Chapter Seventy-Six

Jackson

The door at the far end of the hall explodes inward as Creed and Enzo charge through with weapons drawn, and at the same time, Amriel cuts the lights, plunging the whole hallway into flickering shadows. Grant jerks back, spinning with Brooklyn half behind him, and she chokes out a surprised breath as he tries to drag her toward the emergency exit.
I lunge.
I get my hand on her arm first, tightening fast, pulling her back toward me, and Grant swings at me with his free fist. I duck and slam my shoulder into his chest, driving him into the wall hard enough to shake the plaster. Brooklyn falls forward into me, hands grabbing my shirt, her breath hot and shaky against my neck.
Grant roars my cover name. “Monroe!”
He swings again, and this time it connects with the side of my jaw, snapping my head sideways, but I don’t let go of Brooklyn’s waist, and I don’t give Grant even a second to regroup. I shove Brooklyn behind me and take the next hit straight in the ribs because I need her out of his reach first.
Creed’s shouting something behind us. Enzo’s firing warning shots. I hear boots pounding from both ends of the hall.
Grant charges me again, and I drive my knee into his thigh, hard enough to make him grunt and stumble. Brooklyn grabs the back of my jacket and tries to pull me away from the next swing, but I stay planted and punch Grant straight in the face. His nose explodes with blood, and he slams back into the wall.
He reaches for Brooklyn again, and I see red.
I grab him by the front of his shirt and slam him down onto the floor, the crack echoing through the hallway. Brooklyn screams my name, high and terrified, and Grant claws for purchase, wild and feral, but I press my forearm to his throat and lean down slowly, controlled, nothing of my cover left, only me now.
“You’re not taking her,” I say, my voice low and shaking with how close I am to losing it. “You’re never touching her again.”
Grant’s eyes burn up at me, wild and furious and still trying to choke out words, but his voice is nothing under mine.
Brooklyn drops beside me, hands trembling as she grabs my arm. “Jackson, please, we have to go,” she whispers, breathless and frantic. “More guys are coming, I can hear them, we have to move.”
There’s pounding behind us and shouting. Nash is yelling somewhere, and Creed's barking orders. Then there's the sound of more boots, more gunmetal, and more danger.
I shove off Grant right as he tries to swing at my legs, and Creed reaches us, grabbing Grant by the arms and slamming him harder to the ground, cuffing him in seconds.
Brooklyn presses herself against my chest, shaking so hard her teeth knock together, whispering, “I thought he was gonna take me. I thought he was gonna drag me away. I thought I was gonna disappear again.”
I wrap both arms around her, crushing her against me because I can’t breathe without feeling her close. “I’ve got you,” I say. “I’m not letting you go. I’ve got you.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing holding her above water.
Nash calls out, “We’re clear on this side. Move them now. We have more incoming.”
I pick her up. Not because she can’t walk, but because I need her in my arms, safe and held and out of reach.
She buries her face in my throat and tries to breathe.
Grant screams after us, hoarse and furious, “Little Bird, you'll come back, you hear me? You always come back to me.”
Brooklyn sobs, a small broken sound that tears through my chest. I hold her tighter and keep moving, because she’s not going back.
And I’ll die before I let anyone call her theirs again.
I move fast through the hallway with Brooklyn in my arms, and everything behind us is noise: boots slamming the concrete, radios hissing, Creed dragging Grant like dead weight. At the same time, Grant keeps thrashing and screaming his nickname for her over and over, and Brooklyn keeps flinching every time he says it, like the sound alone is a knife. I try to hold her tighter, even though I already have her pinned against my chest so close I can feel every uneven breath shaking through her body.
She’s crying quietly, not loud sobs, but those sharp little breaths that break every two seconds like her lungs forgot how to work. Her fingers stay curled in my shirt near my collarbone, gripping like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she lets go. I keep telling myself to stay calm, to keep Monroe tucked away and hold onto Jackson because she needs him more than anything right now, but every time Grant’s voice echoes down the hall, my vision swims red.
We get outside, and the cold air hits us all at once. It burns on the inhale because the adrenaline’s still too high, and my chest feels way too tight. Brooklyn makes a sound, small and raw, and buries her face deeper against my neck as if the cold hurts her skin. I try to angle my body to shield her from it, but she’s shaking too hard, and I know it’s not the temperature; it’s shock and fear and the memory of those hands on her face and throat.
Nash runs ahead to clear the path to the van. He looks back at me once, quick and sharp, and I know he sees I’m one wrong look away from losing control, but he doesn’t say anything because there’s no time and no safe space yet. Creed drags Grant out behind us, along with Enzo covering the rear, and Grant keeps yelling, voice cracking now, calling for her like he thinks she’ll come crawling back. When he shouts Little Bird again, Brooklyn jerks in my arms like the sound hits her spine.
I snap my head back toward him, and my voice comes out low and rough. “Shut your damn mouth.”
Creed slams Grant against the van just to shut him up, and Brooklyn gasps hard and clutches the front of my shirt even tighter.
I get her in the van first, stepping up inside and setting her on the bench seat as gently as I can, even though my hands are shaking. She doesn’t let go of me, not even a little, and when I try to pull my hands back, she makes this strangled little sound and her whole body stiffens like she thinks I’m leaving.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say fast, climbing in right beside her and pulling the door shut behind us. The cold outside cuts off, and we’re left in the dim quiet inside the van with the overhead light flickering. She presses into my side, curled in tight with her face against my chest, and I wrap both arms around her again because she’s trembling so hard it rattles through me.
Then the moment the door clicks, she falls apart.
She doesn’t scream or thrash; she just sucks in this broken breath, and her whole body curls inward. I immediately pull her into my lap, needing the comfort for myself as much as for her, and her hands slide up into my jacket like she’s trying to crawl under my skin as I wrap both of my arms around her, holding her tightly against my chest. 
“Breathe with me,” I whisper. “Just match me, Baby, I’m right here. I’m not letting you go. You’re safe, I promise.”
“Jackson,” she chokes, barely getting the word out. “I thought he was gonna take me again. I thought I was gonna disappear again. I thought I was gonna die.”
Her voice cracks right in the middle, and something inside me just breaks clean through.
“Hey, Baby, I got you,” I whisper fast, leaning my head down so my forehead rests against her hair. “I got you, you’re safe. I’m right here.”
But my voice shakes.
It actually shakes.
I try to calm it, but I can’t because every second of that hallway is still in my blood, and when she whispers, “He touched me,” I feel something tear inside me, and suddenly I’m not breathing right. My chest gets tight, and my throat clamps down because I saw it, I saw every horrible second, and I didn't stop it fast enough.
Nash climbs in on the opposite bench, moving quietly like he’s trying not to spook her, and he starts speaking into the radio to get updates on the perimeter. Enzo gets in by the door, and Creed climbs in after slamming Grant into the second van. The whole team’s talking low and tense, but their voices fade in the background because I can’t focus on anything except the way Brooklyn’s shaking against me.
She suddenly pulls back, just a few inches, enough to look up at me with tear-filled eyes and a face that looks like fear and shame and exhaustion all tangled together. “He called me *Little Bird*,” she whispers, like the name itself is poison. “He called me that, and I was right back there. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t stop hearing him.”
Her voice breaks again, and when she tries to keep talking, her breath catches on a sob she tries to swallow down. “I didn’t want him to touch me again. I didn’t want him to take me. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t want…”
Her voice falls apart completely.
And I lose it.
Not loud, not violent, just a quiet absolute breaking.
I pull her so tight against me that she can barely lift her arms. I drop my head to her shoulder, and I feel tears burn behind my eyes even though I try to blink them away, but one slips out and lands against her cheek. She feels it because she freezes for half a second.
“Jackson,” she whispers, soft and surprised.
I shake my head, trying to breathe through it. “I thought I lost you,” I say, and there’s no Monroe left in my voice. Just me, raw and shaking. “I thought I was gonna watch him drag you out of that hall and I wasn’t gonna reach you in time, and I swear to God I almost killed him right there.”
She lifts her trembling hand and touches my face gently, brushing her fingers where Grant hit me. “You got me out,” she says through tears. “You came for me.”
“I’ll always come for you,” I say, my voice cracking right down the middle. "I thought I was gonna watch him drag you out of that hall, and I wasn’t gonna reach you in time, and when he got his hand on your face like that, I felt myself go somewhere I can’t even describe. I swear to God I almost killed him right there, and I kept thinking I can’t do this again. I can’t watch her disappear again. I can’t breathe through it again.”
She slides her arms around me, holding on tight, and whispers, “I didn’t disappear. I was right there. And you were right there. You didn’t let him take me.”
I lift my head and look down at her, still feeling broken and like I didn’t do enough, didn’t make the call soon enough, and with a shake of my head, I say, “He got close. Too close.”
“He didn’t take me,” She says, her voice and her words becoming firmer. “He didn’t win.”
I look down at her, noting the tiredness in her eyes, and reassure her, “I’ll always come for you. I’m never letting him touch you again. I’m never letting anyone take you. I’m never letting you disappear from me.”
She lets out a shaking breath and leans her forehead to mine. “I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m so scared.”
“I know,” I breathe. “Me too.”
The team goes quiet at that, maybe because they’ve never heard my voice sound like this, maybe because they hear every word she says and every word I answer with, and for the first time, they understand how close they came to losing both of us.
Brooklyn closes her eyes and clutches the front of my jacket with both hands like she’s holding on for dear life.
I wrap my arms around her, pull her into my chest, and just hold her as the van starts moving.
She’s shaking. I’m shaking. The whole damn world is still shaking, but she’s in my arms, and she’s alive, and I’m not letting go.
Not now.
Not ever.