49

It doesn't take Jackson long to convince Hawkins that I'm innocent. Or atleast,innocent of killing Ryan. His dark, hypnotic charmseems to workon everybody, not just me.

After thirty minutes of waiting, Hawkins appears and unlocks the cuffs on my wrists.

"What happened?" I ask, hurriedly moving away from the table as if he'll change his mind at any second.

"Keller says you were with him at the time of the murder."

I clear my throat, trying hard to not avert my eyes from his stare. "That's true."

"You accused him of being Hyde and pushed to have him arrested. Why the hell would you go see him after that?"

I swallow, wishing my throat felt less dry. "I… I wanted to apologize properly. I thought about everything and realized I was wrong."

The suspicion is palpable.Hiseyes crease, searching my expression for hints at an explanation: guilt, fear, nerves. This isn't adding up to him, and with good reason.

"Why didn't you tell me, Cain?You had an alibi,butyoujust sat in that cell waiting for your lawyer."

"You had me arrested. You were my mentor. And you still thought I was capable of…" My voice cracks, emotion spilling out. "You've made it clear I'm not welcome on this team. My suspension is still in effect, I'm guessing?"

"We can't discuss your return until this whole case has been resolved and blown over. I'm sorry, Cain." He lowers his voice. "Are you in somekind oftrouble? Nothing about this situation is making a lick of sense to me."

"And if I were in trouble? What would you do, Captain?"

"I'd find a way to help you." His expression is so sincere that it makes my heart twinge.

Sincerity. Order. Morality. It all used to matter so deeply to me. When did they become concepts that seem so far away, swallowed up by the deep, thrilling ocean of Hyde's world? Jackson has cracked open the binary of black and whiteandsuddenly everything looks gray.

I shake my head at Hawkins. "I'm not in trouble, Captain. I'm okay."

Forthe first time in a long time, I actually feel like I mean it.Somekind ofcalm has washed over me.

And here's the thing. I want to go with Jackson.

I want it so badly.

It doesn't feel like being blackmailed into going to a murderous psychopath's house. It feels like coming home to someone who understands the parts of my soul that even I couldn't figure out for so long.

"Fine, you're free to go," Hawkins says gruffly. "Just promise to look after yourself, and I'll be in touch."

I leave thestation,down the steps into the cool, misty air.

I walk until I reach the half-deserted parking lot that Jackson ordered me to meet him at. He's leaning against his car and turns his head as I approach. Those glinting dark eyes are intoxicating. Cold andcalculating,but endlessly beautiful.

The sight of him knocks the breath from my mouth. I don't know what I'm getting myself into, butI knowI don't hate it half as much as I should.

I nod my head in greeting. "Whatever you told Hawkins, it worked. I'm free."

His lips twitch in a crooked smirk. "I wouldn't say free, little dove." His fingers hook under my chin, easing my face up toward his. "Your training begins right now."

Please hate this, I silently beg myself. Hatehistouch, the way it's making you feel. Feel degraded orusedormanipulated. Feel scared of this killer.

But I don't. Far from it.

I look into Jackson's dark eyes, and everything feels right.

***

Training.

The word echoes with a sickening mixture of dread and curiosity. I can't decide if I want tofind outwhat Jackson meant by that.

His stare is trained on me like a sniper as we walk into his house. Maybe he gets off on seeing me scared of being trapped, ormaybehe wants me to be happy I'm here. Maybe, as I've learnedisoften the case with Jackson, it'sboth.

Either way, I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I keep my face composed in a neutral expression. But my spine stiffens as I hear the locks clicking shut behind me.

I cast my eyes about the house. It's the third time I've been here, butapparently now I'mhere to stay.

"Welcome home, Ava," he says with a grin.

The word makes my chest twinge. "Home?"

"You're going to live here with me."

I have a hundred questions. Why? For how long? What am I supposed to do all day locked in this house?

"I don't understand."

"Maybe my rules will make things clearer."

"Thought you weren't into rules," I mutter. "Like the laws against murdering people, for one example."

Jackson gives my ass a mock-disciplinary smack. I yelp, warning myself to ignore the flicker of heat it produces between my legs.

"You seem to have trouble following them too. Perhaps you recall when we attended the gallery gala together."

I purse my lips, remembering how that night ended up. In a depraved game of hide and seek and the best orgasms of my life.

"Don't run," he instructs. "Don't try to call for help. Don't try to fight."

My throat feels tight. I don't askhimwhat will happento meif I disobey these rules. I'm all too aware of the sword dangling above my head.If I make a wrong move and displease Jackson, I'll lose my career,myfreedom, and maybe evenmylife.

But I'm also painfully aware of the urgethat'stelling me to stay put. I dreamed of being at the center of Hyde's web, and now I'm here.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. Am I allowed to ask questions?"

"Of course."

"How long am I going to stay here?"

Jackson steps closer, his hands making contact with my body.

"Until you know you're all fucking mine."

Mine. I can't help it; the word sets my core on fire. This game of cat and mouse has ended up with us just inches apart, all secrets laid bare. After weeks of hunting and being hunted, it feels good to let Jackson take control of everything.

Everything is suddenly so clear.Jackson brought me here to controlme, to own me, toclaim me. That's what my training is.

He presses his lips to mine, and I stifle a moan. "Now I can fuck you every day and every night, just like you deserve. My obsession in my house, exactly where you belong."

I feel my cheeks burning as he pushes me toward the bed.A quiet voice in my brain tells me I shouldn't do this, but it's all too easy to drown out withthe wayhe's running his fingertips along my skin and stripping off my jacket,my shirt, myjeans.

He grabs a tie from the closet and binds my hands together. Heat flushes over my skin. His fingers and tongue conspire to set my clit on fire with heat.

A sick, thrilling realization burns through me: the hands of a killer feel so much better. It feels so much better to be touched by someone holding thatsort ofpower. Someone who's crushed the life from evil men.

No other man could do this to me, break my whole soul open like this.

"Show me how you take it, baby," he mutters.

He buries his cock deep inside me. I'm helpless and whining, unable to move with my hands bound. His eyes watch my face, and thenasif satisfied, his rhythm picks up.

The hot coil in my core reaches breaking point. Everything goes dark with pleasure. As the orgasm spills through my body, I know it's too late. Jackson already owns my body. I think he has my heart, too. But I can't admit that yet.

Is it that I don't want to be owned by anyone? Or is it that once I admit I'm his, it gives him the power to really hurt me?

You can't be abandoned by someone you don't care about. Once I admit it, then I'm vulnerable. Ready to be broken and tossed aside all over again.

I'm not the girl who says hands over her heart. I'm the girl who escapes.

Jackson's fingers cup my face in the darkness.

"Who do you belong to, Ava?"

You. You. You.

I'm screaming the answer in my head. The sound is so wild andanimalisticas it echoes through my brain.

But it doesn't reach my lips.

"No one," I hiss. It's one more lie to protect my battered heart.

Jackson's face darkens. I hate that I recognize that expression so clearly.

Pain.

And I hate that it makes my heart hurt to see it on his face.