25. Talon
TALON
Jersey’s fingers rest limply against my chest, our mixed releases weeping from her cunt as I carry her wrung out body into my bathroom and lower her onto the curved stone bench beneath the shower.
Her eyes stay shut, only the occasional flutter of her lashes or a soft sigh reminding me she’s still conscious.
I wash us both, taking special care over the brand carved on her abdomen, then dry her slowly, slipping another one of my shirts on her before moving her to my bed.
I should probably go to the guest room. Or the couch. Even the fucking floor. Anywhere but in that bed beside her.
I’ve never laid with a girl when my cock wasn’t inside her. Never taken one home, never stayed the night. I don't do cuddles, or aftercare, or whispered words of affirmation.
I don’t think I’m even programmed to know how.
But as Jersey lies curled on her side in the middle of my bed, swallowed by my shirt, my fingers fucking twitch.
I want to touch her.
Not fuck her.
Just–
Hold her.
The thought dredges deep, unearthing memories I thought I’d buried for good. Broken pieces from the days after the dickhead that sired me left my mother.
Before he cut her off, she’d sometimes use me as a threat to blow up the image that tool had spent decades crafting, angling for drug money.
She’d get high enough that basic necessities were ignored– we’d run out of food, or sometimes she’d be gone for days on end.
It was the worst when those two things occurred simultaneously.
Whenever she was done numbing the parts of her brain that constantly drew comparisons to the life she wanted and the life she had, she’d come find me.
She disappeared less often after my father ghosted us, but she was always sad. Sadder than usual, anyway.
She’d curl into bed behind me and wrap her arms around my little body, holding me against her chest while I lay there stiff and confused, never knowing what I was supposed to do with affection when someone gave it to me. It always felt foreign. Wrong.
But in those few stolen moments, I could almost see another life waiting for us. One where she wasn’t constantly strung out and chasing after a married man who only ever used her as a hole to fill.
One where maybe we knew how to wield love as something other than a weapon.
The memory disappears as quickly as it came.
I stare at Jersey, fingers still twitching at my sides.
Fuck it.
I slide in underneath the sheets behind her, my arm banding around her waist to pull her flush against me. Her body tenses at first, and so does mine. Then, with a sleepy exhale, she melts against me.
Something in my chest goes strangely quiet.
Her head fits perfectly beneath my chin, muscles slackening as her breathing evens out.
The crisp citrus scent of my soap clings to her skin, mixing with something distinctly her, and for once there’s no restless fucking itch beneath mine. Just this strange and unfamiliar calm.
Somehow, it feels fucking right.
I should leave, but I can’t.
I shouldn’t sleep, but I do.
“Did you see the new assignment on Exchange?” Slade asks, absently scrolling on his phone rather than actually spotting me on the weight bench.
“Not interested,” I grumble, dropping the bar back onto the rack before curling up to sit.
I woke up well-rested, filled with this buzzing energy that needed an outlet.
I hadn’t planned to come back to the compound quite yet, but Jersey will be fine at the cabin on her own.
I fucked her into a coma– she was still out cold when I left, and even if she comes to, I doubt she’ll try to run again.
If she does, an alert from my security system will prevent her from getting far.
“Oh, I think you’ll be interested in this one,” Slade muses.
I hold out my hand with a huff, and he slaps his phone into my waiting palm. When I glance down to read the screen, my jaw instantly tightens.
Repossession of Asset A311.
The dollar amount attached to it is ludicrous, and I quickly find it’s because she’s been reclassified to black tier.
“Came in this morning,” Slade says, sliding another weight plate onto the bar and adjusting the pin. “The guys have been talking about it.”
“And nobody’s taken it?” I ask, pushing to stand and trading him spots. Thankfully, it’s just the two of us in the Compound’s training gym, so we can speak freely.
“It’s an open bounty, first to bring her in gets the payout….” He trails off as he takes his phone back, slipping it into the pocket of his shorts.
I cut him a glare, his insinuation setting my teeth on edge.
Not a fucking chance.
“What’s your plan, then?” he questions, rocking back on the bench and reaching up to grip the bar. “Miller’s dad is still out for blood, randomly pulling guys in for interrogation. It’s only a matter of time before–”
“Nothing,” I cut in, posture stiffening. “They can’t prove shit.”
“Maybe not…” Slade rolls his eyes, starting in on his set. “But having a government Asset in your possession is a huge fucking red flag for other crimes.”
I grunt, cutting him another glare.
She’s not just an Asset, she’s a fucking person.
And while Jersey may not technically belong to me, she doesn't belong to them, either. Not really. And now that I’ve decided to claim her for myself, the last thing I’ll allow is for her to be dragged back into The Registry for their own corrupt and perverted gain.
I’m the only one who gets to fucking touch her now. Her pain, her pleasure, every desperate moan– it’s all mine.
“Listen, shithead,” Slade sighs, re-racking the bar and sitting up. “The way I see it, you’ve got two choices.”
I cock a brow. “Those are?”
“Turn her in, take the money, and go back to how things were. The monster for hire. Or…” he pauses, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair.
“Or?” I prompt.
He levels me with a knowing stare. “Or, you get the fuck out of here like you’ve been wanting to do since the day you started building that cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
There it is.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he knew my endgame all along. Slade’s perceptive like that. Getting away from fucking Northbrooke, The Registry, and every bullshit and asinine thing it stands for has always been my retirement plan.
I’ve worked around the clock for the past nine years, pouring almost every dollar I made into making the cabin an off-grid oasis.
I could’ve probably called it quits a year ago and disappeared out there, but instead, I’ve continued grinding.
I guess it was just easier to put it off and keep the project going, because if I leave– if I’m no longer a Repo man– then who the hell am I?
Every time I try to consider the answer to that question, something dark and ugly curdles inside me, voices from my childhood resurfacing to remind me that I’ll never truly fit in anywhere or amount to anything.
“You think you can get rid of me that easily?” I joke, pulling my shirt back on, the fabric catching on my sweaty torso.
Slade sighs, clapping a hand down on my shoulder. “Look, man. You’re the brother I never fucking wanted, but I’ve grown to tolerate you. And as much spare time as I’ll have from not helping your ass, I’ll probably still miss you.”
I scoff at him, his lips tugging up in a grin.
“But,” he continues, “maybe now it’s your turn to get stuck with some annoying stray left over from an assignment.”
I snort, shaking my head. “That simple, huh? Just walk out and hope no one notices?”
“Well, no. If you drop off the face of the earth, shit will definitely hit the fan around here. But there are plenty of mercs coming in from probation that could use more assignment opportunities, rather than some bored fuck nabbing every request on Exchange because he doesn’t have a life.”
I roll my eyes.
“And I know a guy who’s a fucking expert with tech shit,” he adds, wagging his brows. “With his skills, it’d be easy to shift things around, help dig the grave to bury all this in.”
I stare back at him, considering whether I could actually do it. Turn my back on everything I’ve ever known and leave it all behind. The thought of it has never been quite so enticing before. Rather than feeling like surrender, it feels like a fresh start, my pulse kicking with excitement.
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Thanks, man,” I say, voice gone rough. “For everything.”
Slade knocks his fist into mine. “About time you fuckin’ thanked me for always bailing your ass out.”
I frown back at him, unamused.
He barks a laugh, punching me in the bicep. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I turn away, then stop, pivoting back around.
“God you’re clingy,” he chuckles
“Fuck off,” I mutter. “You’re the one who tracked me to the gym and invaded my workout.”
He shrugs unapologetically, and I catch his hand, yanking him in for a bro hug and thumping a fist against his back. Then I leave the gym, grab a few things from my apartment, and don’t look back.
The drive back to the cabin is quiet, the Raptor eating up the miles as I push it harder than necessary, tires gripping the pavement through every curve. My knuckles are white around the steering wheel, but for once, it isn’t anger tightening my grip. It’s the promise of freedom.
For the first time in I don’t know how long, there’s nothing hanging over me. No assignment waiting, no Chief to answer to, no playing a game designed to make the rich richer while everyone else claws over scraps in their self-made shit hole.
I’m done.
The realization should hit harder, making me wistful or some shit.
Instead, my foot just presses harder on the gas, the engine growling as the truck rips down the dirt road, gravel kicking behind me.
Something that’s been coiled tightly inside of me for years finally cracks as it occurs to me that I have no fucking clue what comes next, and I don’t care.
As much fucking joy as it brings me to blow the brains out of all the worthless pieces of elitist trash I can, burying my dick inside Jersey at every opportunity seems even better.
As I turn onto the property, a wall of trees on either side swallowing up the truck, my phone pings with a notification. One glance at the screen sends my pulse racing.
The exterior door of the cabin has been breached from the inside.
My lips pull into a grin.
Time for a hunt.