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“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that and tell you how I feel,” I snapped.
He shook his head. And then, without looking at me, he began to talk.
“I was taken as a lad. I don’t remember how old I was, but I was young. I think I grew up in England. It’s where I always felt that I belonged, but it could really have been any country. I was put in a training program, which most of my competitors didn’t survive.”
“Competitors?” Already, I hated how this sounded.
Jaxon nodded. “They weren’t friends, the other kids in the program. I wanted to eat? I had to be better. I wanted to sleep? To avoid a beating? To…live. They were my competition.”
My heart beat to the same rapid rhythm as the rain pattering on the roof at this point, but I sat absolutely spellbound, unable to move, as he kept telling me pieces of his history.
“When I was trained well enough, I began to be hired out to whoever needed jobs done. I was in my mid to late teens the first time I killed for hire. After that, I planted bombs, took out targets, stole objects. Whatever horrible things you can list, I’ve done them.” Jaxon finally drew in a deep breath, lifted his head, and faced me. “I’m not a good man.”
But I knew that.
I accepted that part of him. Scooting across the floor, I covered his hand with mine. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Does it….” He paused.
“Does it disgust me? No.” I shook my head. “It just explains a lot.”
He didn’t ask what. But his secretiveness, his stealth, his inability to join me in broad daylight—those things all made sense.
“I’m sorry, Isabella,” he breathed. “Can you ever trust me again?”
I didn’t answer immediately. I stared at him, my mind cataloging and deciphering the details.
But the moment I looked into his eyes, the long-winded answer fizzled out. Those were the eyes of the midnight stray, beautiful and loyal to a fault. This was a man who would never hurt me.
Damn me.“I do trust you.”
His grey eyes blazed. They seemed to be fueled with the electricity in the atmosphere, mirroring the bursts of hot, white light.
“Damn me,” I repeated aloud. “I do.”
A sigh shook his frame. “Thank fuck.”
“But you can’t take away my freedom,” I insisted. “I’m not a trophy or a treasure to be hoarded away.”
There was a raw emotion shimmering deep in those silvery depths.
“I know who and what you are, Isabella. You don’t have to hide from me.” My heart chose that moment to do a little flip. “Because you belong to me.”
A sane person would not trust the man who kidnapped her. But his shady background and the fact that I insisted on not sharing personal details made it so that this was our reality. And I knew Jaxon in all the ways that mattered. I might not understand what was going on, but the desire to cling to him as my anchor in the chaos felt right.
Lacing my fingers through his, I took the tension down several notches and brought us to easier ground. “Where are we?”
He gave me a funny look. “Wisconsin.”
That made sense. The woods were thicker than any in Illinois, Indiana, or Iowa—the only three states I’d ever visited.
“Why did you bring me here? What was the plan?” I traced my thumb against his skin.
Jaxon stretched his legs out. “To protect you.”
“Too vague,” I pointed out. Damn, but that inky black liquid was perfect.
“You had hired hitmen trying to take you out on a regular basis. And then your home was attacked, your men killed, and the structure burnt to the ground. If they don’t know where you are, they can’t hurt you.”
