“Greer, how much fucking longer?” I yell to the front.
“Thirty minutes, give or take.” Fucking hell. I’m going to die.
Jackson’s hands start to stroke my hair, easing me into a light trance. Relaxation’s hitting me like a train, and if he keeps doing this, I’ll fall asleep. I feel my eyes drifting closed and I think Jackson notices, because he shakes my good shoulder.
“Keep those pretty eyes open, Little Cub.”
I’m half asleep, but I still have my pride. “Jackson, stop calling me that.”
“Don’t think so. You’re already mine. You can’t escape,” he growls softly, his words vibrating against my back.
That wakes me up. “Jackson, you have to stop. I meant when I said. You hurt me. You betrayed my trust, gave me false hope, broke down my barriers when I wasn’t ready. Worse of all, you manipulated me. I got it that you said it was only in the beginning and then things changed. But..” Every word is a struggle, between the pain and not knowing how much actual blood I’ve lost. “If you were honest from the beginning, you’d know you didn’t have to manipulate me. If you and Rawlings had been smart and appealed to me as a person rather than a walking vagina, there might have been a “we’.” There. I said it. The truth, no anger.
A beat goes by as he digests my words. “Teresa, I’m not giving up easily. I’ll make it up to you somehow. This won’t be for nothing.”
Hot tears start to roll down my cheeks, and Jackson puts his chin on the top of my head to comfort me.
He won’t give up, but I’m not risking my plan to stop the Falcons. Jackson wants what he wants, and unfortunately, he’ll have to learn to let me go.
Chapter 19
Threeweeks.Threeweeksgo by, and between the call center and the club, it’s been slower and steadier, to say the least. Rawlings says they’re still gathering intel and formulating a plan, but sometimes, anxiety creeps in and I wonder if they’re still hiding information.
May has come and gone and here we are in June. I should be happy: this weekend is my birthday, and the girls want to go out. I don’t mind, but I still have some anxiety, waiting on word for the next move in this plan. Plus, I want to visit Jeremiah.
I’m still in the process of recovering from my shoulder wound. Thankfully, I was one of the luckiest people on the planet, according to Doc. The bullet didn’t hit an important artery by literally millimeters. My range of motion might be compromised for a bit until I regain strength, and I need to look into physical therapy, but, all in all, I’m lucky. I can still remember the night we got back to the compound.
Jackson carries me to the table where Doc “fixes” people. Every movement fucking hurts. For a wound in the shoulder, my breathing’s pretty labored.
“Jesus, Jacks, seriously? We might need to custom make her a vest or something. Help me turn her onto her stomach.” Jackson does as instructed, and I see the intensity of concentration. Jackson refuses to give up, but he’s quiet. He rubs his fingers across my cheek tenderly, and I choke back a tear as the loving notion hurts more than the wound.
Doc crouches next to me. “Hey, buddy. Talk to me.”
I softly laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Ah, Doc. I made the connection. Sorry for the unintentional nickname. I lost a fight with a gun,” I laugh again.
I hear someone burst through the door, I can’t make out their words. I recognize the deep grumble as coming from Rawlings. I turn my head towards the door to see the disappointed look on his face. A few more men have arrived, but I can’t particularly tell who they are. They aren’t Greer or Sparky, that’s for sure. Speaking of Sparky, where is he? I hope he didn’t get into trouble.
Doc brings my attention back onto him. “Listen, buddy, as much as the bullet hurt, I need you to understand that you’ll be in agony for the next bit. I don’t have anything to knock you out. I need you to hold on.”
“I hurt him.” The world starts to spin. I think I’ve lost a bit more blood than I thought I did.
“Hurt who?” Doc questions me from the side, gathering his tools.
“I essentially told him to let me go. I’m lying to myself, Doc.” I pout. Jesus, when did being in pain feel like being drunk and out of control?
I can tell Doc knows who I’m talking about now. “You know he won’t. He’s more hurt that you gave up so easily. Tessa, I’ve seen people who would do anything to have just one more moment with their loved ones. They fought for it.” He crouches back down, face to face with me.
“You think I should fight?” I look deep into his dark chocolate eyes.
“Buddy, I wish I did. It's not easy to turn back the hands of time. Don’t regret things like I do.” He starts to clean up my shoulder. He hooks me up to some monitors while I ponder his words. “Now, show me the strength of this bear woman he keeps talking about.”
With that, Doc starts his procedure, and the world turns black and red before my eyes and pain becomes agony.
Jackson’s gone radio silent again. It’s really for the best. Maybe my words finally meant something to him. But like how I lied to myself that night, I’m lying to myself now. I shake the thought away, the pain of the memory smarting too much. My work day’s ending, leading into the weekend. Before I celebrate, I want to visit Jeremiah.
Jeremiah woke up last week. He’s taking it step by step, but the guilt is too strong, and my stubbornness prevented me from visiting him until now. I received a friendly threat from Aggie and the girls that if I didn’t go soon, consequences would be served. I can’t afford for more people to be pissed at me. I’d asked if anyone wanted to come with me, but they all said I should do it by myself.
My heart aches that more and more people are probably missing; all I want to do is go full assassin, but yet, here I wait, in the corner for instructions. The least I can do is protect the ones I can, including Jeremiah. I tap on the car window of the club member on duty.