27. Zane

Chapter twenty-seven

Zane

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush in hand, as Jasmine brushes her hair beside me. The sound of her brush against her locks fills the small room, somehow soothing and calming. Yet my mind is elsewhere.

I can't help but think of all the losses we've suffered, all the loved ones we've had to say goodbye to. My mother, my wife, Alex's mother. It's a heavy burden to bear, and I wonder if I'm strong enough to protect Jasmine from the same fate.

"Are you okay?" Jasmine's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I force a small smile, hoping to reassure her. "Yeah, just thinking."

"About what?" She frowns, hair brush paused mid-stroke.

"About the future," I answer honestly. "About what kind of world I'm bringing you into."

Jasmine tilts her head, studying me with those big brown eyes of hers. "It's not all bad, you know. There's still good in this world."

I nod, grateful for her optimism. She always knows how to see the light in the darkness. Though deep down, I can't shake the feeling of impending doom. The criminal underworld I'm involved in has its dangers, I fear for her safety in case we have a repeat of Andrew's actions. Dealing with all the Andrew's in the world is my daily grind. Knowing these men could hurt those I love worries me, but is that a reason to deny myself happiness?

"Come on," Jasmine says, tugging on my arm. "Back to bed."

I follow her lead, climbing into bed beside her. As she snuggles up to me, I can feel the weight of her trust and love. It's a precious gift I vow to protect at all costs.

For now, I'll push aside my worries and focus on the present moment. With Jasmine by my side, everything feels right in the world.

"Hey," she says softly. "You seem tense."

I force a smile, trying to ease her worries. "Just thinking about your father," I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I promise to help him out however I can. If you tell me where he is being held, I will try to help him."

Jasmine's face softens, and she takes my hand. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."

"Of course," I say, squeezing her hand. "What does he need most right now? Maybe I can use my connections to make him more comfortable. "

"Actually, it's not my father who needs the help," Jasmine says, frowning slightly. "It's my mother and sisters. They struggle to make ends meet, especially with my father gone."

"Okay," I say, nodding. "I'll see what I can do. I can send them some extra cash or resources."

"Thank you," Jasmine says again, her gratitude palpable.

As we settle into bed for the night, I can't shake the feeling of responsibility weighing on my shoulders. For now, I push those thoughts aside and focus on the warmth of Jasmine's body next to mine. Her sigh isn't so convincing, and I fear I've stirred some memories she'd rather forget.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Jasmine turns to me, a small smile on her lips. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About what?" I press, curious.

"About my family," she says, her smile fading slightly. "And about how grateful I am for your help."

"Of course," I say, feeling a surge of determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to ensure they're cared for."

As she snuggles into me, I pull out my phone and start typing. I search for anyone with the surname of Morgan. A cop arrested for helping criminals isn't going to be hard to find.

Rupert Morgan.

His known associate is Richard Dickson. Fucking Dickson. He isn't like Edward, who does give a shit about the people who work for him. Richard would happily sell his own children for the right price. He has nothing to do with our cartel, and we have no business interests with him. Even guys like me have standards.

"He's a shady character," I mutter under my breath.

"Who is?" Jasmine asks shyly, but this isn't a work matter to be hidden from her. I want to be open about my curiosity.

"Richard Dickson," I say, showing her the search results on my phone. "Your father used to work for him."

Jasmine's eyes widen, and I can see the worry etched on her face.

"What does that mean?" she asks.

"It means we need to be careful," I say, clenching my jaw. "I don't like the idea of you or your family being associated with someone like him."

"Neither do I," Jasmine says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But Dad is inside and we've had nothing to do with the men he worked for."

"Maybe not," I concede. "But I won't let him hurt you or your family. I promise."

Jasmine nods, her expression softening again. "Thank you," she says, and I can feel the weight of her gratitude in those two simple words. She rests on my shoulder, as her fingers play innocently with the hair on my chest.

Even with Jasmine snuggled up next to me, her warmth offering a comforting presence by my side, my mind is still chaotic, racing with thoughts of the day. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow over our faces.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice soft and gentle.

I turn to her, taking in her features—the curve of her jaw, the freckles on her nose, the way her eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

"Better now," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "With you and my family under one roof today, I couldn't be happier."

Jasmine smiles, but there's a hint of sadness in her eyes. I know it's not just about being happy—it's about feeling safe. And that's something we both need right now.

I reach out and take her hand, intertwining our fingers. It's a simple gesture, but it feels like a promise. A promise to protect her, to stand by her, to fight for her.

As we lie there in silence, I can feel my determination growing. I won't let Richard Dickson, Desmond Graves or anyone else threaten what we have. Not now. Not ever.

"Sleep well," I whisper, kissing Jasmine's forehead.

"Goodnight," she murmurs back.

And as she drifts off to sleep, I can't help but feel a sense of hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, for a brighter future. For us.