25. Aliyah
ALIYAH
Itried to stay away. I really did. I spent all day and well into the afternoon thinking everything over. How he kidnapped me. How we hated each other. How he seems to be the only one that gets me despite everything.
And somehow, I found myself doing the one thing I never thought I would.
Going back to him.
The roads blur past my window as I drive back to Jackson's house, my thoughts a tangled mess that's been spinning all day.
The familiar weight of my recording devices - the tennis bracelet, the earrings, the necklace - feels different now.
Heavier. Like they're anchoring me to a life I'm not sure I want anymore.
I park my Lexus next to his Aston Martin in the circular driveway.
The house looms before me, no longer the prison it felt like days ago.
My heels click against the marble floors as I make my way to his office, each step echoing the words that haven't left my mind since this morning. Every single bit of his confession.
The door's open. Jackson sits behind his mahogany desk, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to expose corded forearms. His usually pristine hair is mussed, like he's been running his hands through it. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and the glass of whiskey by his hand is barely touched.
He doesn't move when I enter. Doesn't speak. Just watches me with those impossibly dark eyes that see too much. The silence stretches between us, but it's not the hostile quiet of our earlier days. This silence asks questions. Waits.
"You look like shit," I say, because old habits die hard.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Rough day, angel."
"Don't call me that." But the words lack their usual bite.
"Why not? You're certainly haunting me." He leans back in his chair, loosens his tie. The movement draws my attention to the strong column of his throat, and I hate that I notice. Hate that I care.
My fingers find my necklace - my tell, my weakness - and his eyes track the movement. He knows me too well. Knows the real me, not the version I show the world. And somehow, impossibly, he loves me anyway.
The realization hits like a physical blow, and I feel the last of my carefully constructed defenses crumble.
"You said you love me."
His jaw works. "Because I do."
I shake my head. "But can't you see how many secrets are between us? How much you don't know?"
"I don't need to know every bit of your history to know your soul. It calls to mine. It always has."
"I don't think you can love all of me, Jackson," I finally admit. We're teetering close to an edge I'm not ready for.
He raises a brow, looking like he couldn't imagine something farther from the truth. "Try me."
"My father..." The words catch. I force them out anyway. "He started using me in cons when I was six."
Jackson's jaw tightens, but he stays silent, letting me speak. His stillness is different now - not the predatory quiet before a strike, but something steadier. Safer.
"I was small. Cute. The perfect distraction.
" My laugh comes out hollow. "He'd have me pretend to be lost in stores while he robbed them blind.
Had me cry in restaurants so he could skip out on bills.
Used me to gain sympathy from marks." The memories surface like poison.
"By eight, I was learning to memorize credit card numbers while people cooed over the 'sweet little girl. '"
Jackson's hands clench on his desk. I catch the slight tremor - the only sign of his rage. But he doesn't interrupt.
"I started gathering secrets on my own when I was twelve.
Insurance, I called it. Protection." My fingers twist my necklace harder.
"The first time he tried using me as bait for a mark, I had enough dirt on the guy to make him back off.
After that..." I shrug, but the movement feels jagged.
"Information became my shield. My weapon. "
I expect disgust in Jackson's eyes. Judgment. Instead, he rises from his desk with lethal grace, moving toward me with measured steps. I hold my ground even as my pulse races.
"By college, I had a network. Connections. Power." The words tumble faster now. "I made sure I'd never be powerless again. Never be used. Never be-"
He catches my hands in his, stopping their nervous movement. His calloused fingers dwarf mine, but his touch is gentle. Too gentle. It breaks something in me.
"I don't trust anyone," I whisper. "I can't. The second you trust someone, they own you. They can hurt you. They can-"
"Look at me." His voice brooks no argument. When I meet his gaze, the intensity there steals my breath. "You're not six anymore, angel. And I'm not your father."
His arms come around me, solid and warm. I should hate this - being caged in, being held. But Jackson's embrace feels different. Like coming home after being lost for too long.
"I know what it's like," he murmurs against my hair, voice rough. "Putting everything you are into someone's hands, only to watch them crush it." His chest expands against mine with a deep breath. "But we don't have to be them. We don't have to repeat their mistakes."
I pull back just enough to see his face, to read the truth in those dark eyes. "Are you mad? About the recordings?" My hand drifts to my necklace, to the hidden SD card that's captured countless secrets.
"Angel." He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "If they make you feel safe, keep them. I don't want you to trust me because I force you to. I want you to trust me because you choose to."
"What about..." The words stick in my throat. "What about me leaving?"
Something flashes across his features - pain, maybe. But it's gone before I can be sure. "No. I don't think you could do anything I wouldn't forgive. Even follow me around the city and slash my tires." His thumb traces my jawline as he flashes me a smile. "I just want you to come home."
"Home?"
"Here. With me." His voice drops lower, possessive but not controlling. "Not because I want to use you. Because I want you. Just you."
The distinction matters more than it should. But there are still shadows lurking. Still dangers I can't ignore. "There are people after me, Jackson. Dangerous people who-"
"Then we'll face them together." His arms tighten around me, protective rather than restraining. "You're not alone anymore. You don't have to fight every battle by yourself."
His words wrap around me like a shield, and for the first time in my life, I let someone else carry the weight. My body melts into his embrace, my head finding the spot where his shoulder meets his chest.
"Then I guess I should tell you…everything." My voice comes out muffled against his shirt. "Including the guys that came after me while I was at my apartment."
Jackson guides me to the leather chair in his office, pulling me into his lap. His presence steadies me as I explain about the night he took me - how someone else had been planning to grab me too. His body tenses, muscles coiling tight beneath his shirt.
"Who?" The single word carries deadly promise.
"I don't know for sure. But someone from those parties recognized me." I trace patterns on his forearm, focusing on the raised scar there rather than his face. "They must have figured out what I was doing."
Hours pass as we talk. I tell him what I've spent the years doing, what the guys said, and he confirms he didn't know the night he took me that someone else was waiting.
He even admits he just liked pushing my buttons and didn't want me around the guys at the party - especially knowing what went on there.
The sky outside his windows darkens to indigo, then black.
When exhaustion starts to weigh on my limbs, Jackson stands, tugging me up with him.
"Come to bed." It's not quite a question, not quite a command.
I follow him down the hall to his bedroom instead of the guest room. The master suite is all dark woods and crisp linens, masculine but elegant.
"I'll shower first." He brushes his lips across my temple. "Make yourself comfortable."
The moment the bathroom door closes, I slip back downstairs. My hands shake as I retrieve the USB drive from my necklace, along with several folders from my car. Everything I've collected over the years - including files on Jackson's organization. Information that could bring down empires.
I arrange them carefully on his desk. It's both surrender and challenge - giving him the power to destroy me, but trusting he won't. My heart pounds as I return to his room, slipping between sheets that smell like him.
Minutes later, he emerges in low-slung sleep pants, droplets of water trailing down his chest. He slides in behind me, arm curling around my waist to draw me close.
I've never shared a bed with anyone before, never allowed myself to be this vulnerable. But as his warmth seeps into my bones and his breathing steadies against my neck, I think maybe - just maybe - I can learn to trust again.