Page 60 of The Eleventh Hour

“Thanks for the sandwich and the clothes, Dane,” I say on a whim.

He jerks, spilling coffee over his hand. I listen to him curse with a warm feeling in my chest. If he hated me, he wouldn’t bring me food and clothes. I feel like I’ve won something invaluable.

“Stop gloating and eat,” Rafael purrs into my ear. “It’s too damn sexy and distracting for what we have planned today.”

My face gets hot, so I reach for the sandwich obediently. Dane sits down on the opposite couch and starts eating his sandwich, but he stares at me while he does. I could be eating chalk for all the attention I’m paying the food.

“So, why did you lie to us?”

The three of us fall silent as Dane’s question falls into the air.

“Did you see what happened? When The Black Dahlia Killer was found? The newspapers, the interviews, stories, the whole of everything. Did you see it?”

Dane nods.

“My sisters and brother didn’t have anything to do with it. It was my fuck-up, my mistake. Do you think anyone would have cared? No one listened to me, and I was there. I couldn’t destroy my father’s business and my family’s reputation because I was an idiot.”

“How did you keep it secret?” Dane asks.

“Officially, I’m a Blackwell. My only known relative is my mother, and she died. In the eyes of the law, I’m an orphan. Edward, my dad, is not on my birth certificate. He’s not an emergency contact, and I look different. Really different from the kid that left.”

I take a bite, but the flavour is gone, and it just feels like an oily mess in my mouth. I chew anyway.

“What did you look like before?” Rafael asks.

I consider the question for a long moment because it’s difficult to put my finger on.

“It wasn’t that I look different. It was my attitude and behaviour. I used to wear really big clothes and covered myself up from head to toe. My hair was always pulled back in a tight bun. I used to walk with my chin on my chest and never meet eyes. My self-confidence was in the gutter, friends didn’t exist, I was a chubby little freak. I doubt many people remember me. I was unremarkable.”

“What changed?” Dane asks.

I meet his eyes. “I went and did something for myself. Studied art, sold it, fell in love, had a life where I wasn’t Jackie Blackwell, orphan or Jackie Harmon, secret child. I could be the person I wanted to be. Accepted my skin, grew confident in my own abilities, and then had it all ripped away because I’m a terrible judge of character.”

“Now you’re a pissed off warrior on a dark path of redemption.” Dane nods his head like it’s a really interesting story, stands up, and walks off.

“What?” I finally splutter. “That’s not what…”

“It’s a flattering image, isn’t it?” Rafael grins lazily at me.

“No! Well, yes, but that’s not me.”

Rafael chuckles and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Sweetness, that is you exactly. That’s how people see you.”

“But…what…no!” I splutter.

“Come on, my warrior goddess, let’s go castrate the pastor.”

I blink up at him but allow him to pull me up. Dane snatches up the plate and washes it quickly before collecting his wallet, phone, and keys and striding for the door.

He scans the warehouse behind us, and then turns off the lights as we pass him. He steps past us and scans the outside before crossing to the car.

Hypervigilance. I recognise it. What demon’s haunt Dane?

I slide into the backseat and sit there as Rafael starts the car.

“Where are we going?”

“Community centre.”

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