Page 71 of Fierce Lies
I'd not been able to save my parents. We'd never been close, and they'd been abusive and horrible. I'd cut them out before enlisting, and returned from my first mission to learn they'd died in a car accident. My father had been well over the alcohol limit, and he'd taken my mother's life alongside his with his recklessness.
A part of me knew my desire to help others was because I'd not been able to save them from themselves.
I tucked my dog tags back into my shirt and stretched out on the bed, not bothering to undress. Sleep wouldn't come, not with Elena's tears still audible through the wall. Not with the memory of her face when she got that call still fresh in my mind.
Tonight, she was just a daughter afraid of losing her mother. Of fearing the death of someone she loved. Grieving.
And that, at least, I understood.
22
ELENA
Ivy's soft breathing filled the room, steady and deep.
We'd both showered and changed into some fresh clothes from the bag of clothes that had been brought to me at the hospital. Whoever had been told to get me a change of clothes had thrown armfuls into a duffel bag, enough for us both to have something fresh to wear.
I waited until I was sure Ivy was asleep before slipping off the bed, heart thudding like I was doing something wrong. Maybe I was. My hands trembled slightly as I stood. The anxiety of what I was about to do mixing with a need I couldn't suppress no matter how hard I tried.
The interior door creaked faintly as I opened it, and I held my breath, stepping into Jackson's room like I belonged there. Like I hadn't been lying to everyone since the day I arrived at Donati Enterprises. Like I wasn't torn between running away and running toward him.
He was by the window, half-shadowed, arms resting on his knees. The moonlight caught the edge of his jaw as his headed turned slightly toward me. He didn't look surprised to see me.My chest tightened at the sight of him. How could I still want him so badly when everything was falling apart?
"Do they know?" I asked, my voice low, anxiety crawling up my throat. "Grayson and Meredith. Do they know who I am?"
He didn't look at me. "Roman's told them about an hour ago. They're running a test. From the blood you donated."
My stomach twisted as I bit my lip. "Shouldn't I have consented to that?" The violation stung a little, another reminder of how powerless I was here, even as part of me desperately wanted to belong.
"In this world? Consent's a luxury." He cocked his head at me, watching me, waiting.
Like he knew I'd come to him for more than an answer.
Like he knew I was barely holding it together. Why he was the one who was giving me strength right now was beyond me. And yet, I found comfort with him. A sense of protection and safety despite all of this.
"It's fine. I just... I keep seeing his face. Alfeo." The memory flashed behind my eyes—the sound, the blood, the horrible finality of it. I wrapped my arms around myself, shuddering as I tried to quell the images.
Jackson stood slowly, moving toward me like a silent ghost despite the faint limp. "First time I killed someone," he said, "I thought it was routine. We were clearing a zone. Hostage rescue. I shot first."
He paused before me, his jaw tight. "When we went in, I saw him. The one I shot. Just a kid. Maybe eighteen. Maybe."
I didn't breathe. Couldn't. His voice was too steady, too practiced. Like he'd told himself this story a hundred times just to survive it. I wanted to reach for him, to ease whatever haunted him, even as my own ghosts circled.
"My teammate told me not to think about it. Said it would eat me alive. Said I saved lives. That's what mattered."
He looked at me then, really looked, his hand coming up to catch my elbow. "If you hadn't done what you did, we'd all be dead. I hate that it's on you. But you did the right thing."
I nodded, but it felt like lying. "I know. It just... doesn't feel like it." The guilt sat heavy in my chest, a weight I couldn't dislodge no matter how rational I tried to be. No matter how many times I told myself it was the right thing.
"That's because you're a good person," he said, guiding me to the bed and sitting down beside me on it. His hand found mine, warm and rough.
I leaned into him, needing the weight of him, the steadiness. His lips brushed mine, and I let myself fall into it. God, how I wanted to lose myself in him, to forget everything but this—the heat of his skin, the strength in his hands. I knew I should pull away, that wanting him was dangerous, foolish even. But I couldn't stop the current pulling me toward him.
"What is this?" I whispered against his mouth, fear and desire tangling in my chest. "What are we doing?"
He pulled back just enough to look at me. "I don't know."
His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer. "I should stay away from you," he said, voice rough. "But I've never been good at denying myself what I want."
