "You good, cousin? This doesn't sound like your usual... professional concern."
"I have everything under control." The lie sits heavy between us.
"Right." The disbelief in his voice makes me grip the phone harder. "And I'm running a legitimate tech company. Want to try that again?"
"Just find her." I pace the length of my office, fighting the urge to put my fist through another wall. "Use your fancy surveillance system, track her phone, whatever it takes."
"Already on it." Keys click in the background. "But Jackson? When this is over, we're having a conversation about why you're coming apart over a woman. This isn't like you."
I hang up before he can say more. Because he's right - this isn't like me at all. And that terrifies me more than anything else.
Only minutes later, my phone buzzes with Ryker's message.
Surveillance footage from Aliyah's apartment building - specifically the mailroom.
My jaw clenches as I watch two men corner her against the wall of metal boxes.
One's got a spider web crawling up his neck like some cheap prison ink.
The other's brass knuckles catch the fluorescent light as he reaches for her.
I lean forward in my chair, muscles coiled tight. But what happens next... fuck.
She moves like liquid violence. No hesitation, no fear - just pure calculated survival. The way she uses their size against them, the precise strikes to vulnerable points, the fluid grace of someone who's fought their way through life. It's beautiful in the darkest way.
"Angel, my ass," I mutter, rewinding to watch again. "More like an angel of death."
The footage captures every detail of her takedown. The flash of her eyes before she strikes. The way she anticipated their moves before they made them. She didn't just survive - she dominated.
My chest tightens with an unfamiliar sensation. Pride maybe. Or understanding. Because I recognize that look in her eyes - the one that says the world's tried to break you so many times you've learned to break back first.
We're the same, her and I. Both forged in fire, both wearing masks to hide the scars. Both so fucking used to standing alone we've forgotten how to let anyone else in.
Ryker sends me another video of footage and I see Aliyah dart right up to her apartment and never come back out. It sets my blood on fire but I know better than to go after her right now. I need to at least give her a semblance of independence.
I bark orders into my phone, dispatching men to strategic points around her building. Every instinct screams to storm in there myself, but the rational part of my brain - the part that's kept me alive in this business - knows better.
"Keep your distance. No one approaches without my direct order." I end the call before my lieutenant can respond.
My fingers drum against the mahogany desk, itching to wrap around my gun instead. The security feed still plays, her graceful violence on an endless loop. I've watched it seventeen times now, analyzing every move, every micro-expression.
"Stupid." I rake a hand through my hair. "So fucking stupid."
Both of us - her for going back to the first place anyone would look, me for not checking there immediately. But seeing those men attack her... my blood still boils. I want to hunt them down, make them suffer for daring to touch what's mine.
Except she's not mine. Not really. Not after I let those three words slip out like some lovesick teenager. The memory makes me want to put my fist through the screen.
I love you.
Three words I swore I'd never say. Three words that sent her running faster than any threat ever could. Because we're cut from the same cloth, Aliyah and I. Love is a weapon - one that's been used against both of us too many times to count.
I stand, pacing the length of my office. Every step away from the door feels like fighting gravity. But I know if I go to her now, try to drag her back, I'll lose her for good. She's too much like me - back her into a corner and she'll tear through anything to escape.
The irony twists my gut. All my careful planning, all my control, undone by three stupid words I never meant to say. Now I'm reduced to watching security feeds like some desperate stalker, trying to convince myself that letting her come to me is the right play.
If she comes to me at all.