Chapter Seventy-Seven

Brooklyn 

The second the warehouse doors slam behind us, and everything erupts into shouting and gunfire and bodies hitting the ground, I feel like I've split in half. Jackson pulls me tight against him while the team moves in around us, and all the noise hits at once, but all I actually hear is my own heartbeat pounding so hard that I can barely breathe. My legs feel like they’re made of wet paper, and my hands won’t stop shaking even though I’m trying to hold onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright, which he pretty much is.
One guy is yelling something into his radio, another's dragging Grant down by the back of his jacket, and I can hear his boss shouting for routes to move victims out, and everything is loud and sharp and chaotic, but all I can focus on is how tight Jackson’s arms are around me and how he keeps saying my name in this rough whisper that sounds like relief and fear tangled together. My whole body shakes so hard that I can barely stand, and when he tries to move me toward the exit, my knees buckle, and he catches me before I hit the ground.
“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he tells me, and his voice is steady now, even though I know he’s not steady at all, but he keeps me tucked against him and starts pushing us out of the warehouse while the team covers us.
The cold night air slams into me once we’re outside, but it doesn’t help, because everything in me keeps replaying the second Grant grabbed my face and told me I belonged to him, and the way his breath felt on my skin, and the way Jackson moved between us like he’d burn the whole world down if Grant took one more step. I feel like my skin remembers more than my brain does, and the memories keep sliding up my spine until it feels like I’m going to fall apart in real time.
Jackson gets me to the van and lifts me inside like I weigh nothing, which I absolutely do not, but he’s running on pure adrenaline and stubbornness. He sits me down on the bench and fear that he's leaving me in here alone makes me freeze, terror filling me as a near sob falls from me. "I'm not going anywhere," he's quick to reassure, climbing inside to take the seat right next to me, so close that our thighs are touching, and then the van door slams shut and the second we’re sealed inside and the world goes quiet, something in me cracks. I curl towards him without meaning to, my hands finding Jackson’s shirt and fisting it so tight my knuckles hurt, my head landing against his chest. I can’t stop shaking or even get a full breath in. I keep seeing the cages, the girls curled up inside them, the chains on their wrists, the way Grant looked at me like I was something he’d misplaced and was irritated to find again.
Jackson pulls me directly into his lap before I can slide off the seat. He wraps both arms around me and holds me tight enough that my shaking has something to push against, and I press my forehead to his shoulder and try to pull air into my lungs. It keeps catching on something sharp inside me, and the harder I try, the worse it gets until I feel lightheaded and my vision aches around the edges.
“Breathe with me,” he whispers, and his hand slides up the back of my neck, steady and warm. “Just match me, Baby, I’m right here. I’m not letting you go. You’re safe, I promise.”
I try. I really do. But my breaths come fast and choppy and painful, and I hate it, I hate losing control, I hate that Grant can still do this to me without even touching me now, and the shame burns hot and ugly even though I know I shouldn’t feel it.
“Jackson,” I choke, barely getting his name out. “I thought he was gonna take me again. I thought I was gonna disappear again. I thought I was gonna die.”
My voice is shaky and cracks right in the middle of the sentence, but I continue on, needing to get this fear out of me.
“Hey, Baby, I got you,” he whispers fast, leaning his head down so that his forehead rests against my hair. “I got you, you’re safe. I’m right here.”
“He touched me,” I murmur and that's when I feel Jackson break.
It's not loud, but a quiet, silent breaking. His entire being trembles as he tries to hold himself in check, his breathing no longer smooth and even, but instead coming out in choppy, stuttering breaths.
One of his teammates climbs in, I hear him but don't turn to look, too focused on Jackson right now but I hear him as he talks into his radio to get an update. Two more people climb in around us, the van josteling with each person that enters but all I care about is the man wrapped around me and getting these images out of my head, and releasing these feelings that are trying to weigh me down.
Pulling back, I'm still unable to reach his eyes as I whisper, "He called me *Little Bird*. He called me that, and I was right back there. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t stop hearing him.” My voice breaks again, but I keep trying to talk, even when my breath catches on a sob that I try desperately 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…” My voice, my words leave me as everything becomes too much and I fall apart.
Jackson pulls me tighter against him, so tight that I can't hardly move. He drops his head to my shoulder and a moment later, I feel wetness hit my cheek.
*He's crying*, it's surpises me for half a second becuase Jackson is always so strong and put together, not showing hardly any signs of weakness.
"Jackson," I can't hide the surprise in my voice when I whisper his name and in response he just shakes his head, trying to pull himself back together again.
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe we’re actually out of that place until he sees it in my eyes. “I thought I lost you again,” he says, and the words slip out raw, softer than anything I’ve ever heard from him. "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.”
I lift my hand and gently cup his jaw, my fingers grazing lightly over the bruising marring his handsom face. The fear, the terror it's all still there but right now, Jackson needs me to try to be strong so that he can break. "You got me out," I murmur, unable to hold back a sob as emotion clogs my throat, tears slipping free and betraying any semblance of strength I'm trying to portray. "You came for me," I whisper, and the words shake out before I can stop them.
My throat tightens, and I slide my arms around him because he needs something to hold onto as much as I do. “I didn’t disappear,” I whisper. “I was right there. And you were right there. You didn’t let him take me.”
Jackson lifts his head and looks down at me with eyes that still look broken around the edges and shakes his head like he still doesn’t accept that. “He got close. Too close.”
“He didn’t take me,” I say again, firmer. “He didn’t win.”
Jackson looks down at me with eyes that still look broken around the edges, his voice craching when he says, “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.”
Releaseing a shaky breath, I lean my forehead to his, fear and vulnerability still overwhelming me no matter how strong I preted to be, and whisper, “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”
He squeezes his eyes shut because my words hit him too hard and he breathes,“I know. Me too.” His words, this big strong man not only showing, but expressing his fear, is nearly my undoing as I close my eyes and tightly clutch the front of his jacket with both of my hands.
His team is quiet as they watch Jackson crumble under the weight of everything he feels, then looks away like he’s giving us privacy.
Eventually the van starts moving and bumps over something in the road, and the motion makes my stomach twist, so I curl in tighter. Jackson shifts with me so I never lose contact, and he murmurs things I can’t fully hear because my pulse is too loud.
The van keeps moving, and the rumble under my feet barely registers because everything inside me still feels like it’s spinning. I’m pressed against Jackson’s chest, and he’s got both arms around me like he’s afraid I’ll slip right through his fingers, and maybe I’m scared of the same thing because I keep grabbing fistfuls of his shirt just to make sure he’s real.
He’s shaking. Not a lot, not enough for anyone else to notice, but I feel it. It’s in his arms, in his breath, in the way he tries to breathe slowly, even though his chest jumps every few seconds. He’s holding himself together for me, and I can tell it’s taking everything he has left.
Creed sits across from us, cleaning blood off his knuckles even though most of it isn’t his, and Nash keeps talking into the radio in short clipped updates, but everything else is quiet. No one wants to be the one who breaks whatever is happening between Jackson and me right now.
I try to breathe steadily, but my chest keeps tightening. “He said he wanted to finish what he started on that mountain,” I whisper, my voice barely a sound. “Before I could get out the window and into the woods.”
Jackson’s whole body goes still. Not frozen, just controlled, the way someone gets when they’re two breaths from breaking apart again.
“I know,” he says, voice raw, low enough only I can hear. “I heard him. I heard every word.” His breath shakes hard, and he buries his face in my hair for a second like he needs to ground himself. “I swear if the team hadn’t reached that hallway when they did, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
The memory hits so fast it steals my breath.
Grant’s hand on my face, his fingers digging in, and his voice so calm, so sure. Calling me Little Bird like I’m still trapped in his house, still eleven years old, still a possession and not a person.
And Jackson standing there behind him with that mask on his face, the one that hid the panic underneath it, the one that was waiting for the right second to call it.
He followed us when Grant dragged me out of that office like he expected Jackson to stay obedient in the doorway, like Jackson was nothing but a customer. But thank God he stayed close enough that I could hear his footsteps right behind us, close enough that he could see Grant’s hand on me, close enough that he knew the second it shifted from a show of control to a threat.
That’s when the words left his mouth.
The code. 
Quiet, flat, and final.
A string of words that meant no more pretending, that Grant had crossed the line, and that every agent storming that room was coming for us.
One of the guys clears his throat in the front, pulling me back from the memory assaultng me and informs, “All suspects in custody. Repeat, all suspects in custody. No stragglers, no unidentified movement, nothing left at the scene.”
Jackson exhales, and the sound breaks right down the middle.
I lift my head enough to look at him. “They’re gone,” I whisper. “All of them. Every single one. Teddy. Grant. Everyone who helped them. They can’t hurt anyone else.”
He nods, but the nod isn’t steady.
The van slows over a turn, and Jackson braces his arm behind me automatically so I don’t fall, and that simple act does something to me that breaks down the last of the shaking inside my ribs.
Nash calls out again. “We’re pulling in. Medical’s waiting for the girls. Officers on standby for transport separation.”
His voice fades under the roar in my ears because hearing the words girls and medical together sends another wave of nausea through me.
The cages, the chains, the smell. The way they looked at me like they couldn’t tell if I was one of them or one of the people hurting them.
My stomach twists so hard I gag.
Jackson pulls me tighter instantly. “Hey,” he whispers, brushing my hair back from my face. “Look at me. Don’t go back there. Stay right here.”
“I can’t stop seeing them,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “The way they looked at us when we walked in. The way some of them couldn’t even lift their heads.”
“I know,” he says, and I hear his breath break again because it hit him too. “I know, baby. We’re gonna get them help. They’re safe now. They’re out. You’re out. And none of this touches you again.”
Creed finally speaks, soft for once. “You two did everything right. You followed the plan. You stayed alert. You kept calm. That’s not easy for anybody, especially not after what you lived through.”
My throat closes, and I nod slowly.
The van finally rolls to a stop, and the moment the brake clicks, Jackson cups the back of my head gently and rests his forehead against mine.
“We made it out,” he whispers. “Both of us. We made it.”
I nod again, but this time I believe it.
We made it out.
We made it.
And we’re still together.