Page 166 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The hall erupted. People shouted. Some stood up from their chairs. Phones came out all over the room as people started recording frantically. The third clip began before anyone could regain control.

Thomas was in his office again, this time with a man in a dark suit. The conversation was clinical, detached.

“The latest shipment cleared the border without issue,” the man said. “Five this time. All under twelve. The buyers are already lined up in the city.”

Thomas leaned back, satisfied. “Excellent. Keep the supply steady. The demand is growing.”

A heavy knock suddenly rattled the apartment door. Jackson and I both froze.

The laptop speakers kept playing. The packhouse hall was erupting into chaos. Shouts of outrage. Chairs scraping across the floor. A woman’s voice rising in a broken sob. Someone yelling for the screen to be turned off. I slammed the mute button, cutting the noise short.

This time the knock landed hard enough to make the wall vibrate. Artemis shot off the couch, fur bristling along his spine, a low growl rumbling in his small chest.

Nobody should have been here.

Jackson rose slowly to his feet. “Expecting anyone?” I asked, voice low.

“No.”

Another knock. Then a voice from the other side, low and commanding.

“Open the door, Jackson.”

My cat came awake instantly. Every instinct in me screamed danger. Beside me, Jackson went completely still. For a second neither of us moved.

What the hell was he doing here?

Another knock landed harder than the first.

“Jackson.”

Jackson glanced at me. We both knew the same thing. If we didn’t open the door, Thomas would make a scene right outside, and the neighbors would talk. Better to control the battlefield.

As Jackson walked to the door, I snapped the laptop shut. The second he opened the door, Thomas shoved past him and strode into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. His gaze swept the room before landing on me. Pure, undiluted malice burned in his eyes. His lip curled with contempt as he took me in.

Ten years ago I might have looked away. This time, I looked right back at him.

Jackson moved immediately, positioning his body between Thomas and me. The shift forced Thomas’s attention off me and onto him.

His voice was cold, devoid of pleasantries. “What do you want?”

“I gave you a month,” Thomas said.

Jackson frowned. “A month for what?”

“To come to your senses.”

“You mean dump my mate and fall back in line?”

“You’ve spent your entire life preparing for your future.”

“My future?” Jackson laughed once, sharp and bitter. “You mean yours.”

Thomas’s phone rang. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and declined the call.

“You have responsibilities. Obligations.”

“I have choices,” Jackson said.