The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of laughter and sharp, witty banter. By the time the dessert plates were cleared, I'd decided—I wanted her on my side. Permanently.
I leaned forward, my voice dropping into a more serious tone, though my smirk never faded. "You know, Lorena," I said, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass, "I'd feel a lot better knowing I have you in my corner."
I met her gaze, my expression turning intent. "What do you say to being my lawyer here in Mexico? Name your fee. I'll pay it."
Lorena studied me for a long moment, her dark eyes calculating, weighing the pros and cons in that brilliant mind of hers.
Then, slowly, she nodded. "I think that could be arranged," she said, her voice smooth, professional. "I'll draw up a contract. We can meet tomorrow to finalize the details."
"Perfect," I said, my grin widening.
After dinner, Lorena drove me to Marina's house, the Aston Martin purring through the quiet streets. As I stepped out of the car, I turned to her, my voice sincere for once.
"Thank you," I said, "for everything."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Goodnight, Jack," she said, her voice amused, before pulling away.
I watched as her taillights disappeared down the street, then turned toward Marina's house—only to catch the glint of headlights parked a little too far away, a little too conspicuously. A car I didn't recognize. My instincts flared.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying over the screen as I activated SERA.
"Identify the vehicle parked 50 meters from my location. License plate—" I rattled off the numbers, my voice low.
A beat of silence. Then, SERA's calm, synthetic voice responded. "Vehicle registered to Officer Sarah Diaz."
I smirked, shaking my head. Of course.
Sarah was following me. After my little threat earlier, she was afraid—afraid I'd make good on my promise, afraid I'd go after her brother. The thought was almost amusing. She thought she could intimidate me by tailing me? Cute.
The moment I stepped inside Marina's house, the weight of the night—Sarah's pathetic surveillance, Lorena's sharp wit, the thrill of the game—melted away under the warm glow of the foyer lights. The scent of vanilla and something floral wrapped around me, familiar and comforting. Before I could even take a breath, Marina was there, her arms winding around my waist, her body pressing against mine like she needed to confirm I was real.
"You're back?" she murmured, her voice soft, almost vulnerable, her face buried against my chest.
I pulled her closer, my arms tightening around her, my fingers tangling in her hair. "I'm back," I murmured, my voice rough with something I didn't bother to name. The tension of the night bled out of me, replaced by the warmth of her, the way she fit against me like she was made to be there.
Ema's voice cut through the quiet, gentle but firm. "Grandma is asleep."
I nodded, my grip on Marina loosening just enough to glance over at Ema and Eva, who stood a few steps away, their expressions a mix of relief and curiosity. Ema's arms were crossed, but her eyes were soft, almost knowing. Eva, ever the quiet one, just watched me with that steady gaze of hers, like she could see right through me.
Marina pulled back just enough to look up at me, her fingers brushing against my jaw. "You took longer than I expected," she said, her voice teasing, but her eyes searched mine, like she was trying to read what had happened out there.
I smirked, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "Had some unfinished business," I murmured, my voice dropping into that darker, more intimate tone. "But I'm here now."
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Good," she whispered, her fingers tightening in my shirt. "Because we missed you."
Ema let out a soft, amused snort from where she leaned against the doorway. "Missed you? Please. Eva and I were just placing bets on whether you'd come back in handcuffs or with a new lawyer."
Eva's lips twitched, her voice quiet but dry. "I said lawyer."
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head. "Smart girl," I said, my grin turning wicked as I looked back at Marina. "Though I did bring back a lawyer. Just not the kind you're thinking of."
Marina's eyebrows lifted, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Oh?"
I shrugged, my arm slipping around her waist, pulling her against me again. "Long story," I murmured, my voice rough. "But right now, I'd rather forget about lawyers and cops and whatever else is waiting out there." My fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her face up to mine. "I've got better things to do."
Her breath hitched, her lips parting just slightly, and I didn't wait for an answer. I crashed my mouth against hers, swallowing the soft gasp she let out, my hands gripping her like she was the only thing keeping me grounded. Behind us, I heard Ema let out a dramatic groan.
"Ugh, again?" she muttered, but there was no real annoyance in her voice, just the usual exasperated fondness.
The moment my lips crashed against Marina's again, the rest of the world dissolved into a haze of heat and need. My hands slid down, gripping the generous curve of her ass, pulling her flush against me.
The soft gasp she let out only fueled the fire burning through me. I didn't care about Ema's dramatic groans or Eva's quiet presence in the room. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the way Marina's body melted into mine, the way her breath hitched as my fingers dug into her flesh.
I broke the kiss just long enough to meet her gaze, my voice rough with desire. "You drive me fucking crazy," I growled, my hands already working at the waistband of her pants.
But I didn't bother undressing her—not yet. Instead, I freed my cock, thick and hard, and pressed it against her, rubbing it between her thighs over her clothes. The friction was maddening, the heat of her even through the fabric, making my pulse roar in my ears.
Marina let out a whimper, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed red, but she didn't pull away. Instead, her fingers clenched in my shirt, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "J-Jack," she stuttered, her voice trembling, "Ema and Eva are right there—"
The moment my teeth sank into Marina's earlobe, she let out a sharp, breathy gasp, her body arching against mine like a bowstring pulled taut. "Are you shy, mi amor?" I growled, my voice a dark, velvety murmur against her skin, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks.
The way her thighs clenched around my cock, rubbing against me through the thin fabric of her dress, sent a jolt of pure lust straight to my core. A rough groan tore from my throat as she rolled her hips in slow, deliberate circles, her heat searing through the layers between us.
Marina's breath hitched, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pressed herself harder against me, her voice a sultry whisper. "Do I look shy, mi rey?" she purred, her dark eyes flicking toward Eva, who stood frozen near the doorway, her cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson.
Marina's lips curled into a wicked smile as she shifted just enough that the thick, veiny head of my cock peeked out from between her thighs, already glistening with pre-cum, the tip aching for attention.
"Eva," she murmured, her voice dripping with sinful command, "don't you want to help your master?" Her fingers traced the outline of my cock through the fabric, her touch maddening.
"Look at him..." she breathed, her voice a dark purr, "so hard for us. So needy." She pressed herself against me again, the friction making my hips jerk involuntarily.
"Take that cock in your pretty mouth, mi niña..." Her lips brushed my ear, her breath hot and teasing. "We have to teach your master a lesson..." Her teeth grazed my earlobe, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Otherwise, he'll keep bullying us all."
Eva's breath hitched, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her dress, but the hunger in her eyes betrayed her. "Y-Yes, Mistress," she stammered, her voice trembling as she sank to her knees, her small hands reaching out. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out to wet them as she took the throbbing head of my cock into her mouth.
The heat of her, the wet slide of her tongue—fuck. A guttural groan ripped from my chest as Marina's nails dug into my shoulders, her kisses turning feral, her teeth nipping at my lips, my jaw, her body grinding against me like she wanted to consume me whole.
Ema let out a low, throaty chuckle from where she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her eyes dark with amusement. "Oh, mi Dios," she drawled, her voice husky, "look at you, mi niña..." Her gaze locked onto Eva, who was now eagerly sucking the tip of my cock, her small hands gripping the base, her cheeks hollowed as she took me deeper.
"You're such a good girl for Mistress, aren't you?" Ema's voice was a dark tease, her fingers tracing the neckline of her own dress, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "But do you like it, mi corazón? Do you like the taste of him?"
Eva let out a whimper around my cock, her eyes flicking up to Ema, her cheeks flushed, her lips stretched obscenely around my girth. Marina's breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as she watched, her own arousal dripping down her thighs, her voice a desperate whisper. "That's it, mi niña..." she murmured, her fingers tangling in Eva's hair, guiding her deeper.
"Take him all..." Her hips rolled against me, her own need palpable, her voice a dark promise. "Show him what happens when he pushes us too far."
The sight—Eva on her knees, her lips wrapped around my cock, her small hands struggling to take more of me, while Marina ground against me, her breath hot against my neck—it was too much.
My fingers tightened in Marina's hair, my hips jerking involuntarily, pushing myself deeper into Eva's mouth. The girl gagged slightly, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away, her tongue swirling around the tip as she took me throat-deep.
Ema's voice cut through the haze, her tone a dark, amused purr. "Look at you, mi niña..." she murmured, her fingers sliding down to trace the outline of her own breasts, her eyes locked onto Eva. "Such a good girl, taking his cock like that..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "But do you want more, mi corazón? Do you want to feel him inside you?"
Eva let out a moan, the vibration sending a jolt straight to my balls, her eyes flicking up to Ema, then to me, her lips still stretched around my cock. Marina's breath hitched, her own arousal soaking through her dress, her voice a dark, breathless command. "Answer her, mi niña..." she murmured, her fingers tightening in Eva's hair. "Tell her what you want."
Eva pulled back just enough to gasp, "I—I want him to fuck me, Mistress..." she whispered, her voice trembling with need, her eyes pleading.
A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the house, followed by the shrill, jarring ring of the doorbell.
Marina stiffened, her body tensing against mine, her voice snapping with frustration. "Who the fuck is it at this time?!" she hissed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with fury.
I growled, my cock throbbing painfully in Eva's mouth, but I forced myself to pull back, shoving myself roughly back into my pants.
The bulge was obscene, the fabric straining to contain me, the outline of my cock painfully clear. "Whoever it is..." I snarled, my voice a dark, dangerous promise, "they'd better have a damn good reason for interrupting us."
The sudden knock at the door echoed through the room, sharp and unexpected. Ema and Eva exchanged a glance before hurrying to answer it, their footsteps quick against the wooden floor. Marina and I paused, listening intently as the door creaked open. A rush of cool air swept in, carrying the faint scent of rain from outside.
Before anyone could speak, a figure pushed past Ema and Eva, storming into the room with an urgency that made my muscles tense. I recognized her instantly—Sarah, her uniform slightly disheveled, her expression unreadable. Ema and Eva stumbled back, their faces flushed with surprise.
"Master..." Ema began, her voice trembling slightly as she shot me a worried look. "This policewoman just forced her way in without so much as a word!"
I didn't move; my eyes locked onto Sarah as she stood there, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. The tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating. I crossed my arms, my tone low and measured. "What are you doing here, Officer Sarah? Did you come to arrest me again?"
She didn't flinch. Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with something unspoken. Then, her lips parted, and all she managed to say was, "You..."
The room was thick with tension, the air so heavy it felt like it could snap at any moment. Sarah stood there, her gun trembling in her grip, the muzzle pointed right at my chest. Her eyes were wild, unhinged—the kind of look a person gets when they've crossed a line they can't come back from. The kind of look that said she was one wrong word away from pulling the trigger.
"I am here to keep an eye on you," she hissed, her voice raw with fury, "so you can't harm others." Her finger twitched on the trigger, her knuckles white. "I know what you are, Jack. I know what you've done. And I'm not letting you get away with it."
I raised my hands slowly, my voice calm, dangerously smooth. "Officer Sarah," I said, my tone laced with false concern, "do you even know what you're doing?" I tilted my head, my gaze locking onto hers.
"This is called intrusion. You can't just barge into a private residence, threaten people at gunpoint, and call it justice. That's not how the law works—unless you've decided to become the criminal instead."
Sarah's face twisted, her grip on the gun tightening. "I don't care," she snarled, her voice shaking with rage.
"I know what you are. I know what you've done. And I'm not letting you hurt anyone else." Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her eyes darting between Marina and me. "You threatened me with my brother. You think that's funny? You think I won't do anything to stop you?"
Marina's voice cut through the tension, sharp with shock. "Officer Sarah, what the fuck are you doing?!" she demanded, her eyes wide, "Are you out of your mind?!"
Ema and Eva froze, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. "Sarah—" Ema started, her voice low, dangerous, but Sarah cut her off with a snarl.
"Don't move," she warned, her gun swinging between us, her finger twitching on the trigger. "Or I will shoot. I swear to God, I will put a bullet in him right here."
I assessed the situation in an instant. Sarah was unstable—her grip shaky, her breathing erratic, her eyes darting between us like she was one wrong move away from pulling the trigger. And while I knew Marina was protected by the Shadow Guard, Ema and Eva weren't. I couldn't risk it.
So I played along.
I raised my hands higher, my voice deliberately panicked, my tone laced with false urgency. "Officer Sarah, please—put the gun down," I said, my voice trembling just enough to sell it. "This isn't you. You're better than this. You're smart—you don't want to throw your career away over a misunderstanding."
Sarah didn't lower the gun. "Shut up," she snapped, her voice raw, "I know what you are. I know what you've done. And I'm not letting you walk away from this." She took a step closer, her gun still steady, her eyes burning with fury.
"You think you can threaten me? You think you can toy with me and get away with it?" Her breath hitched, her voice dropping into a dark, venomous whisper. "I will end you, Jack. I will make sure you rot in a cell for the rest of your pathetic life."
I took a slow, deliberate breath. "Fine," I said, my voice steady, "but they have nothing to do with this." I gestured toward Marina, Ema, and Eva, my expression pleading.
"Please... let Marina and the maids leave. They're innocent. They don't deserve to be caught in the crossfire of whatever vendetta you've got against me."
Sarah hesitated, her eyes flicking to Marina before locking back onto me. "Don't call anyone," she warned, her voice a dark promise, "or he dies." She swallowed hard, her grip on the gun tightening. "I mean it, Jack. One wrong move, and I will pull this trigger."
Marina's jaw clenched, but she nodded, her voice tight. "Ema. Eva. Inside."
Ema shot me one last, worried glance before ushering Eva toward the bedroom, her arm wrapped protectively around the younger woman's shoulders. "It's okay, mi niña," she murmured, her voice low, "we'll be fine." The door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone with Sarah—and her gun.
She didn't lower it. Instead, she took a step back, her free hand gesturing toward the sofa. "Sit," she ordered, her voice sharp, "and don't try anything."
I obeyed, sinking onto the couch, my hands resting on my knees, my posture non-threatening—for now. Sarah kept the gun trained on me as she moved to the opposite side, sitting down with the weapon still steady in her grip.
For a long moment, she just stared at me, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Then, her lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Where's that arrogant Mr. Jack now?" she asked, her voice dripping with venom.
"The one who threatened me? The one who laughed in my face like he owned the world?" She leaned forward slightly, her eyes burning with fury. "You're nothing without your money and your connections, Jack. Just a murderer who's about to get what he deserves."
I met her gaze, my expression sobering. "He's right here," I said, my voice low, "but he's smart enough to know when to play along."
Sarah's finger tightened on the trigger. "You think this is a game?" she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "You think I won't pull this trigger?" She took a sharp breath, her voice dropping into a dark, deadly whisper. "I will shoot you, Jack. I will watch you bleed on this floor if it means stopping you."
I didn't flinch. "Then why haven't you?" I asked, my voice deadly calm, "If you're so sure I'm a monster, why are you hesitating?"
Sarah's grip on the gun trembled, her knuckles white, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "I'm not hesitating," she hissed, her voice raw with fury. "I'm waiting. Waiting for you to slip up. Waiting for you to prove what I already know."
I leaned back on the sofa, my smirk deepening as I studied her—the way her chest heaved, the way her eyes burned with a mix of hatred and something darker, something desperate. She was beautiful like this—unhinged, dangerous, the kind of woman who didn't know when to back down. And I loved it.
"And what if I don't?" I drawled, my voice smooth, taunting.
Her eyes flashed, her voice a dark, venomous promise. "Then I'll make you."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "If this is your plan," I said, my voice dripping with amusement, "I have to say, Officer Sarah... you're quite dumb."
Her face twisted, her grip on the gun tightening. "What?"
I leaned forward slightly, my grin turning feral. "Even if you actually arrest me," I said, my voice low, "even if you prove I killed all those people—" I shrugged, my smirk never wavering. "Do you really think I'd stay in jail?" I let out a dark, amused laugh. "I'd be out instantly."
Sarah's breath hitched, her voice trembling with rage. "You're delusional—"
"No," I cut her off, my voice smooth, "I'm realistic." I leaned back again, my fingers steepling. "You think there's anyone in this world who doesn't love free money?" I chuckled, my grin widening.
"I'd bribe the judges. The prosecutors. The guards." My voice dropped into a darker, more dangerous tone. "And if money doesn't work?" I paused, letting the silence hang between us. "There's always something more valuable."
Sarah's eyes narrowed, her voice a snarl. "Not everyone is corrupt like you think."
I tilted my head, my smirk turning knowing. "Oh, I know not everyone is corrupt," I said, my voice a dark purr. "But there's always something people value more than money." I let the pause stretch, watching as her fury built, her fingers twitching on the trigger. "Do you know what that is, Officer Sarah?"
She didn't answer, but I could see it—the way her breath hitched, the way her eyes burned.
"It's life," I murmured, my voice dropping into something cold, calculating. "Everyone's afraid of death." I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto hers. "And even if they're not afraid for themselves..." My smirk turned wicked. "They're afraid of their family dying before them."
Sarah's face paled, her voice a trembling snarl. "You monster—"
I chuckled, my voice low, taunting. "So tell me, Officer Sarah..." I drawled, "Can you really put a man like me behind bars?" My meaning was clear—if she found her evidence, if she somehow managed to convict me, I'd either buy my way out... or burn my way out.
"You think you're untouchable?" she spat, her voice shaking with rage.
I smirked, my voice a dark, velvety purr. "I know I am." I leaned back, my gaze never leaving hers. "You see, Sarah, the world doesn't work the way you think it does. Laws? Rules? They're suggestions for people like me."
I chuckled, my grin widening. "You can arrest me. You can charge me. You can even convict me." I paused, letting the words sink in. "But keeping me in a cell? That's where your fantasy ends."
Her breath came faster, her grip on the gun tightening. "You're bluffing—"
"Am I?" I interrupted, my voice smooth, mocking. "Let's say you do manage to put me behind bars. What then?" I leaned forward, my eyes dark with promise.
"You think those walls can hold me? You think those guards won't look the other way when the right amount of money changes hands?" I let out a low, amused laugh. "Or when their families are suddenly in danger?"
Sarah's face twisted, her voice a trembling snarl. "You're sick—"
I shrugged, my smirk never wavering. "I'm practical." I leaned back, my voice dropping into a darker, more dangerous tone. "You see, Sarah, the world bends for men like me. And if it doesn't?" I paused, my grin turning feral. "I break it until it does."
She was shaking now, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, her finger twitching on the trigger. "You can't—"
"I can," I cut her off, my voice a dark, velvety promise. "And I will." I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto hers.
"So go ahead, Officer Sarah. Arrest me. Charge me. Convict me." My smirk turned wicked. "But remember—when I walk out of that jail, you will be the one looking over your shoulder."
Her hands shaking, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, Sarah snapped.
BANG.
The gunshot whizzed past my ear, the bullet embedding itself in the wall behind me. I didn't flinch. I didn't move.
I just smiled.
And then, my voice was a dark, velvety purr—
"Missed."
Sarah's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as she pressed the cold metal of her gun harder against my temple, her finger trembling on the trigger. The air between us was thick with tension, the scent of gunpowder still lingering from the shot she'd just fired.
"What happens once I shoot you?" she hissed, her voice raw with fury, her dark eyes burning into mine like she wanted to burn me alive. "It will all be over."
I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. Instead, I chuckled, low and dark, my voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Yeah," I murmured, my smirk never wavering, "but you'll also be arrested for killing an innocent civilian."
My gaze locked onto hers, unyielding. "And trust me, Officer Sarah, you don't want to spend the rest of your life in a cell. Not when you could be out here, fighting for your version of justice."
She didn't back down. "I'm willing to die," she spat, her voice shaking with conviction, her knuckles white around the grip of her gun. "If it means a monster like you doesn't walk free."
I tilted my head slightly, my voice dropping into something almost gentle, almost respectful. "Okay," I said, my tone sincere for once. "Good. I appreciate your character, Officer Sarah. I really do."
My smirk returned, but it was different now—softer, almost knowing. "But let me ask you something..." I drawled, my fingers twitching slightly, "Are you doing this for justice..."
My eyes narrowed, my voice dropping into a darker, more probing tone. "Or are you just afraid I'll target your brother?"
Sarah's face flushed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "It has nothing to do with my brother."
I chuckled, my grin turning wicked, my voice a dark, velvety taunt. "We both know that's not true."
She didn't deny it. She couldn't. The way her breath hitched, the way her fingers twitched on the trigger—she knew I was right.
I leaned in just slightly, my voice dropping into a darker, more intimate tone. "But let's just assume, for a moment, that you're doing this for justice." I paused, my gaze locking onto hers, unyielding.
"Then where was this justice when Tony was harassing Marina and her grandmother?" My voice turned cold, almost accusing.
"Where were you when he was threatening an innocent woman, ruining her life, her livelihood? Where was your moral compass when she was begging for help?"
Sarah stammered, her voice breaking, her grip on the gun faltering just slightly. "I—I wanted to help... but—"
"But what?" I cut in, my voice smooth, mocking, but with an edge of something darker. "Your superiors didn't agree?" I let out a dark, amused laugh, my smirk turning feral.
"Because they were all working on Tony's paycheck, weren't they?" My voice dropped into a darker, more dangerous tone. "Because the system you believe in so much was rotten to the core. And you knew it."
Sarah's breath hitched, her grip on the gun faltering, her eyes flicking away for just a second before locking back onto mine.
I exhaled slowly, my voice softening, almost gentle. "Sarah..." I murmured, my fingers brushing against the barrel of her gun, gently pushing it away from my head. She didn't resist.
"I admire you. Sincerely." My voice was low, almost intimate, my gaze never leaving hers. "So I'll tell you the truth."
She was still tense in my arms, struggling slightly, but I held her tightly, my voice a dark, velvety whisper. "What truth?" she demanded, her voice trembling, her body rigid with a mix of fury and something else—fear, maybe, or the dawning realization that she was in way over her head.
"The truth about that day," I said, my voice dropping into something darker, more haunted. "When I first came to meet Marina..." My grip on her tightened slightly, my voice rough with memory, my breath warm against her ear. "Tony was forcing her to submit to him. To be his girlfriend."
My jaw clenched, the muscle in my cheek twitching. "He threatened her grandmother, who was sick and needed treatment. Marina only had her store, but Tony's men harassed her customers. No one dared to buy from her. And when a tourist—just some innocent man—asked her out?" My voice turned cold, almost lifeless.
"They killed him. Right outside her shop. Left his body there like a warning." I exhaled sharply, my breath hot against her skin. "Do you know how hard it was for her to survive after that? How alone she was?"
Sarah's breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her body tensing in my arms, her fingers digging into my shirt.
"I was so angry when I found out," I continued, my voice a dark growl, my grip on her tightening just enough to make her feel it.
"And the day I met her in the store... Tony's men came. They saw me. So I chopped them up." My voice was flat, almost clinical.
"With my sword. Right there in the street. No hesitation. No remorse."
Sarah's eyes widened, her breath coming faster, her body trembling against mine.
"Later, when Tony found out..." I murmured, my voice dropping into something dangerous, almost hypnotic.
"He came for revenge. Came to Marina's house. To kill me. To take her." My grip on Sarah tightened, my voice a dark whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Do you know what happened to Tony in the end?"
She didn't answer, but I could feel her pulse racing, her breath shallow and quick.
"He came to kill me," I said, my voice cold, almost detached. "So I had him chopped into pieces." My voice was flat, my tone leaving no room for doubt.
"And fed to dogs." I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, my eyes dark with something primitive, something unstoppable. "Don't take that as a metaphor, Sarah. It's reality."
Sarah's breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her body trembling in my arms, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and something else—fascination, maybe, or the sickening realization that she was standing in the same room as a man who had done things she couldn't even comprehend.
"So you're telling me you're the devil?" she whispered, her voice shaking, her body rigid against mine.
I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. "I'm the devil," I murmured, my voice a dark promise, my fingers brushing her cheek, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet my gaze. "To those who come in my way."
I pulled back slightly, my voice softening, almost gentle. "Just think about it, Sarah..." I murmured, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw, my voice a dark, velvety whisper.
"If I really wanted to harm your brother..." My voice was gentle, almost amused, but with an edge of something darker, something final.
"I would've already done it." I chuckled, low and dark, my smirk returning. "I was just teasing you." My fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Okay?"
Sarah's breath hitched, her body still tense in my arms, but something in her eyes shifted—something broke. The gun in her hand felt heavier now, her finger no longer twitching on the trigger. She wasn't fighting me anymore. She was listening. And for the first time, she was understanding—not just the words, but the weight behind them.
I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, my voice dropping into something quieter, more intimate. "Do you really think I did something wrong?"
Sarah's lips pressed into a thin line, her voice trembling but firm. "But you can't take the law into your own hands," she said, her voice raw with conflict. "No matter what, you're still a criminal."
I didn't deny it. Instead, I let my smirk soften, my voice taking on a tone of false righteousness, my fingers still brushing her cheek. "You're right," I murmured, "I am a criminal." My voice dropped, my gaze locking onto hers.
"But if given the choice... I'd kill them all again." I let the words sink in, my voice rough with pretended conviction.
"If that means Marina and her grandmother can live happily..." My fingers tightened slightly on her arm, my voice a dark, velvety whisper.
"If that means innocent people don't have to live in fear..." I paused, letting the weight of my words hang between us. "Then I'd do it without hesitation."
Sarah's breath trembled, her eyes searching mine, her grip on the gun loosening just slightly.
"And about your brother..." I continued, my voice shifting into something softer, almost sympathetic. "Do you know it wasn't me who approached Carolina?" My fingers traced slow circles on her arm, my voice low, persuasive.
"It was her." I let the words sink in, watching as her expression flickered—confusion, doubt. "Your brother cheated on her," I murmured, my voice a dark, velvety taunt. "And she came to me."
Sarah's face paled, her voice a trembling whisper. "That's not—"
"It is," I cut her off, my voice firm but gentle, "Carolina was hurt. She was alone. And your brother left her with nothing." My fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. "I didn't steal her, Sarah. I gave her what she needed when no one else would."
Sarah's breath hitched, her eyes wide, her voice barely a whisper. "You're lying."
Sarah's breath hitched as I leaned in, my voice a dark, velvety purr, my fingers still tracing slow circles on her arm. "Am I?" I murmured, my smirk deepening as I watched the conflict play out in her eyes.
"Or are you just afraid to admit the truth?" My grip on her tightened just slightly, my voice dropping into something final, something unshakable.
"That sometimes, the real monsters aren't the ones who fight back..." My lips brushed the shell of her ear, my voice a dark whisper. "But the ones who let it happen."
She didn't pull away. She didn't deny it. Instead, her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her fingers trembling around the gun that now felt like a dead weight in her hand.
I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, my voice shifting into something softer, almost challenging. "Do you want to talk to Carolina?" I asked, my smirk turning knowing. "Let me call her. You can ask her yourself."
Before she could protest, I reached for my phone, my fingers moving swiftly over the screen. The videocall connected almost instantly, and Carolina's face filled the screen, her voice warm and sleepy. "Husband..." she purred, her voice thick with amusement, "did you miss me?"
She was lying on the bed, the late-night glow of the lamp casting soft shadows over her skin. The thin fabric of her nightie clung to her curves, the deep cleavage on full display, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as she saw me. "Or did you just want to show off again?"
I chuckled, my voice smooth, "Carolina, your ex-sister-in-law wants to talk to you."
I turned the phone toward Sarah, and the moment Carolina saw her, her expression shifted from amusement to surprise. "Sarah?" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with recognition.
Sarah's fingers tightened around the phone as she took it from my hand, her voice trembling but firm. "Carolina... are you okay?" she demanded, her eyes searching the screen. "Did Jack kidnap you?"
Carolina let out a low, amused laugh, shaking her head as she propped herself up on one elbow, the movement making the fabric of her nightie shift, revealing even more of her generous curves. "What are you talking about, Sarah?" she said, her voice dripping with amusement.
"I'm very happy with Jack." She leaned in slightly, her expression turning serious. "He's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Sarah's face paled, her voice shaking. "He—he's a murderer, Carolina. Do you know that?"
Carolina's eyes flashed, her voice turning sharp, almost angry. "That's enough, Officer Sarah," she snapped, her fingers tightening around the phone. "I know Jack." Her voice dropped into something final, something unshakable.
"Even if he was a murderer..." she paused, her gaze locking onto Sarah's through the screen, "or even a terrorist..." Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "It wouldn't change anything."
Sarah's breath hitched, her fingers trembling around the phone.
Carolina leaned in closer, her lips parting slightly as her voice dropped into a darker, more intimate tone, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of her nightie.
"And I suggest, Sarah..." she murmured, her eyes glinting with something knowing, something dangerous, "that if you really want to keep your brother safe..." Her lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk, her gaze raking over Sarah in a way that made the air between them crackle. "Why not become Jack's woman?"
Sarah's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the phone, her face flushing a deep, embarrassed red.
Carolina's voice turned softer, more persuasive, her tone dripping with sinful promise. "You're beautiful, mi cielo," she purred, her gaze lingering on Sarah's lips before flicking back to her eyes.
"And I must say..." Her smirk deepened, her voice dropping into a dark, velvety whisper. "Jack likes you."
Sarah's breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her mind racing, her grip on the phone faltering.
Carolina leaned in even closer, her voice a dark, velvety taunt. "And aren't you afraid he'll target your brother?" she murmured, her fingers tracing the neckline of her nightie, her gaze intense. "Why not secure your place at his side instead?" Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.
"Become his woman, Sarah. Let him protect you like family." Her voice dropped into something softer, more intimate.
"You should've seen Marina and her grandmother..." Her eyes gleamed with something warm, almost fond.
"The way he takes care of them. The way he cherishes them." Her smirk turned wicked. "Tell me, mi amor..." Her voice was a dark whisper. "Aren't you tempted?"
Sarah's face burned, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as she stared at the screen, her mind racing, her grip on the phone faltering.
Carolina's smirk deepened, her voice a dark, velvety taunt. "Think about it, mi cielo..." she murmured, her gaze lingering on Sarah's flushed face.
"Power. Protection. Pleasure." Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "All yours... if you just let go of that pride of yours."
The line went dead, leaving Sarah standing there, the phone still clutched in her trembling fingers, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The air between us was electric, thick with something unspoken—something dangerous.
I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers as I took the phone from her hand, my voice a dark, velvety purr. "Still think I'm the monster, Sarah?" I murmured, my gaze locking onto hers, my smirk deepening as I watched the conflict play out in her eyes. "Or are you starting to understand?"
My fingers traced slow circles on the back of her hand, my voice dropping into something intimate, something irresistible. "Carolina's right, you know..." I murmured, my gaze raking over her, slow and deliberate.
Sarah's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, her body trembling as my fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on the back of her hand. My voice was a dark whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
"I do reward the women who choose me," I murmured, my voice dripping with sinful promise.
"And you, Sarah..." My fingers tightened slightly around hers, my voice dropping into something final, something irresistible. "You'd be very rewarded indeed."
Her face flushed a deep, furious red, her voice trembling with rage as she yanked her hand away from mine. "Don't even think about it," she spat, her voice raw with defiance.
"That's never gonna happen." Her eyes burned into mine, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "I'll die before I let that happen."
Sarah took a step back, her fingers finally slipping the gun into its holster with a sharp click. She gave me one last, deep look—her dark eyes burning with a mix of fury and something else, something raw—before exhaling sharply.
"I know you want to distract me," she said, her voice low, "but I'm telling you, Jack..." Her jaw clenched, her voice trembling with conviction.
"If anything happens to my brother, I will kill you myself." Her fingers twitched at her side, her gaze never leaving mine.
"And I know—no matter how careful you are—there's always some evidence. Once I find it..." Her voice dropped into a dark, deadly promise. "I will arrest you. And I will put you behind bars for good."
Sarah stood there for a moment, her chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths, her dark eyes burning into mine with a mix of fury and something else—something raw, something unsettled.
She didn't say another word. Just turned on her heel, her boots crunching against the gravel as she stalked toward her car.
I followed her, my hands tucked into my pockets, my stride slow, deliberate. The night was quiet, the distant hum of the city a muted backdrop to the tension still crackling between us.
She reached her car, her fingers gripping the door handle, but she didn't open it yet. Not immediately. Instead, she paused, her back stiff, her shoulders tense, as if she were steeling herself for something.
I stopped just behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—something sharp and citrusy, like gunpowder and adrenaline. "Goodbye, Officer Sarah," I murmured, my voice low, almost gentle. "Take care."
She didn't turn around. Didn't look at me. Just yanked the car door open with a sharp, angry motion and slid inside. The engine roared to life with a growl, and she peeled away, tires spitting gravel as she vanished into the night, her taillights fading into the darkness.
-x-X-x-
I stood there for a moment, watching the road where her car had been, the silence of the night suddenly broken by the distant hum of the city.
Then—
A screech of tires.
A crash—metal twisting, glass shattering—so violent it made my blood run cold.
I whipped around just in time to see it—Sarah's car was slammed into by a speeding truck, the impact sending her vehicle spinning like a toy before it slammed into a lamppost with a sickening crunch.
The truck didn't even brake—just reversed, tires screeching against the asphalt, before it fled into the night, leaving behind nothing but the wreckage and the acrid scent of burning rubber.
"FUCK!" The word tore from my throat, raw and guttural, as I sprinted toward the mangled car.
People from the house were already pouring out, their voices rising in panic. "It's gonna explode!" someone shouted, their phone already raised, recording, streaming—capturing every second of the chaos.
"CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I roared at Marina, who was running toward me, her face pale with shock.
I reached the car, the door crushed inward, smoke already curling from the hood. The scent of gasoline was overpowering, thick and cloying, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Sarah was slumped over the wheel, her forehead bleeding, her breath shallow and uneven.
"Sarah!" My fingers clawed at the jammed door, my muscles straining—not with my full strength, not with eyes on me—but enough to wrench it open with a groan of twisted metal.
The second the door gave way, the scent of gasoline intensified, the air inside the car thick with the promise of fire.
I didn't hesitate.
I reached in, my fingers fumbling with the seatbelt before I yanked her free, pulling her limp body against my chest. Her head lolled back, blood smeared across her temple, her pulse weak beneath my fingers—
"FIRE!" A scream tore through the crowd.
I saw it—the flames licking at the hood, the gasoline pooling beneath the car, the heat already radiating in waves.
I moved.
The explosion erupted with a deafening BOOM, a monstrous wave of heat and force slamming into my back like a freight train.
The shockwave ripped through the air, a wall of searing heat and debris hurtling outward—glass shattering, metal twisting, the night itself screaming in protest.
I could have stood there. Could have braced myself and not moved an inch.
But the crowd was watching. Phones were raised, cameras rolling, eyes wide with horror and fascination.
So I let it happen.
The blast slammed into me, and I lunged forward—dramatically—my body hurled two meters through the air as if the force had overpowered me.
But even mid-air, I was in control. I twisted, my arms locked around Sarah, my body shielding hers as we crashed toward the ground.
I turned us in the air, my back taking the brunt of the impact as we slammed into the pavement.
The breath whooshed out of my lungs on purpose, my body sprawled across the concrete, and Sarah cradled against my chest. The heat of the flames licked at my skin, the scent of smoke and burning metal choking the air, but I didn't move—not yet.
The crowd was screaming, phones still recording, their voices a chaotic mix of panic and awe.
"JACK!" Marina's voice cut through the noise, her footsteps pounding toward me.
I groaned—dramatically—as if the fall had winded me, my muscles tensing as I forced myself to roll onto my side, Sarah still clutched tightly in my arms. Her body was limp, her breath shallow, but she was alive. And that was all that mattered.
The wail of the ambulance sirens sliced through the night like a blade, growing louder, more insistent.
But I didn't wait. Every second counted. My body screamed in protest—muscles stiff, skin prickling with the ghost of burns—but I ignored it. Pain was temporary. Sarah's life wasn't.
I pushed myself up from the wreckage, my breath ragged, and scooped her into my arms. She was so light, too light, her body limp against mine.
The weight of her was a paradox—both a burden and something I'd carry forever if I had to. The acrid stench of smoke and gasoline filled my lungs as I staggered toward the flashing red and blue lights of the paramedics, their silhouettes sharp against the chaos.
All I could focus on was Sarah—the way her head lolled against my shoulder, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the weak, erratic flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers. It was there, but barely. Like a candle about to gutter out.
Marina appeared at my side, her face streaked with soot and tears. Her hands trembled as she helped me lower Sarah onto the stretcher the paramedics had already unfurled.
"She'll be okay," I growled, the words ripped from my throat. My jaw ached from clenching it so hard, the muscles in my neck corded with tension as the paramedics took over. Their voices were sharp, clinical, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
I followed Sarah into the ambulance, Marina close behind. The vehicle lurched into motion, the siren's howl now a constant, grating scream. I didn't spare a thought for Sarah's injuries—not really.
I had ways to heal her. My blood, thick with the Healer's gift, could knit her bones and soothe her bruises in moments. Or, if I chose, I could offer her something more permanent. Immortality. Strength. A life beyond the fragility of humanity.
But that wasn't a decision to make in the back of an ambulance, with the scent of antiseptic and fear thick in the air.
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and hurried footsteps. Doctors and nurses moved around us like ghosts, their voices a murmur of medical jargon.
Tests followed—X-rays, scans, the cold press of stethoscopes against Sarah's skin. The doctor's verdict, when it came, was almost laughable: a fractured wrist, a minor concussion, superficial scrapes along her legs.
No internal bleeding. They wrapped her wrist in plaster, bandaged the gash on her forehead, and wheeled her into the best private ward the hospital had to offer.
Then, we waited.
Marina collapsed onto the narrow side bed, her body curling in on itself as exhaustion claimed her. Her breathing slowed, her features softened, and within minutes, she was asleep.
I envied her that escape. I stayed awake, my gaze locked on Sarah's still form. The machines beside her beeped softly, a rhythmic reminder that she was still here. Still alive.
But something wasn't right.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers moving with deliberate precision as I opened SERA. The screen illuminated my face in a cold, blue glow, casting sharp shadows as I scrolled through the details of Sarah's accident. The information unfolded like a crime scene report, each line a fresh wound.
Days ago, Sarah had taken down Edgar Ramírez, a mid-level dealer in Javier Bardem's empire. Javier wasn't just a kingpin—he was a god in these streets, his influence stretching from the bloodstained alleys of this city to the penthouses of America. A billion-dollar drug lord didn't forgive interference. He erased it.
Edgar's arrest had cost Javier millions in seized product. But the drugs were already gone, stolen back from police evidence by Officer Diaz, a cop whose badge was as rotten as his soul.
Javier's message was clear: No one touched his empire and walked away. He'd already proven it by killing Sarah's brother, Peter, in the same brutal fashion—an "accident" that wasn't. A warning. A signature.
I closed the file, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. My fingers twitched, itching to act, to hunt, to paint the streets red with Javier's blood. But I forced myself to stillness, my gaze drifting back to Sarah.
How would she react when she woke? When she learned this wasn't just an accident, but a declaration of war?
The night dragged on, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of a nurse checking Sarah's vitals, the soft hum of machines, and the distant wail of another ambulance. I sat there, watching, waiting, the weight of my power pressing against my ribs like a caged beast.
Morning light crept through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across Sarah's face. A nurse suggested soup, fruit, and something gentle for when she woke. Marina
, rubbing sleep from her eyes, slipped out to fetch it, leaving me alone with Sarah.
I studied her—the dark smudges beneath her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly with each breath, as if she were whispering secrets in her sleep. My gaze drifted lower.
The hospital gown they'd dressed her in was flimsy, tied at the front with a single row of buttons. But the fabric was cheap, the buttons misaligned. And there, just beneath the gap where the second button should have been, was the soft swell of her breast. The gown had shifted in her sleep, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the delicate curve of her skin, the faintest shadow of her areola.
And then—there it was.
A peek of brown, the tight, perfect bud of her nipple, just visible beneath the fabric. My breath hitched. The sight was innocent, accidental, but it sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. I should have looked away. I should have adjusted the gown, spared her the embarrassment of waking exposed.
But I didn't.
Instead, I found myself leaning closer, my pulse quickening. The air between us felt charged, electric. I could almost taste the warmth of her skin, imagine the way she'd gasp if I reached out, if I let my fingers trace the line of her collarbone, dip lower—
A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.
I jerked back, my heart hammering against my ribs. The nurse entered, her expression professional, oblivious to the storm inside me. "She's stirring," she said softly, her gaze flicking to Sarah. "She'll wake soon."
I exhaled, running a hand over my face. Now wasn't the time.
Sarah's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze unfocused, dazed. "Where... am I?" Her voice was rough, like gravel underfoot.
I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "You're in the hospital. You were in an accident."
She blinked, her eyes slowly focusing on me. "Jack...?" Confusion clouded her face, but then her expression sharpened. "What the hell happened?" She tried to lift her hands, but the plaster casts restricted her movement. Frustration flashed across her face. "Why can't I move my arms?"
"They're just fractures," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Minor injuries. You'll heal fast."
She swallowed, her throat working as she processed my words. Then her eyes locked onto mine, sharp and demanding. "My phone. I need my phone. Now."
I hesitated. "It was in your car."
Her breath hitched. "Then go get it."
"Sarah..." I exhaled slowly. "Your car caught fire. There was an explosion."
She went still. For a long moment, she just stared at me, her face pale. Then, her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What did you just say?"
"You were hit by a truck. It didn't stop. Your car... it went up in flames."
She closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. When she opened them again, they burned with fury. "Give. Me. Your. Phone."
I handed it to her without argument. She fumbled with the screen, her fingers clumsy with the casts. "Dial for me," she snapped. "I can't—" She cut herself off, frustration twisting her features.
She rattled off a number, and I dialed, putting it on speaker. The line picked up after two rings. "Hello? Who is this?" A man's voice, gruff and authoritative.
"Sir, it's Officer Sarah." Her voice was tight, but steady.
"Sarah!" The man's tone shifted instantly, concern thickening his words. "I heard about your accident. Damn it, kid, you had us all worried. How are you holding up?"
"I've been better," she said dryly. "Sir, I need to know— if the culprit has been caught?"
A pause. Then, carefully: "We're still working on it. You focus on healing. We'll handle the rest."
Sarah's jaw tightened. "Sir, I need to—"
"That's an order, Officer," he cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. "Rest. Heal. We'll brief you when you're back on your feet."
She exhaled sharply, her fingers curling into fists against the bedsheet. "Yes, Sir."
I ended the call, watching her. She was trembling—not from fear, but from barely leashed rage.
The door swung open. Marina stood there, her arms full of bags—soup, fruit, the scent of fresh oranges filling the room. Her face lit up when she saw Sarah awake. "Officer Sarah! You're up!" She hurried to the bedside, setting the bags down. "I'll go get the doctors!"
Marina rushed out, returning moments later with a team of doctors. They checked Sarah's vitals, examined her casts, and after a few minutes, the lead doctor nodded. "She's stable. You can take her home. Just make sure she takes her medication, rests, and comes back in a week."
Sarah didn't acknowledge them. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, her mind clearly elsewhere.
I knew Sarah was a loner. She lived alone, kept to herself, and had no one to lean on. The thought of leaving her to navigate this alone gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside for now. She needed space, but she also needed care—whether she'd admit it or not.
Sarah's gaze flickered toward Marina, who was carefully pouring soup into a bowl, the steam rising in delicate curls. Sarah's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she spoke, her voice barely above a murmur.
"Marina... I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to—" She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. "If you want to file a complaint against me, I understand."
Marina paused, the ladle hovering over the bowl. She shook her head, her expression softening. "Officer Sarah, I don't blame you." She set the bowl down and met Sarah's gaze.
"I know my husband can be... difficult. He has a habit of teasing people, but trust me, he'd never hurt you. He was just being his usual idiot self."
Sarah's shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in her body easing just a fraction. "I know," she murmured, but the guilt still lingered in her eyes.
I pulled out one of my cards and handed it to Marina. "Take this. Settle the hospital bill with it." My voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Then, I turned back to Sarah, sliding an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up. She stiffened for a moment before relaxing into my support, her body tense with reluctance.
I reached for the bowl of soup, but Sarah's voice stopped me. "I can do it myself."
I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Oh? Tell me how."
Sarah's cheeks burned crimson as she realized the absurdity of her statement. Her hands were still wrapped in plaster, her arms immobilized. "I..." She trailed off, frustration flashing across her face.
I chuckled softly. "Okay, don't say anything." I dipped the spoon into the soup and brought it to her lips. "Open up."
She hesitated for a second before parting her lips, sipping the warm broth. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as she swallowed, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. "Let me call my brother," she said after a moment, her voice tinged with urgency. "He can pick me up."
Sarah's eyes met mine, but her voice faltered, her words catching in her throat. There was something unspoken hanging between us, a tension I couldn't ignore. I knew what she was trying to say—she didn't want me to meet her brother.
Maybe she feared how he'd react, or perhaps she was protecting me from something she couldn't bring herself to explain. But what she didn't realize was that it was already too late. Her brother was gone, taken from this world in a way she hadn't yet discovered.
I set the bowl down on the bedside table and met her gaze. "First, finish the soup. Then you can call him."
Sarah's eyes flickered with something unreadable—annoyance, maybe, or embarrassment. "I know what you're thinking," she muttered, her voice dropping. "You're wondering why I don't want you meeting him."
I didn't respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between us. Then, quietly, I said, "I know. And I'll avoid him if that's what you want. I'm not here to make things harder for you."
She took another sip of soup, her gaze fixed on the bowl as if it held all the answers. The door creaked open, and Marina stepped back into the room.
Sarah's body tensed, her cheeks flushing again, as if she'd been caught doing something forbidden. "I—don't get me wrong, Marina," she stammered. "He was just... helping me. Yeah. Helping me."
Marina's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "Officer Sarah, don't worry. I know." She winked, her tone light, but there was a warmth in her eyes that made Sarah's embarrassment deepen.
Sarah ducked her head, her face burning with a mix of shame and something else—something raw and almost vulnerable. "Yeah," she mumbled, her voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the hum of the hospital machines.
I picked up the spoon again, dipping it into the soup and bringing it to her lips. The room was wrapped in silence, broken only by the soft clink of the spoon against the bowl and the distant, muffled sounds of the hospital—nurses' footsteps, the beep of monitors, the occasional murmur of voices down the hall. Sarah's lashes fluttered as she took another sip, her gaze flickering away from mine, as if she couldn't bear to meet my eyes for too long.
After a few more spoonfuls, I set the bowl aside and turned to Marina. "Can you help her change?" I asked, my voice low but clear. "I'll step out."
Marina nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. "Of course. I've got her."
I slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me, but not all the way. The gap was just wide enough for the murmur of their voices to reach me.
Inside the room, Marina immediately set to work, her tone light and teasing. "Alright, Officer Sarah, let's get you out of this gown. You can't exactly go home in this, can you?" She laughed softly, the sound warm and easy.
Sarah shifted awkwardly on the bed, her cheeks still flushed. "Marina, I can manage—"
"Oh, please," Marina interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "You can barely move your arms, and I'm not about to let you struggle through this alone. Now, lift your hips a little—there you go."
Sarah let out a frustrated sigh but complied, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "This is so humiliating."
Marina clucked her tongue. "Humiliating? Officer, you just survived a car explosion. A little help getting dressed is nothing compared to that." She paused, then added with a grin, "Besides, it's not like you've got anything I haven't seen before."
Sarah's eyes widened. "Marina!"
Marina laughed, unfazed. "What? It's true! And honestly, Officer Sarah—"
"Just Sarah," Sarah cut in, her voice firm but lacking its usual bite.
Marina's smile softened. "Sarah, then. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about. You're strong, you're brave, and you're alive. That's what matters."
Sarah exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thanks, Marina."
Marina helped her into a fresh set of clothes—a loose shirt and sweatpants, easy to slip on over the casts. As she adjusted the fabric, she couldn't resist one last tease.
"You know, Sarah, yours are as big as mine, but this—" She gently poked Sarah's side, where the hospital gown had ridden up slightly. "—this is all you."
Sarah squirmed, letting out a half-laugh, half-protest. "Marina, don't you dare pinch it."
The muffled sounds from inside the room—Marina's teasing, Sarah's startled gasp—sent a jolt through me, my cock hardening despite the gravity of the situation. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay rooted outside the door.
"Aaaah—!" Sarah's sharp intake of breath cut through the air.
Marina's chuckle followed, unrepentant. "I'm sorry... I just couldn't help myself."
Then—silence. No more laughter, no more protests. Just the rustle of fabric, the quiet murmur of voices too low to catch. A minute later, Marina stepped out, her expression composed but her eyes still alight with mischief. She didn't say a word, just gave me a knowing look before nodding toward the room. "She's decent."
I adjusted my jacket, hiding the evidence of my arousal, and stepped inside. Sarah sat upright on the bed, leaning against the backrest, her face carefully blank. But her eyes—red-rimmed, glassy—betrayed her. She looked like she'd been holding back tears for hours.
"Give me your phone," she said, her voice rough with exhaustion. "I need to call Peter."
My chest tightened. I opened my mouth, searching for the right words, but before I could speak, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.
A head appeared in the doorway, eyes locking onto Sarah. The man didn't knock—just pushed the door open and strode in, followed by three other officers.
And then I saw him.
Officer Diaz, his face twisted in barely suppressed guilt. My muscles coiled, but I forced myself to stay still.
Sarah's gaze snapped to the oldest man among them—a grizzled veteran with deep-set eyes and a weary slump to his shoulders. "Sir," she said, her voice tight, already sensing something was wrong.
Diaz's voice was a low, venomous growl. "What the hell is he doing here?"
Sarah didn't even look at him. "Diaz. Jack's the reason I'm alive." Her voice was steel, but her fingers trembled where they gripped the bedsheet.
Diaz's jaw clenched, his gaze flickering to the floor. He looked guilty. Like a man who knew he was drowning in his own lies.
The old man ignored Diaz entirely. He stepped forward, his expression grave, his voice heavy with dread. "Sarah..." He hesitated, swallowing hard. "There's no easy way to say this."
Sarah's breath hitched. "Say what?"
The old man's voice cracked. "It's about Peter."
Sarah went still. "Peter?" Her voice was suddenly small, fragile.
The old man's eyes darkened. "He was in an accident last night. Just like yours."
Sarah's face paled. "No. No, you're—you're lying."
The old man's voice was a funeral bell. "Sarah... he didn't make it."
For a second, there was nothing. No sound, no movement. Just the suffocating weight of those words hanging in the air.
Then—
Sarah let out a sound that wasn't human. A scream, raw and shattered, tearing from her throat like it was ripping her apart. "WHAT?!" Her voice broke, dissolved into a sob. "NO! NO, YOU'RE LYING! HE CAN'T—HE CAN'T—!"
The old man flinched but didn't back down. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. We think it was the same truck. Same MO. Whoever did this... they were sending a message."
The old man's face twisted. "We didn't know until it was too late. We're looking into it now—"
"LOOKING INTO IT?!" Sarah's voice was a scream, her body shaking violently. "HE'S DEAD! MY BROTHER IS DEAD!" She clawed at the bedsheets, her knuckles white. "You let this happen!"
The old man's voice was thick with grief. "Sarah, we're doing everything we can—"
"GET OUT!" Her voice was a broken howl, her body curling in on itself. "GET OUT!"
The old man didn't argue. He turned to the others, nodding solemnly. "Give her space." One by one, they filed out—even Diaz, who hesitated in the doorway, his face twisted with something like shame. Sarah's glare burned into him. "You too, Diaz. GET OUT."
The door clicked shut.
And then Sarah collapsed.
Her sobs tore through the room, raw and animalistic, her body shaking like she was being torn apart from the inside. "Peter—" she gasped, her voice breaking. "No, no, no—"
"He can't be—he can't—!"
I moved without thinking, dropping to my knees beside her bed. "Sarah—"
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" She lashed out, her voice a shattered whisper. "Don't you dare!"
I froze, my hands hovering in the air between us. "I'm here," I said, my voice low, steady. "I'm not leaving you."
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
Her sobs swallowed her whole, her body convulsing with a grief so violent it seemed to rip her apart from the inside. The sound was raw, animalistic—a keening wail that filled the room, bouncing off the sterile white walls like a curse. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, her plastered arms twitching uselessly at her sides, as if she could dig her way out of this hell if she just tried hard enough.
I couldn't stand it.
I reached for her, my hands gentle but firm, pulling her against me. She stiffened, a broken "No—" escaping her lips, but I didn't let go. Instead, I tightened my arms around her, my chest a wall against the storm of her sorrow.
"Let go," she choked out, her voice a shattered whisper, her body still resisting.
"Never," I murmured against her hair, my own voice rough with fury and something deeper, something wilder.
And then—
She broke.
A sob tore from her throat, her body collapsing against mine as the last of her resistance crumbled. Her forehead pressed into my shoulder, her tears soaking through my shirt, her entire frame shaking with the force of her grief.
"Peter—" she gasped, her voice cracking, her breath hitching. "He was all I had—" Another sob wracked her, her body jerking against me. "He was supposed to be safe—!"
Her plastered arms lifted slightly, as if she wanted to claw at the world, to fight the truth, but they fell back to her sides, useless. She couldn't even hold herself together, let alone hold onto him.
So I did it for her.
I pulled her closer, my hands cradling the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her hair as I pressed her face into my chest. "I've got you," I said, my voice a low, feral growl. "I've got you, Sarah."
-x-X-x-
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
Instead, she cried harder, her entire body wracked with sobs, her nails digging into my skin through the fabric of my shirt as if I were the only thing keeping her from drowning. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, her tears hot against my skin, her voice a broken litany of "No—" and "Please—" and "It's not fair—"
I held her tighter.
I let her scream.
I let her shatter.
Because right now, in this moment, she wasn't a cop. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't the woman who never bent, who never broke.
She was just Sarah.
And she was falling apart in my arms.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head, my voice a dark, trembling promise. "I swear to you, Sarah..." My hands clenched into fists in her hair, my entire body vibrating with the force of my rage. "I will find out who did this. And when I do, I will make them beg for death before I let them have it."
Sarah's sobs slowly quieted, her body still shaking against mine, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The room was thick with the weight of her grief, the air heavy with the salt of her tears. After what felt like an eternity, she finally pulled back slightly, her red, swollen eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before darting away.
Marina, who had been standing quietly by the door, stepped forward. She placed a gentle hand on Sarah's shoulder, her voice soft but firm. "Sarah..." She didn't say anything else, just stood there, a silent pillar of support.
Sarah didn't respond. She just sat there, her body slumped, her breath still hitching with the aftershocks of her sobs. Then, abruptly, she straightened, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her plastered arms trembled as she reached up with her fingers, trying to tear at the cast on her wrist.
I grabbed her hand, stopping her. "What are you doing?"
She yanked her hand away, her voice raw and furious. "Stay away from me."
The venom in her voice took me aback. "Sarah—"
"Don't." Her voice was a whip crack, her eyes burning with a mix of grief and suspicion. "I didn't think about it before... but don't let me find out you were behind this."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
Her voice rose, yelling now, her entire body trembling with rage. "You heard me! Stay the hell away from me!"
I was stunned. "You think... I had something to do with this?"
Sarah's eyes blazed. "Isn't it possible?" She let out a bitter, broken laugh. "You've been threatening me since we met! Telling me you'd kill my brother if I crossed you! And now he's dead!" Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop. "You're the prime suspect, Jack. Or did you forget that?"
Something dark and furious coiled in my chest. "You really think I'd do this?" My voice was low, dangerous.
Sarah didn't back down. "I don't know what you're capable of!"
Marina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Officer Sarah! That's—that's too much!" She didn't call her Sarah—she used her title, her voice sharp with disapproval, with anger. "My husband has been nothing but—"
I cut her off, grabbing Marina's hand and giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. "Marina, stay with her." My voice was controlled, but the rage beneath it was a live wire. "I know she's angry. I'm going out."
Marina looked at me, her eyes wide with shock and concern, but she nodded. "Jack—"
"Just stay with her," I said, my voice final.
The door clicked shut behind me with a finality that reverberated through my chest like a gunshot. The hallway stretched before me, bathed in the sickly glow of fluorescent lights, their hum the only sound in the sterile silence.
But I barely registered it. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears, the pounding of my own heartbeat, the echo of Sarah's accusations still hanging in the air like a poison.
I leaned against the wall, my fingers pressing into the cold surface as if I could ground myself through sheer force. The irony of it all curled through me like smoke—bitter, sweet, and intoxicating.
She suspected me.
Of course she did.
And why shouldn't she? I had threatened her brother's life more times than I could count. I had played the villain so well that even now, when she was at her most broken, her mind still jumped to me as the culprit. It was almost flattering, in a twisted way.
But the truth?
The truth was so much better.
Peter was gone.
And not by my hand.
No, this was Javier's work. Now, Sarah had nothing left but me. Oh, she didn't realize it yet. She was too lost in her grief, too blinded by her rage. But she would.
And when she finally understood—when she pieced together that it wasn't me who took her brother from her, but it was someone else—oh, the guilt would eat her alive.
I could taste it already.
The way she would look at me then—not with suspicion, but with shame. With remorse. With the desperate need to cling to the one person who had been there when she fell apart.
And I would let her.
I would play the savior, the shoulder to cry on, the only one who understood her pain.
Because guilt was a powerful thing.
It twisted, it corroded, it carved out hollow spaces in a person's soul—and then it filled them with whatever you wanted.
In Sarah's case?
That would be me.
I chuckled darkly to myself, the sound low and private, a secret just for me. Oh, I could tell her the truth now. I could march back into that room, lay out every sordid detail, and watch the realization dawn on her face like the sun after a storm.
But where was the fun in that?
No, it was better this way.
Let her suspect me. Let her hate me for a little while. Let her stew in her grief, in her confusion, in the gnawing doubt that maybe—just maybe—she had misjudged me.
And then—
Then, she would find the truth herself.
And when she did?
Oh, the guilt would be exquisite.
It would break her.
And I would be there to put her back together.
I pushed off the wall, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the moment. There was work to do. Plans to set in motion. A game to play.