26. Jackson
JACKSON
Ilean back in my leather office chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw as I scroll through the files on my laptop. The USB drive Aliyah left sits innocent and small on my desk, but the information contained within it is anything but.
"Jesus Christ, angel." The words slip out as I click through another folder.
She's mapped my entire operation - weapons routes, shell companies, even the names of my international contacts.
But it goes deeper than that. She's got dirt on half of New York's elite - judges, politicians, CEOs.
The kind of information that could bring empires crashing down.
My first instinct should be rage. She's been collecting intel on me, on my business. But instead, I find myself studying her meticulous notes with growing admiration. The precision, the detail - it's fucking beautiful. Clinical. Professional. Not a single loose end.
She's more dangerous than I initially gave her credit for. That innocent waitress act? Perfect cover. While everyone was busy underestimating her, she was building an intelligence network that rivals some government agencies.
I return to my desk, clicking through more files. There's information here that could start wars between families, topple criminal enterprises. The power she holds... My angel's got teeth. Sharp ones.
"We could do incredible things together," I murmur, imagining the possibilities. Her intelligence network combined with my resources and connections? We'd be unstoppable.
The fact that she trusted me with this information... It means something. She's letting me see her - the real her. Not the sweet waitress, not the seductive party girl. The shrewd operator who's been playing everyone like chess pieces.
I've never met anyone like her. Someone who can match me move for move. Someone who understands the game at this level.
Maybe love isn't always a liability after all.
I make my way to the bedroom, drawn to where I know she's sleeping. Pushing open the door, sunlight spills across the king-size bed where Aliyah lies curled on her side, black hair fanned across my pillow.
Without hesitation, I slide onto the mattress and pull her into my arms. She stirs, those gold-flecked eyes blinking open as she instinctively presses closer.
"What time is it?" Her voice is sleep-rough, but she doesn't pull away when I stroke my hand down her spine.
"About nine." I trace the curve of her hip. "Want to tell me what all those files were for, angel? Because I've got to say, your little collection is impressive as fuck."
She shifts to look at me, suddenly more alert. "No more secrets, Jackson. I'm done playing games and hiding things. That's everything I have - every piece of intel, every bit of dirt. I trust you with it."
The admission hits me in the chest. Trust isn't something either of us gives easily. I tighten my grip on her. "Then I don't want any more space between us either. Move in here. For real this time - not just the guest room bullshit."
"Mmm." She yawns, nestling closer. "Deal. But you have to hire someone to pack up my apartment. I'm not doing manual labor."
A chuckle rumbles through my chest. Demanding little thing. "Not a problem. I'll have someone there in an hour." My hand finds its way to the small tattoo behind her ear - that tiny key that seems so fitting now. She's unlocked something in me I didn't know existed.
"Good." She's already drifting back to sleep, trusting and warm in my arms.
I press my lips to her temple, marveling at how quickly she's dismantled all my carefully constructed walls. This woman who could destroy empires with a keystroke chooses to share her power with me instead.
I slip out of the room and make a few calls. In a little over an hour, I pull up to Aliyah's apartment complex in my Aston Martin, the moving crew's truck already parked out front.
Inside her apartment, I direct the crew while examining the space. Everything's organized with military precision - not a thing out of place. The furniture's basic IKEA stuff, nothing that would draw attention. But it also doesn't feel permanent.
"Start with the bedroom," I order the crew. "Leave the office for last."
While they work, I run my hands along the walls, checking for hollow spots. I'm certain she's got hidden documents throughout the apartment. And I find the wall safe in record time.
The combination's her birthday. For someone so careful, it's an oddly personal choice. Inside, yellowed newspaper clippings spill out alongside a stack of photos.
PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN ARRESTED IN MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR SCAM
CON ARTIST USES DAUGHTER IN ELABORATE SCHEMES
RICHARDS SENTENCED TO 15 YEARS
CONVICTED CON ARTIST DISAPPEARS AFTER TRIAL
The photos tell an uglier story. A young Aliyah, maybe seven or eight, posed in expensive clothes next to mark after mark. Her father using his own daughter as bait. In every shot, her eyes hold the same cold calculation I sometimes glimpse now.
One photo catches my attention - Aliyah as a teenager, standing outside a courthouse. She's staring directly at the camera, chin lifted in defiance. Even then, she had that steel in her spine.
"Fuck." The word comes out harsh. No wonder she learned to gather intel, to use information as a weapon. It was survive or be used. Just like me watching my old man destroy himself over my mother's betrayal.
My phone buzzes - a text from Aliyah.
Find anything interesting?
I snap a photo of the safe.
You knew I would.
Keep it safe for me?
Three simple words that carry the weight of years of secrets. Of a little girl who learned too young that trust is a weapon to be wielded against you.
Always, angel.
I tuck the box under my arm. She's given me her past, her secrets. I'll guard them with my life.
I do another sweep of Aliyah's apartment while the movers clear out the last boxes. But I don't find any more hidden spots. She lived like someone ready to disappear at a moment's notice.
Back at my place, I find Aliyah stretched out on the leather couch, bare feet tucked under her, wearing one of my shirts and a pair of little shorts.
She looks up from her laptop, those gold-flecked eyes lighting up when she sees me.
That smile hits me like a fucking bullet to the chest - genuine, unguarded.
I don't know if she's ever looked at me like that before.
"Find anything else interesting?" She closes her laptop, setting it aside.
"Just evidence that you subsist entirely on coffee and protein bars." I cross to her, running my thumb along her jaw. "We'll have to work on that."
"The movers behind you might disagree with your assessment." She nods toward the door where the crew's bringing in boxes. "I own actual furniture."
"Which is going into storage." I direct the guys toward the bedroom with her clothes and personal items. "They're just taking in your essentials to your new room."
"Bossy." But there's no heat in the word. She's watching the men carry her life into my bedroom - our bedroom now - with an expression I can't quite read.
"Having second thoughts, angel?"
She rises from the couch in one fluid motion, pressing against my chest. Even in bare feet, she moves like a dancer - all controlled grace hiding lethal precision.
"No." Her fingers trace the buttons of my shirt. "I don't do anything I'm not certain about. You should know that by now."
I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips. This deadly, beautiful woman who could burn my world to ash has chosen to stay. To trust me with her secrets, her safety, her life.
"Good." I pull her closer, feeling her heartbeat against mine. "Because I'm not letting you go."