Jackson's POV
The stress was a physical thing. It wasn't just my father or the General…it was Bel's strange behavior, the lie in her eyes at the bowling alley, the suppressed fury she'd worn when I mentioned Tyrone's "stress" diagnosis. I thought we were past the secrets.
I found her in the dedicated Axe Throwing Room…a private, soundproof chamber designed for kinetic stress relief.
She was wearing a tight black tank top, sweat darkening the fabric. The axe spun from her hand, splitting the center of the wooden target with a sickening sound. She was breathing hard, her whole body radiating a raw, focused aggression.
The sight of her…the tension in her shoulders, the feral concentration in her eyes…didn't calm me down. It had the opposite effect. It turned me on. This was the core of her, the beautiful, dangerous storm, and I wanted to be consumed by it.
I walked up behind her silently, stopping just short of her personal space.
"Nice throw," I said, my voice low and husky.
She flinched, turning quickly, the adrenaline still coursing through her. "Hu Nunus, I didn't hear you."
"I know." I stepped closer, closing the gap. "You look like you're about to carve a path straight through the False Bay."
She tried to laugh, but it was strained. She went to reach for another axe, but I caught her hand, my thumb rubbing the calloused skin of her palm.
"Tell me you're okay, Love," I demanded, the low voice barely masking the steel. "And this time, look at me when you say it."
She lifted her eyes, and the lie was immediate. "I'm fine, Nunus. Just burning off the residual paranoia."
The lie was a physical barrier between us, a thin sheet of glass I wanted to smash. I felt a surge of frustration…a deep, territorial anger that she was still keeping a part of herself locked away, especially when I had laid every dark secret of my life at her feet after the murder of her father.
I didn't argue. I didn't question. I buried the frustration and the fear beneath raw, physical need. I grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her into a rough kiss, shutting her words down. My mouth was hungry, possessive, and a distraction for both of us.
I broke the kiss, my breath ragged, and dropped to my knees, my hands gripping her thighs. I tore the tank top free from her waistband, found her soft skin, and slid my fingers under the waistband of her leggings.
I didn't want her to reciprocate. I didn't want the lie or the distance to touch me. This was purely about consumption and control…my control over her pleasure, my devotion washing away the secret she couldn't share. I used my lips and my fingers, focusing on the places where the strategist melted away, driving her toward a clean, explosive finish.
Her gasps were music to my ears. Her hands immediately found my hair, gripping tight, pulling me deeper into the act. My devotion was simple: I was going to make her feel so entirely good, so completely seen, that the stress, the lie, and our stressors would all temporarily cease to exist.
Belinda's POV
Later that evening we decided to eat dinner all together for once.
The long dining table in the secure dining room felt almost ridiculously domestic. The light was warm, the mood was genuinely happy and light, a stark contrast to the tactical darkness outside.
Jay and I sat on one side, facing Rosline, Ronda, and Tyrone.
Rosline was detailing her wedding preparations to us, using a knife to trace seating charts on the linen tablecloth.
"I told my mother, absolutely no more than twenty-five guests," Rosline was saying, shaking her head. "And if anyone brings a birdcage, I'm ordering Tyrone to incinerate it. It has to be modern, clean, and fast."
"A tactical wedding," Tyrone quipped, pouring himself water.
I caught Ronda and Tyrone's eyes meet across the table. It wasn't a casual glance; it was a lingering, knowing look. Ronda offered a brief, cool smile, and Tyrone's entire demeanor shifted, his posture straightening slightly, his face softening with a visible, unguarded interest.
Jackson caught it too. I felt his hand tighten subtly on my thigh beneath the table. He shot a barely perceptible, amused look at me.
"Tyrone," Jackson said, changing the subject. "You're supposed to be focused on a potential financial attack, not on birdcages."
Tyrone flushed slightly. "Just diversifying my threat assessment man. Thinking about non-lethal breaches of security."
Ronda simply picked up her fork. "Rosline, stick to white flowers. It projects innocence and minimizes the required explosives clearance."
Rosline laughed. "Minimal explosives clearance…duly noted."
The conversation continued, happy and light, revolving around linen choices and safe-house locations for the honeymoon. As I watched Ronda and Tyrone's eyes flicker back to each other, a secret language forming across the table, I knew the internal peace had taken root.
We were surrounded by danger, but here, in the heart of the fortress, new connections were being forged, and old ones were being fiercely protected. The fight was coming, but for now, we were a family, and we were winning.
Later that night, the master suite was silent, heavy with the scent of the sunflower bouquet from our date. The delicious chaos of the axe room had only been a temporary solution…the core problem…the lie, was still yawning between us.
I was lying in the vast bed, listening to Jackson moving around the room. He seemed restless, cleaning his sidearm unnecessarily slowly, the metallic clicks echoing in the quiet. I knew the axe room had confused and aroused him, but it hadn't resolved the deeper tension.
I needed to know where he stood. Not on the war, but on the future I was already carrying. I had to know if the promise of the sunflowers represented extended to a third person.
"My Nunus," I said softly, sitting up.
He stopped, placing the weapon on the nightstand, and looked at me. His eyes were dark, tired, and deeply focused.
"What do you think about our future?" I asked, keeping my tone light, casual, as if discussing the next day's schedule. "Not the immediate future with your father, but... the long game. What does that look like? Five years from now, when the dust has settled?"
He walked toward the bed, the heavy tension in his shoulders palpable. He sat down facing me, but kept a deliberate distance.
"It looks like this," he said, gesturing around the room, to the vault outside, to the sheer, brute force of our security. "It looks like silence. Like a clear line of sight on the horizon. It looks like us, together, finally safe."
I pushed a little further, my heart hammering against my ribs. "And is it just 'us'? I mean, sometimes I think about Rosline's wedding, and it makes you think about... tradition. Maybe a family?" I forced a light laugh. "Not right now, obviously, but one day, down the line... hypothetically, how would you feel about having a kid?"
The change was immediate and terrifying. His body went rigid. The exhaustion in his eyes was replaced by a cold, searing anger I hadn't seen directed at me since the beginning.
"No," he clipped out, the single word sharp as a razor.
I blinked, thrown off balance by the intensity. "No? Hypothetically, Jay. Why so absolute?"
He stood up, walking away from the bed to stare out the bulletproof window at the dark Bay. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and shaking with contained rage.
"Because we kill people, Love. Because my life is a sequence of strategic decisions that end with someone else's destruction. I was built to survive, to wage war, to be a protector a shield. I was not built to be a father."
He spun back around, his eyes burning with conviction. "I saw what my work did to my own childhood. I started this life way too early and it messed me up. You think I would ever bring an innocent, defenseless person into this world? Into the crosshairs of the men I've crossed? The people we've crossed? Never. We are enough risk. The answer is no, Love. Not one day. Not ever. I won't have my love for a child become a liability that gets us all killed."
The air drained out of the room. The absolute finality of his answer, coupled with the anger…an anger born of deep-seated trauma…told me everything I needed to know. The sanctuary was safe for us, but it had no room for a family. I nodded, a cold dread washing over me, and pulled the sheets up to my chin. The lie had just become a matter of life and death, and I had no idea how to proceed.