54

I should have known this was coming.

Did I really think Jackson and I could live in domestic bliss—or our unique, twisted version of it—in his house forever? We probably have Hawkins and the Brookhaven PD still sniffing around our heels, waiting for us to trip up.

Maybe I really am crazy, because I think some part of me did.

I was definitely na?ve to think Jackson would just help me work on solving a case without trying to take justice into his own hands.

The blood is pumping hard in my ears. Jackson's firm abs are pressed against my back as he leads my hand toward the man.

He murmurs against the slope of my neck. I bite my lip, my core heating on instinct as his deep voice vibrates through me. "Let it in, Ava. Let the dark spirit fill you up. Let it flow through you and take control."

A thrill rushes through me like electricity. I feel so powerful holding this knife. I can already imagine how it will feel to push the blade into his throat and watch the blood spill down.

But I'm no god. I shouldn't get to choose who lives and dies. I'm just a woman with blood on her conscience who fell for a killer.

And yet… I want to do it.

The realization is heavy, crushing me.

I want to kill again. I am like Jackson, more than I ever let myself believe. Two killers. Two outlaws. Two souls who were destined to become so entangled that only one remains.

But I can't.

I breathe out heavily, pulling away from Jackson's grip. "I want to do it. I admit that. But I can't."

"What are you afraid of, little dove?"

I chew on my lip for a moment before answering. This whole honesty about my emotions thing is new to me. "My foster father once called me broken. He told me I was fucked-up and always would be. When I get close to those dark parts of me, I suddenly hear his voice in my ear and get the feeling that he's right about me."

Jackson's eyes glint. "Then I'll be your hands."

He slides the knife from my palm, not hesitating before driving the blade deep into the perp's throat. He doesn't even have time to scream before Jackson wrenches upward and splits his jaw in two.

I step back, gasping. I feel on fire. Heat burns through every inch of me as I watch the blood cascade down.

That's the moment I know I'll never be a cop again.

Even if Hawkins cleared my name and begged me to return to the team, I couldn't do it.

Because it's suddenly so crystal clear that watching Jackson kill is the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen.