Chapter Sixty-Nine
Jackson
A man fills the doorway with broad shoulders, cold eyes, and a neutral expression that somehow looks worse than anything else he could’ve worn and I know without a doubt that he’s one of Grant’s men.
He looks past Teddy instantly and spots Brooklyn on the couch and smiles. It’s small, slow, and cruel.
Teddy shoves himself half in front of the guy like that’ll help. “You can’t just show up here.”
The man ignores him and keeps staring at Brooklyn.
“He’s gonna want to hear about this,” he says, keeping his voice low, calm, and sure of himself.
Brooklyn freezes, her breath stopping tight in her throat.
I stand up like I’m Monroe sizing up competition, and not Jackson ready to tear this guy apart.
Teddy throws a hand out between us. “Monroe, stay put. I got this.”
But he doesn’t, he absolutely doesn’t and we both know it.
Grant’s man gives me a long look, like he’s taking inventory. “This one’s new.”
My jaw clenches, but I keep Monroe’s lazy smirk on my face. “Just here for business, man.”
Brooklyn’s eyes flick to me again and I can tell that she’s cared. She’s begging me not to react, not to blow our cover, not to get us killed.
Grant’s man steps inside without even waiting for permission and Teddy swallows hard, shutting the door behind him.
We’re locked in and the room gets smaller.
Brooklyn wraps her arms around the pillow that she’s holding, her hands curling into the soft fabric as she tries to ground herself, but she keeps her chin up, even as her breathing shakes.
Grant’s man takes one slow step closer, eyes locked on her like he already sees her as something he’s collecting.
Teddy finally snaps. “Back off. She’s not yours.”
The man laughs once, dark and low. “Nothing in this room is yours, Teddy.”
That makes him flinch as Brooklyn’s eyes flash with recognition.
She knows that tone.
She knows that kind of man.
I take one step forward, playing Monroe, dangerous and bored. “If this is about my drop, take it up with me.”
The man doesn’t look away from Brooklyn.
“It’s not about the drugs,” he says. “Boss’s got questions.”
Brooklyn shifts like she’s been hit.
He knows her, he knows she escaped, and that she’s alive.
Teddy tries again to wedge himself between them. “Not now. Not here.”
Grant’s man smiles again, slow and patient. “Boss’s always watching.”
Brooklyn’s breath breaks and every muscle in my body goes tight.
I step between them, casual but deliberate. “Look, man. Why don’t you and Teddy go talk outside? Let the girl breathe.”
Teddy stares at me like he can’t figure out if I’m helping him or starting a fight.
Grant’s man finally pulls his eyes away from Brooklyn and studies me again.
“You’re Monroe.”
“Last I checked.”
He nods once, thoughtful, then looks at Brooklyn one more time before saying, “This’ll be interesting.”
Then he turns and walks out like he didn’t just detonate the whole room.
Teddy follows him out, slamming the door behind him, and just like that, it’s me and Brooklyn alone in the silence, both of us trying to breathe again.
Brooklyn
The door closes behind Teddy and that man, and the second the latch catches, the apartment feels too small, too hot, too full of air I can’t swallow because my throat keeps tightening even though I’m telling myself over and over that I’m fine, and I’m safe, and I’m not alone. Jackson stays standing near the loveseat, still playing Monroe. He looks loose and bored in a way that looks real even though I can feel the tension rolling off him like heat, and I’m scared he’s going to blow the cover just because of the way my hands won’t stop shaking, and because he saw the way that man looked at me like he already owned the ending of my story.
I pull my arms around myself and stare at the front door because I’m terrified that if I look at Jackson, I’ll fall apart, and I can’t do that right now, not when we’re trapped in Teddy’s apartment and Grant’s people are out in the hallway, and every bad memory in my head keeps trying to climb out.
Jackson watches me anyway, and he shifts just a little, just enough to let me feel him watching without saying anything, and it helps more than I want to admit, and it hurts too, because I know exactly why that man looked at me like that, and so does Jackson, and neither of us can say anything out loud.
My breath rattles on the way in, and I try to swallow it down quietly, and Jackson steps closer, slow, careful, like he’s approaching a wounded animal so he doesn’t spook me, and he keeps Monroe’s mask on his face, but his voice drops low and soft and only for me when he says, “Breathe, baby, you’re okay, I’m right here,” and hearing him say that almost breaks me because I’m not okay, and he knows it.
“I’m trying,” I whisper, because my chest keeps tightening and my hands feel too cold and too empty, and I feel like I’m back on the mountainside in the snow with nothing but my bare hands bleeding from prying that window open, and I feel like I’m seven again standing behind my mother while Grant smiled at her like he was doing her a favor by pretending to care, and I hate that he still owns these pieces of me, and I hate that being in Teddy’s apartment makes every part of my past feel like it’s crawling under my skin again.
I pull my knees up onto the couch and tuck my fists against them because I’m trying to make myself smaller even though I promised myself I’d never do that again, and Jackson notices because he kneels in front of me even though he shouldn’t move at all, and he keeps his hands to himself like he knows I can’t handle being touched, but he stays close enough that I can breathe around the panic clawing at my ribs.
“That wasn’t just anyone,” I whisper, and my voice shakes. “He’s one of Grant’s. One of the ones who used to stand outside the door. One of the ones who dragged me when I didn’t move fast enough. One of the ones who told me nobody was coming. One of the ones who called me Little Bird like it was cute I didn’t have wings to get away with.”
Jackson’s eyes darken, and his jaw flexes, and he doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face is enough to make me breathe a little deeper because he’s furious for me, and it feels like protection, not pity, and I cling to that because I need it.
“He knows,” I whisper. “He knows I escaped. He knows I’m alive. He knows I got out again, and he’s going to tell Grant, and Grant’s going to come for me, and I’m not ready, Jackson, I’m not ready.”
“You’re ready,” Jackson says, and he shakes his head because he means it. “You’ve been ready since the second you ran from him at seventeen years old and you've survived the last five years years that he didn’t want you surviving, and you’re ready because you walked off that mountain on your own, and you’re ready because he didn’t break you then and he’s not breaking you now.”
My throat closes around a sob I don’t want to release because if I start crying, I won’t stop, and Jackson leans in just enough so my forehead almost touches his, but not quite, letting me decide, and it makes my chest ache.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper, “and I know I’m not back, but it feels like I’m back, and it feels like I’m eleven again, and thirteen again, and fifteen again, and I keep hearing him saying Little Bird like he’s smiling, and it makes my skin crawl, and I can’t go back there, not in my head, not in my body, not for him, not ever.”
“You’re not going back,” Jackson says, firm, low, certain. “You’re here with me, and he’s not touching you again, not for a second.”
I nod, but it’s shaky, and I wipe my face with my sleeve because I didn’t even realize I’d started crying until my hand comes away wet, and it embarrasses me for half a second until Jackson whispers, “Don’t hide from me,” and that ends the embarrassment instantly because his voice is soft enough that it doesn’t feel like pressure, just care.
A noise hits the hallway, sharp, like someone hitting the wall, and I jerk hard enough that Jackson’s hand twitches like he’s about to grab me, but he doesn’t because Monroe wouldn’t, and I breathe through the panic spike that makes my vision blur at the edges.
“Teddy’s gonna come back in,” I whisper, “and he’s gonna be different, I know he is, he always gets weird when he’s scared, he gets meaner, he gets smaller, but he feels bigger, and if he thinks Grant’s man wants me, he’s gonna act like I belong to him.”
Jackson’s jaw tightens again, and he says, “He’s not touching you,” and it comes out so low it feels like a growl.
Footsteps hit the hall outside, fast and uneven, like someone’s pacing, and then the doorknob shakes once before the bolt turns and the door opens.
Teddy comes back inside.
And he looks wrong.
His eyes are wide and bright like someone lit a fire behind them, and his hands shake even though he tries to hide it, and he keeps glancing at the door like he’s waiting for someone else to burst in.
Then he grins.
A wild, crooked, manic grin that makes my stomach drop because I’ve seen that expression before, not on Teddy, but on Grant, right before everything went dark.
“Oh God,” I whisper, too quiet for Teddy to hear but loud enough for Jackson.
Jackson stands slowly, relaxed, bored, Monroe, but his eyes stay sharp and locked on Teddy because the temperature in the room is wrong, and the air feels thick again, and something is coming, and neither of us knows what it is yet.
Teddy closes the door behind him, locks it, then turns to face us with that same unhinged grin stretching wider.
“Good news,” he says, voice bright and breathy and way too pleased.
And in that second, I know something terrible is about to happen.
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