Aubrey Taylor

At The Hour of Our Death

 Copyright © 2023 by Aubrey Taylor

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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters

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 Contents

I. HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF GOD, PRAY FOR

US SINNERS.

1. one
2. two
3. three
4. four
5. five
6. six
7. seven
8. eight
9. nine
10. ten
11. eleven
12. twelve
13. thirteen
14. fourteen
15. fifteen
16. sixteen
17. seventeen
18. eighteen
19. nineteen
20. twenty
21. twenty one
22. twenty two
23. twenty three
24. twenty four
25. twenty five
26. twenty six
27. twenty seven
28. twenty eight
29. twenty nine
30. thirty
31. thirty one
32. thirty two

II. NOW AND AT THE HOUR OF OUR DEATH.

AMEN.

33. thirty three

34. thirty four
35. thirty five
36. thirty six
37. thirty seven
38. thirty eight
39. thirty nine
40. forty
41. forty one
42. forty two
43. forty three
44. forty forty
45. forty five
46. forty six
47. forty seven
48. forty eight
49. forty nine
50. fifty
51. epilogue

Acknowledgments
“There’s no higher power, there’s no God. There’s just chaos
and violence and random, unpredictable evil that comes out of
nowhere. It rips you to shreds.”

-D.W.
 To my husband.

Thank you for loving me as hard as you can.

 I

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for us sinners.
 1

one

She smelled like fresh rain and clean laundry. She smelled like
the freedom to do anything. He wanted to touch her, to make
her feel loved and important. He wanted to show her that the
world wasn’t good enough for her. That he could show her
what she needed, and what she wants. She just didn’t know it
yet. But he is determined to show her. He was ready to show
her just how special she was even if it was the last thing she
remembered before he ripped the life from her beautiful body.

She will know that she was loved.

 2

two

“Yes sir,” Beckett spoke calmly into the phone. “The police
will be there within the hour,” she instructed the man on the
other end. She tapped her pen against the desk, the rings on
her fingers clinking together as she waited for him to respond.
He had called about a group of kids vandalizing the fence
across from his house. He had taken to screaming in her ear
and she was ready to walk over there and help the kids’ teepee
his house. “No sir, please don’t interact with them. Let the
police handle it.”

Every asshole in New York wants to be a hero these days.

Beck was sick to death of dealing with self-righteous men

who thought a gun solved every problem they were confronted
with.

“Yes sir. Stay inside your home until the patrol arrives.
Thank you.” She kicked the long steel bar at the back of her
desk with her boot, stretching out her legs as much as she
could.
 She stared aimlessly at the screen, watching the time tick
by sluggishly. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion
as her shift finished. She tapped her pen to the rhythm of the
clock hanging on the wall behind her desk and waited until she
could hear the sirens in the background of the call.

“Thank you for waiting sir,” she said. She disconnected the
call and logged out of her computer.

She walked from the pit, a circular room surrounded by

windows and framed by a series of hallways that led to offices,
meeting spaces, and breakrooms. She walked up the stairs,
pushed through the main doors, and wandered by a meeting
room, three of her supervisors alongside the department head
and the police chief were sitting and discussing something.
She had never seen them all together at once, but they were
fussing over call logs. And she had certainly never seen the
police chief here so late. She wondered for a moment if it was
about the acts of vigilantism in the city. Rumors, ghost stories
of men that hunted in the dark and murdered in cold blood.

Beckett had asked not to be a part of the team that

investigated their logs for the department. Someone else could
dig through her old calls for information on the men.
Dangerous, sneaky, above the law, disrespectful. All words
that had been thrown around in the news to describe them but
they had never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. Criminals,
murderers, rapists. Every name that flashed on the screens or
was written in permanent dark ink in the morning papers were
horrible people.
 People that deserved it.

Chief Topper looked up at her, his brown eyes flickering

over her as she gave him a tight smile. It had been a long day
and the ponytail that contained her thick dark hair was starting
to tug at her scalp painfully. The last thing she wanted to do
was get caught up talking to him when she could be home.

She quickly waved him off as he pushed from his chair and
waved at the clock. He nodded, understanding that she was in
a rush, and thankfully let her be. She collected her purse from
the lockers and started her walk home. New York on a Friday
night was inviting and loud, everyone had somewhere to be.
Beck just wanted to be home. Cuddled under the quilt her
mother made her, her favorite show on the TV. That’s what she
wanted.

Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her gray work pants as

she pushed the door to the call center open and walked into the
alley. It was raining out; it was always raining lately. Pulling
the elastic from her hair to let it fall over her shoulders, she
pulled the hood of her wind jacket over her head and started to
walk.

“Hello?” she answered the unknown number. Heavy

breathing on the other side made her uneasy. “I’ve asked you
not to call this number more than once,” she asserted herself.

Just like her dad had taught her. The breathing continued.
It was always like this, the number would call, she would
answer, and they would breathe through her earpiece until she
hung up.
 She stepped out into the street, her sneakers filling with
water. The puddle beneath her mocked her obliviousness to the
world around her. She groaned, shaking off the wet shoe, and
made her way toward the subway. Keeping her keys spread
between her knuckles like a weapon and her phone unlocked,
she walked through the dingy streets avoiding the dark spots
and unsavory company that roamed the streets late at night.

“Hey! Murphy!” A voice called from behind her, she

slowed to turn around and see Luke running up behind her
with his backpack slouched against his shoulder.

“Did you want to join us at Penny’s?” Luke gave her one

of his famous smiles. He was one of the only people she could
stand within New York. The giant teddy bear of a man. His
velvet voice and calm demeanor were an instant attraction,
like a magnet. He pulled the collar of his green jacket around
his thick jaw and waited for her answer.

Penny’s was a local pizza joint that most of the operators

went to on Friday nights. It was busy, usually crowded with
drunk firefighters, rowdy cops, and paramedics that didn’t
know when to back off. Beck jerked her purse over her
shoulder and thought about his invitation. She had been
avoiding going out with them because the last time she had,
one of the firefights from House Six tried to take her home
against her will.

“I’ll stay with you all night, no weirdos.” He raised an

eyebrow at her, “I know you want a slice of that pineapple
pizza, Murph. It’s twisted but you can’t resist it and I respect
that,” he looped his finger through her purse taking it from her.
“Don’t deny the pizza,” he cooed, taking a step in the other
direction.

“You know I can’t,” Beck smiled, hooking her arm into his
and following him down the street to Penny’s. The dark little
pub was packed with people piled over the heavy oak tables
and long glossy bar. The back corners were dimly lit as
patrons threw darts and shot pool; a chorus of laughter filled
the air while glasses clinked throughout the pub.

“Hey Beckett,” Penny cleaned glasses behind the bar,

setting one upright on the counter and filling it with smooth
caramel liquor. “On the house,” she winked. Her blond hair
was tucked into a ponytail that showed off her bone structure
under the warm lights of the bar. She tucked the white towel
into her navy-blue apron and pushed the glass closer to Beck.

“I really shouldn’t,” Beck raised a manicured hand up in

protest. Luke laughed against her back, leaning across and
taking the drink. Bringing it to his lips he purred as he downed
the whiskey. He handed Penny his bag and Beck’s purse to
keep behind the bar.

“How about some pizza?” Penny smiled, tucking their

belongings away. Beck nodded in response and pointed to the
back table where familiar faces sat talking and laughing.
“Same as always.”

Beck pushed through the crowd following the tunnel that

Luke’s massive shoulders created. Watching him walk she
wondered for the thousandth time why he hadn’t become a
firefighter or a cop. He had answered her question, time and
time again, vaguely with the words “I wasn’t built for that.”

She knew he couldn’t mean physically, just one look at the

guy and she knew that. She had thought about it for a long
time, and she came to the conclusion that what he meant was
mental. She had never seen him lose his temper but maybe that
was why he preferred the 911 call center because he wasn’t put
in situations where his temper got the best of him. She
appreciated that about him, he understood himself as a person
and knew his limits.

“Hey beautiful,” Ashton’s smile spread across his face,

wide and bright. His arm hung over the back of his chair as he
played with the hair at James’ nape. “How was work?”

James leaned forward pulling out the chair beside him for
her to sit and gave her a playful wink before settling back next
to his husband on the bench. “Uneventful today,” Beck
answered, sliding onto her stool. “How was the shift?”

Ashton rolled his eyes, bringing the bottle of beer he was

holding to his lips.

“Ashton got written up,” James answered for him.

“Again?” She asked. “What did you do this time?”

“He got in the face of police chief Topper when he was

told to back down on a call today,” James sighed, wrapping his
fingers around Ashton’s chin playfully.

“He arrested two kids that had been sleeping in a

warehouse that burned down,” Ashton leaned forward,
untangling himself from James to wrap both strong hands
around the base of the empty beer bottle. “Accidentally, those
kids had nothing to do with the fire. He didn’t care, as
always.”

“You have to be careful around him, Ashton,” Luke

sighed. “Topper is just waiting to get you fired, that dude hates
you and your sense of justice.”

“It’s not a sense of justice, it’s about the fact that he makes
arrests and never stops to consider the consequences of his
hair-trigger actions.” Ashton’s jaw clenched tight. “I need
another beer,” he pushed from his chair. He walked his broad
shoulders and trim hips through the crowd toward Penny.

“He’s worked up over this one,” Beck commented.

James’s eyes had followed Ashton to the bar, fixated on his

back with concern painted across his handsome face. “I swear
Topper shows up to these calls to push his buttons, Beck.”

He looked back at her, his tongue running over his bottom

lip. “I’m worried that they’ll go too far with each other the
next time this happens. Serious consequences,” he sighed.

“Serious consequences don’t apply to the police chief,

Bailey.” Luke groaned. “That’s the problem. Has Topper done
anything about that note you found?”

Beck let out a huff of air, reaching into her jacket pocket
she pulled out the yellow sticky note. She had folded it over on
itself three times until it became a small square that could
lodge itself between the hemming of her pocket. She unfolded
it, handing it to James who hadn’t seen it yet.

“What is this?” he asked, their fingers brushing together as

he took the paper and read it out loud. “You are so pretty when
you sleep.”

He turned the paper open, checking the back. He held it

between his fingers and stared at her, she could see his cop
brain turning over behind the glimmer of his blue eyes. “I’ve
never seen this, where did you find this?”

“It was stuck to my front door,” Beck swallowed. She had

come home from a twelve-hour night shift, exhausted, and
more than ready for bed when she found it.

The yellow sticky note scribbled with a gut-turning

sentence that made her late dinner churn in her stomach like
spoiled milk. She had called Luke instead of going inside by
herself. She just couldn’t shake the icy feeling that someone
had been inside while she was at work. Luke called Topper’s
personal phone, bringing him to her doorstep at two am with
his signature scowl and unrelenting sassy remarks. He had
promised to look into the note, taking a few photos of it, but
something stern and demanding within Beck told her to hang
on to the original. So, she had. Folding it until it was barely
big enough to see between her fingers and tucked it into her
pocket.

“Did he take it for prints?” James asked as Ashton set a

fresh pizza on the table.
 “She wouldn’t let him,” Luke interrupted before she had
the chance to defend her actions.

“Is this about that note?” Ashton asked. James’s head

turned so hard that Beck got secondhand whiplash from the
violent movement. “That’s right don’t tell James because he’ll
overreact and cause a fuss. It’s just a stupid kid playing a
prank or something.”

“Beckett, this isn’t a joke or a prank. This could be

serious!” James gave her the sticky note back and watched her
calmly fold it back into its square. “You drive me nuts, after
what happened to those girls last year, how could you take this
lightly?”

“Those girls were stalked and harassed by someone they

knew. Are you stalking me?” She narrowed her eyes at James
in contempt. “Luke harassed me about how long it took me to
finish Wordle last Friday, was it, Luke?”

James scowled at her, “At least let me investigate who

Topper assigned to your case so I know it’s being looked after.
This isn’t a joke until I say it is,” he dropped his gaze and
waited for her to concede in their little argument.

“It was probably Ashton,” Beck didn’t back down, she

leaned in on her elbow and took a piece of pizza between her
lips. The hot sauce mixed with the spicy ham Penny used and
the sweet, roasted pineapple. She hadn’t realized how hungry
she was until that moment, she finished chewing and smiled at
James who was still staring at her angrily.
 “Listen, Dad…” she teased. “It’s been a month since that
note. I haven’t seen one since. One note doesn’t warrant the
entire New York police force to look into it. Do what you need
to do to feel better but don’t baby me in the meantime. I’m a
big girl,” she cocked an eyebrow at him, taking another bite of
hot pizza.

“You will be the death of me,” James shook his head.

“At least you won’t be fawning over me like a helicopter

parent any longer,” she responded. Ashton threw his head back
in laughter, clutching at his chest like his heart might jump
from it at any second. Luke scoffed, trying to contain himself
but a chuckle fell from his lips as the four of them settled into
their typical conversation.

Beckett finished her pizza, eating three slices more than

her stomach could possibly handle. The pub emptied of drunks
and crazies, the noise level dropping to barely buzz as
conversations between the leftovers became intimate and
hushed.

“I’m done, I need sleep. I’ll see you boys at Nat’s on

Thursday?” She asked scooting from the table and pulling her
jacket back on.

“Yeah dinner is at seven, don’t be late or she’ll kill us,”

Ashton warned, his fingers tangled into James’s atop the table.

“Oh James, maybe Natalie is my stalker?” Beck called as

she walked through the pub, Penny extended her purse over
the bar top as she walked by. “Thank you for dinner.”
 She gave Penny a cheek kiss and closed the heavy oak
doors behind her as she wandered back out in the chilly New
York air. She tucked her chin into the collar of her jacket and
dug her toque from her purse, tugging it down over her
forehead. She gripped the strap of her brown leather purse
closer to her shoulder and huddled herself into a ball as she
walked the dark frigid streets.

A low whistle drifted through the air, bouncing off the old
bricks and cracked pavement. She turned, inspecting her
surroundings before quickening her step. The air turned silent
and stagnant, void of sound. Almost like even the birds and
bugs had become afraid of whatever lurked in the shadows.
Beck stopped again, turning on her heel to check the darkness
behind her. An uneasiness spread through her, and her
shoulders pulled back as she swung around to look ahead of
her again.

Another whistle through the dark, but she couldn’t see

where it was coming from. The streetlights lit every twenty
feet leaving substantial dark patches through the sidewalk and
the conversation from the pub had set her on edge. She
shuffled faster, picking up the pace as she counted the blocks
she had until her apartment came into view.

Ten.

Ten blocks from her apartment building. The whistle came

again, only this time she heard it properly, through the noise of
passing cars and the hum of the night. “Little bird,” It wasn’t a
whistle, it was a whisper.
 Nine.

Beck picked up her pace again, running through the street

as fast as she could. For once she wished that the streets of
New York were busier. Where were the crowds of impatient,
shoving people when she needed them?

“Little bird,” the words felt like ice against her prickled
skin as she ran. She controlled her breathing the best she
could.

Eight.

The whisper was like an eerie melody that stuck to her skin
as she began to sweat through her jacket. She pulled the collar
away from her face, allowing the cold breeze to cool her hot
body.

Seven.

“Little bird!” The voice was louder, in her ear and all
around her as she rounded the corner to the last six blocks. She
fumbled with her phone, her heart beating so loud she could
hear it in her ears. Feet on the pavement behind her forced her
to check her back but she was met with the still darkness of a
broken streetlamp.

Six.

She fumbled with her purse as she ran, trying to find her
cell phone. Her fingers rifled through her bag, hitting
everything but the cold plastic of her case. “Ha!” she yelled as
she grasped it.

Five.
 The phone was tipped from her purse, only for her to catch
it haphazardly as she ran. Narrowly avoiding a streetlight as
she looked down for a moment. She spun out of control, her
feet tripping over nothing but air and sending her phone flying
from her gasp to the ground. “No, no, no,” she skidded to a
stop, her shaky hands grabbing the broken phone. “Fuck.” She
collected the phone, the screen in pieces, and got back to her
feet.

The whistle blew over her once again, the hair on the back
of her neck standing up as she began to run. Her lungs
screamed for a break and her legs throbbed in pain, she hadn’t
run this much since high school. Regret filled her as she
recalled all the jokes she told Bailey tonight; she should have
taken his worry more seriously.

“Little bird,” it followed her.

Every nerve in her body was on fire as she rounded the last
corner to home.

Four.

Begging her legs to carry her just a little further. Move

your ass, she thought to herself. Hoping that she could make it
home before she collapsed or worse, was caught by whatever
was chasing her. The sound of boots grew louder as she grew
tired. Her pacing became lazy, clumsy, and slow.

Three.

“You can’t run,” the voice hollered through a black curtain

of the night from in front of her. She dug her heels into the
ground and came to a halt.

“You can’t hide, sweet dove,” the voice came from behind
her.

She covered her face with her hands, trying to think.

Trying to place the direction it was coming long enough to get
away from it.

“Go the fuck away!” she screamed, whipping back around

and slamming into the chest of a man twice her size. She
pushed off of him, screaming as loud as she could, and balled
her hands into fists.

“Hey now,” the voice was lower than before.

Not the same as the eerie whistle that had haunted her for
the last seven blocks. She looked over at him, trying to slow
her breathing as she took him in. Tall, with chocolate brown
hair, and dressed in a working suit. He carried a stick and wore
a pair of dark glasses which he pulled off and tucked into his
suit pocket. His tender smile was like a blanket for her frayed
nerves as he spoke again. “Miss calm down, are you in
trouble,” he said, reaching out to her.
 3

three

Beckett’s heart rate started to slow as she stared up at him, his

hand extended to her in offering but his gaze not quite on her
face. She wondered for a moment, raising her hand to rudely
wave it in his face but he caught her wrist gently before she
even had the chance. He gently rubbed his thumb along the
vein below her palm.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, “you’re upset, are you

lost?”

“No,” she said, her thoughts scattered and frazzled.

She tugged her wrist from his grip, not realizing that he
was stopping the violent shaking. She tucked it to her side and
took a deep breath. She needed to calm herself down, the
whistles and calls were gone. Nothing was after her anymore.
She had crashed straight into this wall of a man and the whole
world stilled.

“I’m sorry for running into you,” she put on her best
operator voice and hid the fear still creeping up her spine. Her
eyes darted from shadow to shadow, listening to everything
and waiting for the sound to return.

“There’s no one there,” he said.

He breathed out and Beck noticed how his lips parted, the
way his jaw moved as he listened to his surroundings. “You
thought you were being followed?”

“I was,” she snapped, flipping her phone over in her palm.

She had been squeezing the broken glass screen of her

phone so tightly that the meaty flesh of her hand was torn
apart with red slivers. She hissed, slipping the dead phone into
her back pocket.

“Are you hurt?” He put his hand out, “I can smell the
blood, did you fall?”

Beck stared at his outstretched hand, holding steady

waiting for her to swallow the pride holding her back. She set
her sore hand within his, tucking his walking stick under his
arm he ran the pad of his thumb gently along the rough,
bleeding skin.

“They don’t feel too deep,” he made note of them as he

traced her palm. “Clean them and wrap them up, they’ll be
fine.”

“What are you? A blind doctor?” Beck took her hand back
and shifted uncomfortably under the streetlamp.

“A blind forensic psychologist,” he chuckled.

 “A what?” she cocked an eyebrow and realized that she
had completely calmed down from talking to him. “That
sounds made up.”

“It’s a wordy job title, I read bad guys’ minds,” he joked.

Her panic stemmed from the conversation earlier, between

that, the sticky notes, and phone calls. Everything was stacked
on top of each other, it was a tower of cards waiting to topple
and she had scared herself.

“How many more blocks?” He asked and she looked from

his lips to his eyes again.

“What?” she turned her dark brown eyes to a person

passing by across the street.

“You aren’t lost, so you must live around here. How many
more blocks?” He asked with caution and waited patiently for
her answer.

“Three,” Beck mumbled.

She jumped as a clashing of metal came from behind her,

two garbage cans were hauled into the street by a worker and
left for the trucks in the morning. She did her best to inhale
deeply, anything to stop the thumping in her chest but she
couldn’t fill her lungs. She just needed to get home, “thanks
for the talk,” she stepped around him but he tapped his stick in
front of her feet.

“Let me walk you the rest of the way,” he offered.

“I’ll take my chances,” she laughed under her breath as her

nerves started to settle.
 “I think I’ve proven I won’t hurt you, I can’t leave you out
here like this. It would go against my nature.” His lips pressed
into a thin line as he again waited for her answer.

His nature? She chewed her lip, and stared into the
darkness beyond him, not ready to sink back into the
nightmare that she had so pleasantly created for herself.

Not yet.

For all she knew he was the one chasing her, no, she
thought. Think about it for a moment. Their voices were so
different, his voice was warm, low, and raspy. The voice that
called to her in the dark was menacing, it raked along her
nerves like claws.

There was a certain safety that floated between them.

“This isn’t some ploy to get in my pants, is it?” She

questioned. “Play the blind man, save the girl…you know hero
shit?” Beck swallowed hard as a wicked grin spread across his
face. She watched as his lips parted to show his teeth, the
curve of his lips leaning to the left as his scruffy jaw ticked in
response to the movement.

“Real hero shit,” he laughed. “You never told me your

name,” he asked as he crooked his arm for her to use. She was
hesitant about hooking her arm into his. She would have to
take her chances with the handsome blind man offering to take
her home.

“It’s Beckett,” she said.

“Beckett?” he asked, staring toward her.

 She enjoyed the soft smile on his face enough to make him
want to do it again and when she looked up at him there it was.

“Murphy, Beckett Murphy.” She offered.

“Nice to meet you, Beckett Murphy. I’m Saint, Saint

Maddox,” he responded with his low, raspy voice.

“Do you live around here?” She tugged on his arm, but he
was already in step with her, he was wearing dress shoes that
were much more expensive than his suit. It was a charcoal
gray paired with a light blue, very wrinkled, dress shirt and a
black tie.

“I live in a townhouse not far from here,” he stopped them

at the crosswalk before Beck had the time to tell him they
were at one. She turned to look at him once again, questioning
whether he was telling the truth for the third time since
meeting him. “What do you do?”

“I’m a 911 operator,” she said as the light turned green so

they could continue.

“That’s a stressful job,” he commented.

Saint seemed like a nice man; she eyed him carefully as

they grew closer to her home. The numbness from the
adrenaline was fading and her hand was starting to throb
consistently at her side.

“It can be rewarding,” she said, grinding her teeth together

in an attempt to keep from whimpering.

The small cuts had started to sting, there must have been at
least ten little cuts from the pad of her thumb to the base of her
fingers. Covering the entire surface of her palm in pain.

“Helping people,” he turned with her as she rounded the

last corner to her apartment building. “It makes you feel-” he
leans his head closer to hers and lowers his voice. “Alive.”

Goosebumps formed down her neck as he whispered the

word into her ear. “It can also be stressful,” she countered.

“You can’t be alive without suffering,” Saint added, his

tone so calm and collected.

She hummed under her breath in agreement. He couldn’t

be more right.

Lately, it felt like no matter how much good work she did,
no matter how many people she calmed on the other end of the
phone. That the bad always had a habit of snaking its way into
her life. Reminding her that the reaper walked the same path
as her, never too far behind.

“It’s this one,” she said, stopping on the steps of the

sixteen-floor red-brick apartment building.

She let go of his arm to find her keys, hissing under her
breath as she used her sore hand to hold open the bag while
she looked.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Saint asked.

“911 operator remember?” She found the keys and slipped

them into the door clumsily. They slipped from her fingers.

Saint’s hand extended to scoop them midair without

hesitation, “I can do it.”
 He moved forward, touching the deadbolt with his thumb
before slipping the key in with ease and clicking the lock. He
held the door open for her, a comforting smile curling on his
face as she hesitated.

“Humor me? I can’t leave you like this,” he said.

She sighed before stepping into the lobby of the apartment,

Saint following close behind her.

“You’ve done more than enough today,” Beck took the

keys from his warm, calloused hands. “I appreciate you
walking me home.”

“At least let me help with your hand,” he offered, that

tender smile still staring back at her.

“Oh I can’t ask you to do that,” she winced at the sight of

it. “It was just me being an idiot, I can get it cleaned and
bandaged,” she started toward the elevator.

“With one hand?” He stayed still, waiting for his invitation

to help. He was handsome and polite. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Alright,” she shrugged, hoping she wasn’t about to regret

it. “The elevator is to your right.” She pressed the button to the
fifth floor and as the doors slid open both stepped in, shoulder
to shoulder.

Beck took the time to look Saint over again in the mirrored
walls of the confined space they were in. His shoulders were
strong and wide, and his shirt wasn’t quite properly buttoned
at the top where his tie hung loosely around his neck. His head
was slightly tilted toward her, a tender curve to his lip as they
waited in silence for the elevator to climb to stairs to the top
floor.

She was having a hard time believing he couldn’t see a

single thing, she wished her phone was working so she could
at least shoot a text to James or Ashton in case she went
missing at the hands of the handsome helpful Saint Maddox.

“To your left,” she said as the elevator dinged and opened
its doors to them.

Saint followed her closely as they came to their apartment,

Beckett stopped. Short of breath seeing the sticky note over
the peephole of her boring gray door. Saint’s hand came to the
small of her back, his fingers brushing the fabric of her jacket
just enough that she could feel them dancing there.

“Why did you stop?” He asked, his voice hushed in the

hallway.

She didn’t answer, she ripped the sticky note from the door
and shoved it in her pocket without reading it before turning
the lock with her keys. She let Saint shuffle instead before
closing the door behind them. She pressed her forehead to the
door as she clicked the deadbolts over and took a moment to
calm her breathing.

“Beckett,” he said to her as she turned and plastered on a

fake smile for no one but herself. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she choked out.

Saint’s brow furrowed, he clearly didn’t believe her but he

let her get away with the lie as he shook from his jacket.
 “First aid kit?” He asked, she took his jacket and laid it
over the old brown couch that sat in the center of her one-
bedroom apartment.

She padded down the hall to the small yellow bathroom

and pulled the bag from under the sink before returning to
Saint who had found a seat. He leaned over the small, worn-
down gray island with his dress sleeves rolled to his elbows.

He turned when she stepped through the arch to the

kitchen, following her footsteps almost instinctively, “so you
hear everything better?” She asked rudely, setting the bag next
to his hand and turning to run the water in the kitchen sink.

“Something like that,” he mused, unzipping the bag with

one hand as she cleaned her palm under the lukewarm water.

She brushed her hair over her shoulder and extended her
sore hand to Saint who took it tenderly on his own. She
watched, her hips snug to the counter, as he brushed his
pointer finger down the center of her palm. Slowly, and as
lightly as he could so he could feel the cuts so as not to hurt
her but understand the extent of her wounds.

It tickled more than hurt as he traced each curve and indent

of her skin. His eyes closed and his head leaned towards hers
as silence fell between them like before. Beckett’s heart
thudded so loudly in her chest she thought he might be able to
hear it as he stopped suddenly and waited for her breathing to
level back out. “Rubbing alcohol?” He asked quietly.

She crossed her left hand over her body and reached into
the bag, handing it to him. He unscrewed it with one hand,
never letting go of hers as she shoved a towel underneath their
palms. He applied pressure with his thumb and forefinger to
either side of her wounded hand as he poured the painful
liquid over it to clean each tiny cut deeply.

Beck hissed as the alcohol hit her open wounds, Saint

leaned in closer, with his lips pressed together to form a pout
as he blew against the skin. His cool breath soothed the
stinging sensation a touch, “Do you have-” she pressed a roll
of bandage into his hand before he could continue.

“A mind reader,” he laughed, ripping the plastic seal with

his teeth.

He wrapped the soft cloth around her hand like he had

done it before and tugged it tightly so she could cut through it
with a pair of scissors. He taped it carefully to the palm of her
hand and before he let go, he pressed a soft kiss on top of it.
Beck sucked in the air around her through her teeth and
steadied herself as the butterflies ran rampant in her stomach
and chest.

“Saint Maddox, forensic psychologist, and doctor.” She

cooed with a half-cocked smile.

“Forensic psychologist, an amateur paramedic at best,” he

gave her hand back and pushed from his chair.

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” she flexed her fingers in

the air while keeping one eye on Saint.

“Are you sure you’re, okay? Is there anyone you want to

call?” He fished his phone from his pocket, standing from the
stool. Her heart clenched, suddenly disappointed that he was
leaving so soon.

“I should let my friend know my phone is toast,” she

chuckled nervously, taking the phone from him. He stepped
back, giving her room to send a text and grabbed his coat from
the couch. Beckett watched as he found it without hesitation
and doubt crept through her happiness like a cockroach.
“Thank you.”

he circled the island and handed him his phone back, “it
was my pleasure. Here,” he handed her a card from the folds
in his worn-out leather wallet. “It’s my number, just in case
you ever find yourself lost again.”

“On purpose or by accident?” Beck asked as she opened

the door for him.

“Hopefully both,” he flashed his bright smile at her again

before stepping into the hallway. “Good night, Beck,” he said
as he wandered down the hall.

“Good night Saint,” she responded as she shut the door

with a smile on her face.

She took a deep breath, locking everything behind her, and

grabbed a glass of water before wandering to her bedroom.
Everything seemed to have worked out for the better for her
she thought as she slipped the stretchy cotton pajama pants
over her bare hips. She crawled into bed, her thoughts on
Saint. His sweet demeanor and kind actions left a warm
feeling budding in her chest. She was tempted to call him the
second her phone was able. She would most likely have to call
into work in the morning to get it fixed. Hopeful that Luke
would be able to move her shift around. She tucked her arms
under the pillow on her bed, her fingers catching on a thin
plastic object that she had not put there.

Her heart sank like a brick in the ocean.

Gripping it between two fingers she slipped it from the

pillow, sat up on her bed, and turned on the lamp. She dropped
the photo between her lap, a gasp falling from her lips. It was
her, in bed the night before fast asleep.

She reached for a pen in her side table drawer, trying to

avoid adding any more fingerprints. She flipped the photo over
carefully, the back had something written on it.

I’ll be here to keep you warm.

 4

four

“Slow down,” James spoke into the other end of the telephone.

Beck had gotten up from bed and wasted no time getting

out of the apartment. A sickening feeling settled against her
chest, and she needed out. She knocked gently on the door of
her neighbor, asking politely with a trembling tone to her
voice to use his phone. The second she dialed James; her
resolve fell away, and she crumbled under her fear.

“Get over here,” she pleaded.

Suddenly the threat of the stalker was sinking into her

bones. The cute game of cat and mouse had been elevated,
Beck wasn’t enjoying being a mouse anymore.

“Please.”

“I’m coming, I’m going to call Luke, he’s closer. Go into

your apartment and lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone
except for me or Luke.” He instructed; she could hear him
gently waking Ashton in the background. “I’ll be right there.”
 Beckett thanked Mr. Hasif for letting her use his phone so
late, “Are you in trouble?” he asked, looking at the blood-
soaked bandage on her hand before she left.

“No,” she smiled sweetly tucking it behind her. “Someone

broke into my apartment, so my police friend is coming to
check the place out. Thank you again for letting me use your
phone Mr. Hasif, you’re a good neighbor.”

“Why don’t you wait here? I can make tea,” he offered,

insisting she came back inside. “I made sweet jalebi this
afternoon, you need to try it.”

“It’s two in the morning, I couldn’t impose.” She smiled

but Mr. Hasif gave her a stern look and she smiled before
shuffling back into his apartment.

“A nice girl like you can’t be sitting in that apartment

alone,” he set the kettle on the stove. “You’ll tell me what
happened to your hand,” he ordered as he opened a tin full of
sweet, sticky bright orange spirals. She took one and chewed
on the crispy dough with pleasure.

“I fell coming home from the pub and scraped my hand

up,” she looked at it.

“Did you clean it well? If you get an infection, you’ll have

to go see those shotty doctors at the hospital downtown.” He
shuddered in his sweater vest and poured the hot water into a
teapot.

“I did,” she laughed.

 She took another jalebi, unable to resist the urge. They
were delicious and crunchy on her tongue. After a few
moments, he poured her a cup of tea and gave her the milk
from the fridge. “Was there ever a Mrs. Hasif?”

She looked around his small, dimly lit apartment. It was

decorated in lush, dark colors and warm rugs with comfy
furniture. She couldn’t see any photos but that didn’t mean
they weren’t around; she had never seen any woman come in
and out of his home before.

“There was, we were married for thirty years before she

died of cancer two years ago,” he grabbed a book from the
shelf in his living room. He opened it for Beck to reveal a
whole album of pictures. No children, just the two of them
traveling the world. Each photo showed how much he loved
her.

“She was beautiful,” she swooned.

Beck wasn’t lying, his wife was stunning. She had the
most beautiful caramel skin, that she accented with bright-
colored tunics and sweaters. Her smile was infectious, and she
had kind dark brown eyes that only looked at Mr. Hasif with
the utmost love.

“She was a kind woman, and she would have liked your
spunk, Miss Murphy,” he smiled at her and took a bite of
dessert. “You said someone broke into your apartment, how do
you know?”

Beck swallowed hard, she knew the question was coming.

She pulled the plastic baggy she had dropped the photo in
from the back pocket of her pants and handed it to him. He
scowled at the photo, but his eyes sank with worry as he read
the back.

“This is concerning,” he gave her the photo back.

“I haven’t seen anyone in the building,” he noted, “I don’t

know how the person would get in without me hearing them.”

“What does that mean?” Beck asked, shoving the photo

back in her pocket.

“I don’t sleep much anymore, since Sita died. It’s hard to

sleep in a bed alone, you know?” He gave her a soft smile that
didn’t reach his eyes before it faded back to a thin line. “Even
when you work night shifts, I never hear you come home. You
are as quiet as a mouse,” he explains.

“That just means whoever broke in is equally quiet,” Beck

swallowed her fear.

“Concerning indeed,” he nodded. “Was this the first time?”

Beck’s stomach turned with bile as she remembered, “I’ll

be right back.”

She excused herself and shuffled across the hallway to her

apartment, clicking the lock open with ease and flinging the
closet door open in the hallway. She pulled the crumpled note
from the pocket, cursing herself for forgetting it there. She was
so busy making eyes at the lawyer that it hadn’t even crossed
her mind.

She closed her door and went back to where Mr. Hasif
waited for her, sipping his tea at the kitchen table. “This was
on my door when I got home,” she sighed.

“Ah with your handsome friend,” he smirked, and she gave

him a nervous chuckle in return. “I hear everything,
remember?” He clicked his tongue at her when she didn’t
respond.

“Just a friend helping me get home,” she insisted and sat

down at the table again. She unfolded the sticky note to find
the same messy handwriting.

My little bird, all scraped and bruised.

Her entire body slipped into a void, she felt like she was
trapped. Her lungs seized up and no air was coming in or out.
“Little bird…” the words whispered through her like a sharp
breeze, and she realized she hadn’t been making it up.

He had been out there tonight, chasing her.

He must have gotten to the apartment before her, to taunt

her.

A knock on the door across the hall made her jump from
her seat, Mr. Hasif put his hand over hers, “I’ll check who it is,
stay here.”

Beck put her good hand across the table, grounding herself
and regaining her breath. It felt like the whole world was
spinning around her. Mr. Hasif opened the door wider, and
James came rushing in, dressed in a dark blue sweater and a
baseball cap, his arms wrapping around her like a blanket of
safety.

“It’s okay,” he hushed her, rubbing his hand over her head.
 “Thank you for sitting with her, I’m sorry it took so long.
Ashton insisted on coming,” James pressed his cheek to the
top of her head. “Do you want to come with us while we check
the apartment, or would you feel better staying with…” he
paused realizing he hadn’t caught her neighbor’s name.

“Ibrahim Hasif,” he extended his hand to James who took

it with a firm shake.

“I’ll come,” Beck sighed, pulling from James’s grasp and

straightening herself out. “Here.” She pushed the note and the
photo against his chest. Beckett thanked Mr. Hasif and pushed
into the hallway to find sleepy Luke in a sweater and Ashton
standing just behind him with a bat.

“My heroes,” she sighed, turning the lock in the door. She
stepped to the side, putting her back to the hallway wall and
closing her eyes.

“Beck, where did you find these?” James asked, standing

shoulder to shoulder with her but facing toward the apartment.

“Note was on the door, like the last one…” she swallowed
as the uneasy fear crept up her spine, digging its claws into her
flesh, “the photo was under my pillow.” She cast her eyes up
from the floor to meet him in shame.

“This is not your fault, don’t look at me like that.” He

reached out, holding her chin with the pad of his thumb. “Next
time listen,” he scolded. “Your safety isn’t a joke.” His eyes
narrowed, catching the state of her hand, “what the hell
happened?”
 “Check the apartment, I’ll tell you when we know it’s
safe.” She prodded, he didn’t move his position, looking down
at her hand still. “James,” she snapped. “Check the
apartment.”

His jaw tensed but he moved within and started to sweep

the hallway, all of the men regrouping in the main living room
having found nothing.

“Check the windows,” James pointed to Ashton. “Make

sure no latches are broken. Luke,” he barked at the massive
man, “I have a bad feeling he’s recording her, see if you can
find anything. Lamps, lights, check the table and dresser in her
room.”

Beckett leaned over the kitchen counter, staring at the card

in her key dish. The plain white card stock stared back at her,
Saint Maddox - Forensic Psychologist wrote in dark ingrained
lettering. He might have been the only reason she was alive
right now.

“Where did you get that?” James pointed to the card in the
dish.

“After leaving the pub I was chased,” she sighed, running

her fingers through her dark hair. “Someone was following
me, I dropped my phone,” she raised her hand to show him,
“the glass cut the shit out of my hand and I ran into this guy,
Saint Maddox. He walked me home and helped fix my hand
up.”

“You were being chased by a stranger and then brought

one home?” Ashton raised an eyebrow as he ran his hand
against the lock and seal of her living room window.

“I’m lucky I did,” she growled, frustrated with the

interrogation. “He probably saved my life.”

“He would have scared off anyone waiting for you,” James
sighed, “doesn’t mean it was smart.”

“I couldn’t call anyone,” she pushed her broken phone

across the counter toward him. “Speaking off, if you can get
that turned on. I’ve been getting phone calls from a random
number for the last month. They never say anything, they just
breathe in my ear.”

“Beckett Murphy,” James’s tone dropped in anger, “a

whole month?”

“Save it,” she snapped, “all that matters is you have all the
information now.”

“You could have gotten killed because of your own

negligence,” James scolded as Luke wandered back into the
kitchen with something in his hand.

“It was in her bathroom vanity,” he dropped a button-sized

camera onto the island. James played with it between his
fingers.

“Gross,” Beckett grimaced, feeling like bugs were all over

her skin.

“I’ll get all of this into the station in the morning for
fingerprinting and have someone come watch the place for the
next couple of days,” he flipped the photo over in the bag. She
shook herself free of the tingling feeling and marched to her
room.

What are you doing?” James called her from the kitchen.

“I’m not fucking staying here. That pervert was in my

fucking room James Benjamin Bailey!” She screamed, filling
a duffle bag with clothes and her work uniform. “I’ll go stay at
Luke’s,” she invited herself.

“Hell no,” Luke scoffed. “I love you Beck, but Letty has
been staying with me and you two aren’t friends under any
circumstances. I do not need another cat fight happening,” he
shook his head. “Nope.”

“Ashton?” She sighed. She knew he would say yes to her,

she flashed her eyelashes and the pretty blonde one always
broke.

“The spare room is already made for you, but I don’t want
to hear a peep at breakfast if you hear James screaming for
more through the paper walls.” He shrugged, collecting his bat
and pulling her duffle bag from her before winking at James
and leaving the apartment. No one else moved, James and
Beck in a classic standoff of will.

Beckett and James had been friends for a century, they

grew up across the street from each other and he treated her
like a little sister, but everyone knew she was the Pitbull in
their relationship. In the ninth grade when James wanted to
come out as bisexual, one of the boys on the baseball team
called him a few homophobic slurs. Beckett hadn’t waited for
permission, stomping across the track field to the cages and
dumping him on his ass.

She broke her hand in three places and he had to go to the

hospital for a broken nose but he never spoke a word to James
again. The sheer fact that he had been dropped by a five-seven
girl was enough embarrassment to last him until graduation.

“You’re a public nuisance,” James flicked her nose and

turned himself out of the apartment.

She grabbed the card from the bowl, flicking it between

her fingers and shoving it in her purse for later use. Beckett
wasn’t going to wait for him to find her, if anything maybe
Saint had some insight into how this lunatic’s brain worked.

***

Beckett shoved her new phone into its case and found a park
bench to sit on that had plenty of sun and warmed her cheeks.
She envied the soft, relaxed laughter that filled the park as
couples walked and parents played with their children. She
hadn’t felt that settled in her own skin in nearly five years. The
sinking feeling of depression was simmering under her skin
and she could use a dose of warmth to bring her back from the
edge, the sun would have to do the trick. Staying with James
and Ashton was exhausting. She loved them but they bickered
like an old married couple, even in bed and she was over
listening to them have sex in the room over.
 James told her she’d be safe to go back to her apartment by
the end of the week, he had figured out a light detail to patrol
the area and he had her locks changed on the doors for her. It
still didn’t feel like enough, locks could be picked, patrols
could be deceived. She swallowed tightly chasing the feeling
of safety and found the image of Saint in her memories. His
soft chuckle and warm brown eyes wrapped around her like a
blanket. She flipped the card in her hand and watched the sun
catch the lettering with a slight shimmering.

“Hello?” She said as the dial tone stopped. “Is this

Maddox’s office?”

“Yeah, well his phone…he’s not here right now,” a raspy,

deep-toned voice met her on the other end. “Did you have an
appointment with him?”

“I don’t,” Beck bit her lip, “could I leave a message?” she

asked.

“Sure,” he spoke slowly, she could hear some shuffling

and then, “alright, go ahead.”

“Just let him know Beckett Murphy called and she

appreciates everything he did for her the other night,” she
smiled to herself and then realized he wouldn’t be able to read
it and she questioned her methods of flirting with a sigh.

“You alright?” The voice asked.

“Fine, just not very good at this flirting thing,” she laughed
nervously.
 Ah, I think you’re doing just fine.” He paused, “I
recognize your name.”

She heard papers moving around in the background.

His voice was suddenly louder as if he was pushing the

phone between his mouth and shoulder. “Murphy,” he said,
like he knew her personally, “you’re Bailey’s friend.” There
was an underlying tight tone to his voice that hadn’t been there
before.

“Oh god, what did he do now…” she nervously laughed

again.

“Nothing, he slid your file across my desk this morning

asking for some surveillance help. I work in the special cases
department; he thinks your case is well… special.” The man
clicked his tongue. Beck inhaled sharply, “I know you called
for Saint, but do you think we could meet for breakfast to
discuss your case?”

“I already told James everything I know,” she ground her

teeth together in worry.

“Yeah, I’m sure. You’ll find Bailey and I differ in how we

handle cases.” He chirped. She heard a door close in the
background and the familiar jingle of keys. “Hey,” he said, his
tone fading into a hush as he asked, “you like pancakes?”

“What?” She laughed so loudly that the old lady walking

by got scared. His question caught her so off guard that she
didn’t have time to hide her amusement.
 “Do you like pancakes? Anything can be solved over a
plate of pancakes,” he laughed into the phone and suddenly
Beck had the urge to study the smile that produced it.

“Yeah, I like pancakes…” she ran her fingers through her

hair.

“Good meet me at the diner on the twenty-eighth,” he

paused, “in an hour.”

“I don’t even know your name,” she stopped him before

hanging up.

“Jack,” he said sweetly. “See you soon Murphy.”

 5

five

Beck sat at the diner alone, she had shown up too early and
now looked like an idiot sitting by herself sipping on iced tea
in the sweltering heat. She hated waiting on people and it
didn’t matter who was on the other side of that telephone if he
didn’t show up soon, she wouldn’t be here when he arrived.

The bell above the door ran for the first time since she sat
down twenty minutes ago. Part of her was doubtful that
anyone she needed would walk through that door. She pushed
her hair back and turned on the bench to look behind her, the
straw of her iced tea dangling between her tongue and teeth.
Her mouth dropped open as she was met with the worst
possible situation.

He was gorgeous.

The embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome, with sharp

features and dark hair, paraded in like he owned the place. He
flashed a soft smile at the waitress behind the counter and ran
a hand through his cropped hair as his gaze flickered toward
her.

She almost choked on her iced tea, pushing it away from

herself as he sat across from her. He adjusted himself within
the thin black long sleeve he wore, stripping from his flak
jacket. The dog tags around his neck clanking together
catching her eye and her curiosity. She wasn’t dealing with an
ordinary police officer.

“Murphy,” he held out his hand, heavily scarred and

calloused for her to take. He shook it gently, holding on a
moment longer than she expected as he searched her face.

“You must be Jack,” she responded, not taking her eyes off
him.

His dark brown eyes trailed over her features, giving her a
moment of unapologetic staring as she too studied his face.
With a strong jaw that had morning stubble growing against it,
a large nose that had clearly been broken more than once, she
found him uncomfortably handsome. He furrowed his heavy
brow line at her and took his hand back.

“Saint said you were pretty,” he noted.

Beckett could feel the warmth rising up her neck, she

rolled her shoulders back to force the blush down. She
couldn’t tell if he was genuinely flirting or if he was trying to
make her comfortable enough to tell him all her deepest,
darkest secrets.
 “The blind guy told you I was pretty?” She countered; he
wanted her uneasy. She just couldn’t tell why. She watched as
he leaned on one of his elbows and stared at her.

He sees more than you think,” he mused, rubbing his jaw

with his hand methodically.

Beck steadied herself and scowled, “I thought you said you

hadn’t seen him this morning?”

He nodded, his smile growing from a mere smirk to a

wide, bright smile that showcased his beautiful set of teeth.
She felt like she was a lamb at breakfast with a wolf. “He also
said you were smart.”

She clicked her tongue, already catching the feeling that

Jack was trouble. The kind of trouble that Beck liked to avoid
but felt herself sinking into as he flashed that pretty smile in
her direction.

Where Saint was sweet, caring, and attentive. Jack seemed

to be fiery, outspoken, and bossy.

“What did he say when you told him you were hijacking
his date?” Beck leaned forward on her elbows. Two could play
in that game. Her hair fell over her face in waves. Jack
mirrored her, leaning forward with a cheeky grin.

“So this is a date?” Jack licked his bottom lip and his eyes
shimmered in the warm New York sunshine that flooded
through the windows of the diner.

Suddenly she wanted to taste the sweet sweat that rolled

over his lips from the temperature outside. She made note of
the long sleeve again, who the hell wears a long sleeve in this
weather? She thought to herself. Checking herself and her
horny thoughts she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re so full of shit,” Beck tilted her head, and he

mirrored her again, the smile on his face was intoxicating as
he watched her trying to figure him out.

She hadn’t met a person who challenge her, met her toe to
toe.

She had a boyfriend at twenty that tried, God bless him but
he never quite made her feel the way she felt right now. A fire
in her belly rose every time he mirrored her reaction, a
throbbing need forming between her legs each time his jaw
ticked in annoyance. He was just as frustrated with her as she
was with him.

He had met a match he didn’t know he needed, and it was

written all over his ruggedly handsome face. Beck took
pleasure in knowing that she had frustrated him so, batting her
long lashes in his direction.

“Can I get you two anything to eat?” The sunniest waitress

in the whole diner shuffled to them, her pinstripe apron
covering a white, stained uniform and dingy sneakers that
must have been years old.

he leaned against the back of the cracked leather bench

seating, hanging her tits in his face, eyes only for Jack as she
twirled a finger through her bleach-blonde hair. She pursed her
lips when he didn’t look at her, pouting like a child who
couldn’t get the attention she wanted.
 “Pancakes, two plates. Whip cream for the lady,” he
answered without taking his eyes off Beck. She swore all the
composure in her body left her as she watched his lip twitch.

“Alright Honey, you let me know if you need anything

else, I’m at your service,” she swooned but still Jack watched
Beck.

She nodded, leaning back against the bench but keeping

eye contact. “Why did James give my file to you?”

“Because I’m good at what I do,” he answered, his hands

clasped together on the table and his shoulders pulled up
around his thick neck.

“James is good at his job, so what is it that you do?” Beck

asked, she bit the inside of her mouth and watched Jack wrap
his soft lips around the stained coffee cup.

He was a war vet; his hands and scars told her so. The way
he subtly checked his surroundings every few moments. It was
methodical, over his left shoulder, a minute later over his right.
He was paranoid and careful. He didn’t like to be seen but he
wanted her to see him.

“I find bad people and I put them down,” he watched her

carefully for a reaction, but she gave him nothing.

“You put them down?” Finally, she laughed, Jack smiled

sweetly at the noise and broke his intense stare in response.
“Like euthanasia?”

“Do I look like a veterinarian?” He asked, his tone cheeky

and playful.
 “You’re definitely a dog lover,” she teased. “I bet you own
a golden retriever.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed

before, but his smile faded as he said, “I’m not here to play
games with you Murphy, I’m here because I’m the best.”

“That’s just the thing,” she shook her head. “Why help
me? Because Bailey asked nicely? He isn’t that cute…” she
trailed off.

Jack offered a small laugh to her comment, but his eyes

turned on her, dark and endless.

“You aren’t as perceptive as you think,” he snapped, his

voice gravelly and low.

She had clearly hit a nerve.

“Do you wanna know what I think?” she asked and he bit
his tongue between his teeth, caught in his thoughts but to her
surprise, he nodded. Curiosity killing the cat.

“I see a veteran; your dog tags are a dead giveaway.

You’ve seen death. You’ve dealt its hand too. A lot of it and
you aren’t scared of it, but something does scare you because
you’ve clocked the door five times in the last fifteen minutes
you’ve been in here and your knee is shaking under the table.”

He sat back, squaring his shoulders. He was uncomfortably

caught off guard. Beck noted the way his large hand wrapped
around the back of the bench seat.

“I think you’re a man trying to make right in the world all

the things he did wrong. I just can’t figure out why. So why,
Jack, are you here? If I’m a charity case, burn my folder cause
I don’t need some shithead cop pretending to care.”

The tension built between the two of them, cracking in the

air like the lightning during a dry thunderstorm. She tapped
her finger on the table and waited as he formulated a response
inside that pretty little head of his.

He opened his mouth to say something as the waitress

returned, “your pancakes,” she slid the plate across the table to
Jack, and he thanked her. “Anytime handsome.”

“Oh you sure are a sweet thing,” he looked over at her with
a flirtatious grin on his face. “Is this extra bacon?”

“If I say yes will it earn me a chance to see you after I get
off work?” She giggled.

The bitch actually giggled out loud like a schoolgirl.

“I don’t see why not,” he raked his eyes over her long,
curvy body and licked his bottom lip. “Do me a favor and fill
my cup,” he winked. The waitress obliged, leaning over the
table and putting her giant, round and perky tits in his face as
she filled his cup with fresh coffee. “Atta girl, thank you.”

A pang of jealousy snapped within Beck like an elastic

band hearing him praise her and she spun to face the woman
so fast she might have given herself whiplash.

“Do you flirt with all your patrons or only the ones on
dates?” Beck snapped at the waitress.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I didn’t think you two were

together,” she back peddled. “Enjoy your pancakes,” she
shoved her hands in her pockets and took off in the opposite
direction.

“I knew this was a date,” Jack shoved a piece of pancake

in his mouth.

“It’s not a date,” she growled. She wanted to stab him with
a fork just to see him squirm.

“Then why did you just get into a pissing contest with the
waitress over me?” He laughed, showing his sharp teeth again.

She restrained the smile that threatened to show simply

because he had given her one. She reached out and took his
coffee, drinking the rest of the hot caffeine down with her eyes
boring into him like daggers.

“Hey!” he scolded but he wasn’t fast enough to stop her.

“You deserved that you put whipped cream on my

pancakes,” she sneered, she hated whip cream.

“You look like a girl who likes whipped cream,” he

shrugged. He looked for the waitress to refill his cup but she
avoided his eye contact and continued organizing menus.

“I hate whip cream, I guess you aren’t as perceptive as you

thought, sweet thing.” She rolled the last bit of her words to
the edge of her tongue and caught Jack staring at her again.

“Maybe you just haven’t tried it with the right meal,” his
eyebrow raised in defiance. The tender warm sensation
returned as she thought about all the ways he could use the
whipped cream. Knowing exactly what was going through her
mind, he reached out and scooped two fingers through the pile
of cream on her pancake against her protests.

He stuck the fingers between his lips, watching her

reaction as he cleaned them off and popped them back out of
his mouth. “Tastes pretty damn good to me, maybe it’s the
pancakes you don’t like.”

“Are you going to flirt with me all day or help me find the
man who’s tormenting me? I’d like to go back to my
apartment.” She sighed and started to eat the sweet, fluffy
pancakes. “And it’s not the pancakes, it must be the company.”

“Oh you wound me,” he laughed, putting his hand on his

chest.

They ate quietly, devouring the breakfast and stealing

glances at one another as the diner began to fill with patrons.
“You wanted to know why I’m here?”

She nodded, looking up from her empty plate. He pulled a

file from his jacket and slid it across the table.

“I’m here because Bailey asked me to be.”

“James asks a lot of things, from a lot of people.” Beck

shrugged. This wasn’t news and if it was meant to make her
feel better; it didn’t.

“He doesn’t drop things on my desk without thinking long

about them first. He’s a smart guy, one of the best cops in New
York. But something about this has him rattled. Part of him is
scared for his friend, taking a step back from the case gives us
a better chance at catching the guy.”
 She opened the folder to see photocopies of the photo of
her, photos of her apartment. The camera they had found in
her bathroom and the notes, all the notes. “And the other
part?” she asked, he tilted his head in question. “You said part
of him is scared, that’s why he brought this to you. What about
the other part?”

“The other part of him knows I’m the only person on the
force that isn’t afraid to break the rules,” Jack closed the folder
and tossed it back on the bench.

The tone in his voice made her sit up straight.

“So what are you going to do?” She asked as a new

waitress came towards them, filling their cups and
disappearing without a word. Good she thought, she was no
longer in the mood to deal with flirty women.

“I need you to tell me everything about that day, start to

finish,” Jack asked, he set his phone on the table. The red
flashing light blinked on the screen to show he was recording
her. “It’s just for me to listen to,” he said, noticing her
hesitation. “Look at me Murphy,” he ordered and without
question she listened, her eyes lifting to meet his intense gaze.

“What time did you leave for work that day?” He asked.

Shit work… “I have to be at work,” she rambled, realizing

that she worked in less than an hour and needed to get moving
if she was going to make it across town for her shift. Shoving
her phone into her purse and grabbed her wallet to pay for her
breakfast. He stopped her and tossed two twenties on the table
before escorting her from the diner.
 “Let me walk you,” he shoved his hands into his pockets
and the collar of his jacket flicked up around his sharp jaw.

“Are you and Maddox in some sort of competition for who

gets the most steps in this week?” She looked down the street,
she had to make it another twelve blocks to get there.

He laughed, sliding to the outside of the sidewalk. “No.

We’re just holding on to our chivalry.”

“That and you need my recounting of that day,” she tilted

her head in the direction she needed to walk and they started
moving. “I got up at six that morning,” she started, making
sure he was recording before she continued, “I had a day shift
but wanted to get a run in. Nothing in the apartment was out of
place,” she recounted. She had these conversations with scared
citizens on the phone in the call center every day.

Extracting information about their surroundings was made

difficult by panic and fear, they typically passed over
something important that could save their lives or others. Her
only distraction came in the form of Jack walking so close to
her she could feel his shoulder rub against hers, he must have
been six-two with how he towered over her.

“I showered after my run, and went to work like normal,”

she shrugged, trying to catch her runaway train of thought.

You work at the call center right?” He asked as they

walked, she looked up at him and nodded. “Careful,” he
tugged at her shirt, pulling her back from a passing cyclist. His
hand pressed against the small of her back as they waited for
the light to change. “Were there any weird calls that day? We
got the number off your smashed phone but it was a burner.
Dead end.”

“I’d have to check my logs,” she answered, sweat rolled

down her neck from the heat and she wished it would rain for
the sake of her clean clothes. “We get so many disconnects a
day I might have had one and not even known it.”

“I’ll send over the number from your phone that day so
you can cross-check the logs,” he said.

She watched him check his surroundings again, always

watching everything around him. “Keep going,” he instructed.

“After work, as I was leaving, I got that first phone call. It

lasted two minutes and it was just breathing,” she shuddered.
The phone calls that had been happening seemed so much
creepier now that there was a person behind them, tormenting
her. Jack put his hand on her arm, and she looked at him.

“I know this is hard, but I need you to do it so I can find

the place he slipped up.” The sun reflected in his dark brown
eyes.

“How do you know he slipped up?” She asked, her trust

for him growing with every step they took.

“They always slip up,” He urged her on, removing his

hand but she wished he hadn’t. Beck thought harder about the
calls, trying to remember if there was anything else but the
sound of breathing.

“Clicking,” she remembered, “there is always this

rhythmic clicking noise.”
 “That could be anything, a pen, a keyboard…” Jack shook
his head. “Keep going,” he instructed.

“I went to Penny’s with some friends and then left alone,”

she swallowed hard. “I started hearing this sound…”

“That wasn’t in the report,” Jack’s eyebrows knit together,

and he stopped her on the street, turning her so she faced him.
“Why didn’t you tell Bailey this?”

“Because it would have made him unreasonably frantic

and I was already stressed out and scared,” she said the last
word softly because she was ashamed of herself for not seeing
the signs sooner and for letting this crawl at a steady pace until
it became a serious matter and less of a joke.

He hooked a finger under her dropping chin and raised her

face to look at him, people rushing by them on the street but
everything but him was merely a blur swarming around the
bubble they were in. “The fear will eat at you if you let it,” he
said, his voice low and gravely as he spoke.

She swallowed, followed with a deep breath, and started

again, “As I was walking home I started hearing this sound. At
first I thought it was a whistle, but then it started to get louder
and something-someone,” she corrected herself, “was
whispering…”

“Hey!”

Beck jumped at the noise, unable to continue her sentence.

Jack found his gun at his waistband, his finger clicking the
safety back instantly. “Whoa,” the man who had put them both
on edge threw both his hands in the air. “It’s just me,” he said,
coming closer, “Hello,” he ran his tongue over his bottom
teeth as he smiled, “is this business or pleasure?” his dark
glasses slid down on his nose so he could look at her.

“Business,” Beck casted him a dirty look.

“Our new case. Romero this is Beckett Murphy.” Jack

introduced them.

What the hell was in the water in New York? She thought.

“Banks,” he nodded with a cheeky smile.

He was taller than Jack and seemed to be sculpted from

tight cords of slim muscles. His eyes were darker than Jack’s,
so dark she thought they might be black, and they mimicked
the color of his hair which was long on top but pushed back
off his face neatly. He dressed nicer than Jack too, more like a
detective. In a dark dress shirt and dress pants, he extended his
hand to Beck. The muscles in his shoulders rolled beneath the
dark leather gun holster that carried his department-issued
weapon.

“Beck, please,” she instructed.

“Your file,” Banks pulled his dark glasses off, “didn’t have
any mention of ex-boyfriends or lovers…whatever you’re
into.”

Jack groaned loudly enough for Banks to pull his shoulders

back and toss him a dirty look for scolding him.

“One ex. It was explosive… I don’t think he’s involved.”

Beck shrugged her shoulders.
 “Why?” Banks asked.

“He was all bark and a raging narcissist. The attention

always had to be him.” Beck explained, slightly embarrassed
to have loved someone like that.

“And this stalker is all about you,” Banks nodded,

understanding where she was going with it.

“Name?” Jack asked, looking out into the busy traffic and
away from her red face. When she didn’t answer him, he
looked back at her, “what’s his name, Murphy?”

“Dorian Hallows,” she said. “If you’re both done prying

into my love life or lack thereof. I need to get to work. You
have my number,” she excused herself from the men suddenly
feeling unwelcome in their clique as Banks whispered
something to Jack she couldn’t hear.

“Keep a record of any weird calls today,” Jack suggested

and she nodded.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she cooed, giving him one last

forced smile.

“It was my pleasure,” he gave her a genuine one in return.

 6

six

“How are you doing?” Luke bent over the table that was in the
kitchen of the call center, his muscles straining the fibers of his
work uniform.

Beck looked up from her sad turkey sandwich and sighed,

shrugging her shoulders. She couldn’t even form words that
described her emotions. She was so flustered and tangled in
her fear, confusion, and paranoia that she felt like she couldn’t
trust anyone anymore.

James had warned her that it could be someone she was

close to, that the person stalking her, tormenting her is already
in her life. She probably talks to them every day or sees them
when she buys her groceries or coffee on the weekends.
Everyone felt suspicious. Harris had stood too close to her in
the elevator this morning and the kid who serves her coffee
every morning in the lobby held onto her cup a little too long.

“Beck,” Luke slid into the chair across from her.

 The noise of the metal sliding across the floor scared her
from the trance she was in. Her sandwich fell from her hand,
crushed under her grip it didn’t stand a chance. She pushed the
pile of bread and meat away from her with a huff.

“That bad hey?” Luke asked.

“I just-” she stopped, her heart was in her throat all of a

sudden and she felt helpless to stop the panic attack as it rose
through her body like a tidal wave.

Luke reached across the seemingly expansive gap of the

table and gripped her hand in his gently, “breathe Beck,” he
commanded. “In and out, do it with me.” He took a long
breath in, watching her closely as her chest expanded in unison
with his. “Again,” they did this a few times before her heart
slowed and slipped back where it belonged.

It had a nasty habit of running away from her lately. First,

when she ran into Saint, he seemed to wrap his whole self
around her like a blanket she wanted to live in. And then with
Jack, he challenged her to feel less like a walking ball of fear
and anxiety with each cocky smile that he flashed at her.

They were the only thoughts in her mind that seemed to

steady the slow thrum of panic that existed within her for the
last two weeks. “I heard James gave the case up,” Luke tried
to get her to speak.

“He thought it was better because he’s so close to it,” Beck

shrugged. “Gave it to some guy named Jack.”
 “Callahan? The Jack Callahan?” Luke looked shocked,
rocking back in the tiny kitchen chair. It squeaked underneath
his weight barely holding it together.

She shook her head, “why did you say it like that?”

“Do you ever watch television?” Luke chuckled, easing the

tension in the room. He was distracting her but she liked it.
“Last month he and his partner took down an entire sex
trafficking ring. They put Wade Fox in jail,” he said.

The name barely rang a bell but the fact that Jack and
Banks had done that was impressive. “You’re impossible,”
Luke scoffed, “Fox runs one of the biggest gangs in New
York. The cops have been trying to hook him on something
tangible for years. They’re saying he might stay in jail this
time around,” Luke smiled at her. “It means they’re really
good at their jobs.”

“So why did they take on a single stalking case?” Beckett

questioned, all the nerve leaving her as she thought about the
way Jack’s hand fell against her back that morning. She could
still smell him as though he was standing directly beside her,
leather and… licorice.

“Bailey has pull at the station, it was probably a favor

owed.” Luke stood up from the table. “Will you be okay to
walk home tonight, my shift is over.”

“I’ll be okay,” she put on a brave face, but she could feel
her knee shaking under the table.
 “They’re going to catch this guy, Beck, you know James.
He won’t let anything happen to you,” he tried to settle her
nerves. “Just be careful, keep your phone on, and don’t do
anything stupid.”

“Thanks, Luke, I feel better now.” She replied in a sassy

tone, “get out of here!” She threw her empty water bottle at
him, he caught it with a shake of his head and pitched it into
the bin behind him.

She wasted the rest of her shift scrolling through logs of

data from the previous weeks, trying to come up with a list for
Jack. It’s only three times. She remembered every single one
of them just from the date on the logs. She ran her fingers
through her hair and leaned back in her chair, hitting send on
the logs. She had finished her shift an hour ago but couldn’t
manage to get herself up and out of her chair.

The ding of a new email came through her computer, and

she sat forward again. It was a direct conversation; Jack had
responded faster than she expected him to.

Why are you still at work?

Jack

She looked at the time and tried to remember when she left
him. It made sense for him to do the math but for him to check
her on it. It brought a smile to her face.

I couldn’t sift through the logs during my shift.

 Murphy

She signed it with what he liked to call her; she liked the
way he said her name.

You expect me to believe that?

Jack

Beckett sighed; she should have known he would call her

on her shit. She stared at the words on her computer trying to
formulate a good reason why she was still sitting there. I’m
scared shitless to leave the building. I don’t want to go home
alone. The darkness is deafening.

Answer me, what’s going on?

He sent another before she could even respond, unsigned

and her heart fluttered at his concern.

Her phone rang on her desk and her heart stopped, it

hadn’t rung all day and she was scared to look at the number.
She counted to ten trying to steady herself as the phone
vibrated upside down on her desk.

Answer the phone, Murphy.

Please

She flipped it over and swiped to answer, bringing it to her

ear she slipped from her chair and walked towards the staff
room. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

“You’re pushy,” she laughed, it was breathy and nervous,

but it meant she was breathing.

“I said please,” he added. “So, tell me what’s going on?”

 “You’re the police officer assigned to my case, Jack, not
my therapist.” She sighed, locking the door behind her to the
kitchen, she leaned against the wall and slid down it to the
floor.

“How about a friend?” he asked quietly, she could hear

people talking around him. He was still at work too.

“Why are you still at work?” She countered, ignoring his

question.

“I’m trying to help a really lovely girl feel safe again,” he

sighed. “That means working well into my overtime.”

“This girl is thankful,” she sighed, biting her lip.

“Thankful enough to go on another date with me?” He said

so smoothly Beck almost gasped.

“Maybe if you say please?” She teased.

“Please, Murphy,” he purred into the phone, and she

pushed her head against the wall and shut her eyes. She didn’t
think it could get better but hearing Jack Callahan beg was on
the short list of things she would pay to hear again.

“No more pancakes,” she laughed. “I don’t work

Saturday.”

“I’ll pick you up, I have something I want to show you,”

Jack said.

“Does it involve whip cream?” She smirked and cursed

herself for even saying it.
 “It can if you want,” he moaned into the phone. “You’re
going to get me in trouble, I’m at work remember?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she cooed, “I’ll see you

Saturday,” she added.

“Go home Murphy,” he added.

“I’m leaving right now promise.” She said honestly.

“Good because Saint’s been waiting outside for you,” Jack

laughed. Beck’s stomach flipped, “I told him when your shift
ended, who knows how long you’ve left the guy standing in
the heat.”

“Jack!” She barked, “you did not!”

“He insisted, I was going to send a car to take you home,

but he wanted to help.” He said as she stood from the floor,
fixing her hair in the reflection of the window before
unlocking the door and moving to her desk.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” he said, hanging up the phone.

Beck collected her things trying not to think too long and hard
about the way Jack said her name as butterflies invaded every
inch of her body.

She shuffled down the stairs and out the back down into
the alley. She took a deep breath hoping that there was no one
waiting for her on the other side of the door as she pushed it
open into the fresh air. The sun had started to set, and it was
creating a soft glow over the buildings. She moved to the
opening and into the street looking around, hoping he was still
waiting for her.
 Saint was leaning against a newspaper box, his cane
tucked under his arm and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned.
She felt bad that he had been standing in the sun for so long.

As she came towards him, his head turned slightly in her

direction. A smile teased at the corner of his mouth like he was
holding it back so she wouldn’t see how eager he was.

“How long have you been waiting here?” She asked,

walking over to be close to him.

He extended his left arm and she extended hers but instead
of taking her hand he softly gripped her wrist, tugging her
closer toward him. He stared at the ground between them,
tilting his head towards hers and it took her a moment to
realize what he was doing but she smiled softly when she
figured it out.

He was checking her pulse.

It would tell him how fast her heart was beating in his
presence.

“It doesn’t matter,” he smiled, letting her go. “Where are

you staying?”

“What?” Beckett asked, confused.

She stared up at him, admiring the cute bow shape on his

upper lip and the way his glasses sit on his nose. His hair was
tousled more than usual, and his skin was glistening with
sweat from waiting in the heat. He rolled his head to the side,
waiting for her to figure out what he meant but she was too
busy tracing his features with her eyes.
 “Jack said you weren’t in your apartment when I spoke to
him this morning,” he explained when she didn’t continue.

“Did Jack tell you I called for you?” She fidgeted with the
rings on her fingers.

“One thing you’ll learn about Jack is he likes to keep

secrets,” Saint’s head dipped but his smile widened. “I still
found my way to you.”

“I didn’t even have to get lost,” she hummed.

Something about the way he said it made her heart thud in

her chest as she worked up the nerve to touch him. She
brushed her hair back, trying to steady her breathing before
she pressed her fingers into his bicep. She inhaled sharply,
holding her breath, waiting to see what he would do. When he
finally opened his arm and let her hook her whole hand into it
she started to relax. He tucked his cane into his pocket and
pressed his left hand to the one she had hooked into his,
rubbing his thumb against the flat silver ring on her index
finger. She looked down at his hand, warmth blossoming in
her chest.

“I would have found you,” he countered. She playfully

tickled her fingers on his arm, and he wrapped his tighter in
return and squeezed the top of her hand a little harder.

“Thank you for waiting in this heat. I’m going back to my

apartment today.”

She had argued with James for an hour on the phone until
he caved and moved up the timeline. Part of the argument was
her stupid fear taking over, she knew if she didn’t get back into
the apartment sooner than later, she would be too afraid to ever
go in again.

“You seem unsure about your decision,” he stopped with

her at the crosswalk and turned his face to the sky. She
couldn’t tell if he was listening to the traffic or letting the
remainder of the sun kiss his face before it left. Either way, he
looked like an angel with his neck exposed, collar loose, and
buttoned just enough to show the drops of sweat trickling
down his neck to his chest.

“I am, Saint,” she laughed, pulling him forward as the light

changed. “Don’t tell anyone but I’m a mess.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he bumped his elbow into her gently as

they turned the corner toward her apartment. “You’re doing a
good job hiding it,” he added.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she sighed. “How do you

know Jack?”

“Everyone knows someone in New York,” he chuckled,

she loved the sound it made and the way his lip twitched when
he did. “We’re… old friends.”

“Sounds ominous when you put it like that,” she

responded.

“Jack’s an ominous guy,” he said.

“You two are strange,” Beck shook her head and turned
them around the last corner to her home. The walk felt so short
when she wasn’t running for her life. Too short, she almost
didn’t want it to end. “Thank you for coming to walk me
home.”

“It was my pleasure Beck,” She watched as he slipped his

glasses off, tucking them into his jacket pocket. He let her slip
free of his arm, but he caught her fingers before she turned
from him to her door. He pulled her back as gently as a person
could, her toes gliding across the cement without a sound as he
pressed his free hand to her back and pulled them together. He
walked them until her back was against the sharp brick wall of
her building and held her there.

He untangled his fingers from hers and lifted them slowly

until he found the curve of her collarbone. Under the hem of
her work polo, his finger traced the bone until he came to the
base of her neck. His fingers danced against the side of her
throat, each finger one after another until his thumb grazed the
shape of her jaw. Beck inhaled as his other hand released her
and he joined them around her face.

Saint’s fingers tangled just behind her ears as the pads of

his thumbs traced the shape of her lips. He was memorizing
the appearance of her face. Beck tried not to move an inch as
he worked his fingers up against her cheekbones. She closed
her eyes for him, allowing him to graze his fingers over her
eyelids before rubbing her temple and feeling the shape of her
face. He dropped his left hand back to her throat as his right
hand circled back to her lip, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Saint,” she whispered as his lips came inches from hers.

 “Do you have your keys?” He asked as if he hadn’t just
ravaged her face with soft touches and much to her
disappointment had stopped himself short of kissing her. He
pulled his forehead away from hers, lifting his hand between
them with his palm open.

Before she looked for them, she studied the way his face
looked without his glasses. His dark brown eyes waited,
staring just past her as he tilted his head and listened to her
breathing. Waiting for her to do as he asked. She let out an
exasperated breath before she pulled them from her bag and
placed them in his extended hand, the one he needed to be
separated from the rest. “Thank you, sunshine,” he whispered
between them.

She melted into a puddle at his words, and he knew it as a

smirk pulled at the left corner of his perfect mouth. She fixed
her hair and straightened her back, trying to reclaim all the
nerve that left her body when he touched her.

“If you’re comfortable with it I would like to check your

apartment before I leave you.”

She smiled, brushing her fingers against her lips trying to

hold onto the memory of his feeling pressed to them.

“Of course.”
 7

seven

He wanted to break every bone in the professor’s hands. To

hear the snap of them as he begged him to stop. He had
touched her. He had tainted her skin with his foul hands and
the rage that poured deep into him was uncontrollable. Saint
Maddox needed to be taught a lesson in restraint. His little
bird wasn’t meant to be fondled; she was meant to be
worshiped. A problem easily handled, and a dark hunger
easily satisfied. Maddox would have to wait, and it annoyed
him to no end but he had more important people to see tonight.
He hissed and watched the glass door to her apartment close,
his eyes trailing up to her window, which cracked open just
enough for him.

He would be back.
 8

eight

“You really don’t have to do this,” she laughed, kicking off her
shoes and putting her bag away.

Saint angled his body toward her and smiled softly,

“humor me.”

She watched as he ran his knuckles against the wall of the

hallway, his head tilted just slightly as he listened to the noise
of the apartment. The hum of the fridge and the weird clicking
noise the lamp in the living room made when it was on. He
stopped at the bathroom, the door opened, and he stepped
inside and ran his fingers against the porcelain sink before
moving on.

“Anyone in the shower?” she teased as he appeared back

in the hallway.

“That can be arranged,” he smirked, a small dimple

forming on his precious face. Beck wanted to reach out and
touch it but he was already moving toward her bedroom.
“Your house smells like oranges,” he chuckled.
 She panicked looking around her messy room, “is that a
good thing?”

“Do you eat a lot of oranges?” He asked. Trailing his hand

along the top of her dresser, he walked towards her window
bench and turned to look toward her. “I’m kidding, it’s cute.”

“Get out of my room there is no one in there,” she laughed

loudly, closing the door as he exited. He stood close to her as
she pressed her back to the door. “Excuse me,” she whispered.
“I’m not that kind of girl.”

He leaned in, his hand trailing up her arm as he brushed his

nose against hers. “There’s no one here… it doesn’t mean they
can’t get in. The window in the bedroom is drafty.”

“How?” She laughed.

He pulled back, licking his lip. She brushed his scruffy jaw
with a finger, “you can call either of us if something is
wrong.”

“You both have already done so much for me,” she huffed.
He stepped back and let her wander back to the kitchen.

“Beck,” he laughed standing by the front door. “We know

you’re tough, it would make me feel better if you called
anyway.”

“Saint,” she said, mocking his tone as he turned the

doorknob. “Not so tough but thank you.”

When he left, she missed him, but the dark corners of her
apartment reminded her that she was alone again. She sighed,
touching her fingers to her lips. Missing the tingling feeling
that he left behind. She wandered to the bathroom, stripped
from her clothes, and climbed into the shower. The hot water
was like a baptism, it cleared her mind of the fear and doubt
creeping around her constantly like a rat. She made herself
some tea and crawled into bed to read her book. Before long
she was able to close her eyes and sleep, but it lasted mere
minutes.

Little bird, a cold tingle ran up her spine as she rolled over
in bed.

She couldn’t get comfortable, and sleep was invading her

like a bad joke. She looked over at the clock, it had been six
hours of that. Flipping over in bed wide awake, inspecting
noises. Checking the locks. Beckett sat up in bed and rolled
her shoulders back trying to loosen the knot in her muscles.
Little bird… she couldn’t sleep, not knowing he could be
watching her.

She slipped her headphones into her ears trying to drown

out the sound of him but she couldn’t do anything and now she
was just sitting in the dark reacting to every small noise that
her apartment made.

“Why is it so cold in here,” she sighed, crawling from the

bed she moved to the window she was sure she locked. The
bedroom window is drafty. She crept toward it, grabbing her
hockey stick from grade six summer camp from the base of
her bed and ripping back the curtain like something might
jump out.
 Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. The window
was cracked open just enough to let in the cold breeze from
outside. A patrol car sat in the street, the windows dark and the
lights off. She was fine, everything was fine.

“Just check the house you idiot,” she lifted the stick, raised
onto her toes, and started through the house nervously. Once
she knew the house was empty and the doors were locked for
the thousandth time she crawled back into bed. She couldn’t
shake the feeling that someone was watching her. So, she
grabbed her phone from the table beside her and laid it into her
lap.

She flipped her phone over in her hand and dialed the
number.

“Murphy,” Jack’s sleepy voice floated through the speaker.

“What’s wrong,” he groaned, sitting up.

“Oh god this was stupid, I’m sorry you were asleep,” she
panicked going to hang up the phone.

“Don’t you dare hang up Murphy,” he warned. She could

hear him shifting in bed.

“I didn’t mean to…” she stumbled over her words

suddenly so hot all over.

“Hey, hey” he commanded, his voice low. “What’s wrong?

Was Saint that bad of a kisser?”

“Oh fuck off,” she laughed.

“There she is,” he laughed with her. It was sleepy and cute.
It made her smile wider. “I told Bailey not to let you move
back in there.”

“It’s not the apartment,” she scoffed. Lying through her

teeth, she bit the inside of her cheek and winced.

“No it’s just the noises, the darkness, the unfamiliar

shadows inside…” he sighed. She could hear him moving
around on the other end of the phone and it only made her feel
worse that she woke him up. “Would you feel better if the
patrol came up to check again?”

“I feel crazy,” she mumbled. She adjusted the strap on her

tank top and pulled her blanket up around her to get warm.
“The window was cracked, and the noises don’t stop if I put
headphones in; they just feel louder.” Good one Beckett, “they
feel louder?” She thought, mocking herself.

“You aren’t crazy,” he chuckled. “You went through

something traumatic.” There was something in his voice that
made her able to breathe a little easier.

A knock at the door made her jump out of her skin. “It’s
the patrol.”

Are you sure?” She swallowed her nerves and slid out of
bed, taking the hockey stick with her for protection.

“Open the door, Beck.” He said it again, she raised the

stick over her head, putting the phone between her ear and
shoulder. She flung the door open and screamed, ready to
swing at whoever was behind the door. “What are you going to
do with that?”
 Jack stood in his black cargo jacket and a dark green t-
shirt. The phone is still to his ear and his eyes are still full of
sleep. She missed that face after only a day of not seeing it.

She sighed and lowered the stick, “club you to death. Why
are you here? Where is the patrol?”

“You were going to beat a cop?”

“ACAB,” she shrugged.

“Put it together Murphy, get those gears turning.” He

licked his lip as it formed into a cheeky smile. He stepped into
her apartment, looked around as he did, and reached forward
into her space. His hand ran down her forearm to her wrist,
tickling her nervous skin as he went, and then to the stick.
“Give me hockey stick, tough guy,” He didn’t break eye
contact as he did, and Beck’s entire body was covered in
goosebumps. “I am the patrol.”

“You worked all day,” she sounded shocked because she

was.

She had expected one of the lazy beat cops to be stuck

with patrols.

“I’m still working,” he laughed, leaning the mundane

weapon against the couch behind her. “The window?”

“You have more important things to do than watch my

house,” she sighed. He turned to look at her, his glare hard
enough to make her shut her mouth. She felt suddenly very
underdressed, tugging at her shorts just trying to make them an
inch longer.
 She watched him inspect the living room windows,
yanking on the bottoms, and then moved around her old
wooden coffee table and pointed toward the hallway. Beck
nodded; she couldn’t believe she had not only one man in her
room today but two. She watched as he took in her room,
pushing the curtain back as he yanked the window closed,
clicking it into place.

Jack stalked back towards her. He made her feel small but
not weak, a simple form of safety settled into her chest.

“I’m sorry I woke you up for nothing.”

He stood over her, the spicy scent of his cologne washing

over her as he pushed her hair back from her face. “It wasn’t
nothing, the window was open, and you said it wasn’t when
you came in here the first time. Into bed,” he walked towards
the bed and pulled back the covers. “Move your ass,” he
smiled.

She obliged him and crawled into the bed, letting him pull
the covers up and over her legs. “I’ll be downstairs if you need
me,” he winked at her. He turned away from her, but she
hooked her pinky finger around his and tugged him back. He
looked down at her fingers wrapped around his and sighed,
“why are you shakin’ so hard?”

“I’m not,” she bit back, trying to steady her hand.

“I’m holding your hand, Murphy,” he looked from hand to

her eyes, the scowl on his face deepening. He licked his lip
and looked away from her to the window, his eyebrows knit
together. “Move over.”
 “What?” She stuttered.

“Can I get into your bed?” He asked, his voice low as he

looked down at her. “Please?” he said.

“You want to get into my bed?” She laughed, and he gave

her a slow nod. Her eyes drifted over him, right down to the
muddy boots he wore.

“I’ll even take off my shoes,” he smiled, his Adam’s apple

bobbing in his throat.

“Oh what a gentleman,” she looked up at him, thinking

about it. Her brain turned around in circles, he made her feel
sleepy and safe. The clock flashed four am at her and she
sighed knowing she had to work the day shift tomorrow and
needed sleep more than anything. “Just sleep?” she had to
make sure.

“I’m not trying to have sex with you,” he growled, his jaw
tensing. “When I want that, you’ll know it.” She clenched her
legs together to keep from whining as she nodded to the bed
beside her.

“Take off that jacket too, it stinks.” She laughed as he

scowled, “please?” she smiled, using his word against him as
he shook out of the coat.

The shirt he wore was tight around his biceps and he laid
the coat across her chair. Even in the darkness, she could see
now why he wore long sleeves, his arms from knuckle to the
hem of his shirt were covered in scars. Her heart clenched in
her chest. He sauntered around to the free side of her bed and
kicked off his boots.

She shared her blanket with him, hestitating a moment as

he lifted his arm so she could snuggle up next to him
wondering if she should. She had known the man for less than
two days and now he was in her bed. Protecting your scary cat
ass, she thought to herself. She scrunched her nose up and
tucked herself into his hold. The cotton shirt he wore was soft
and smelled like sweat and licorice. She pressed her face into
his side and curled her knees up to her chest. She was still
shaking; it was more obvious with Jack wrapped around her,
but it was calming with every second that he brushed his
thumb against her bare shoulder.

The room was dark except for the light from the moon.
Beckett finally took a long breath, “Oh now the house is quiet
of course.”

“It’s quiet because you don’t feel threatened by the

silence,” he explained. “When my daughter was really small,
barely four,” he stopped, his chest rising slower than before as
he inhaled deeply, “she’d get scared of noises outside and
wouldn’t sleep.”

Beck kept her head down, afraid to look at him in case

there was any trace of sadness in his soft eyes. She couldn’t be
sure but the tone in his voice and the way his body tensed
around her told that something had happened, something that
made telling this story harder than it should have been.
 “I used to crawl into her tiny twin bed, wrap her up into
my arms and she’d tell me in the cutest sleepy voice that she
was glad to have a scary daddy. All the monsters are afraid of
him. She’d say.” Jack sighed, his voice stuttering a touch as he
finished his story.

She looked up at him at the same time he looked down

with a stern look on his face. “Don’t look at me like that,” he
sighed.

“Like what?” The laugh that fell from her lip was lazy and
nervous.

“Like I’m a knight in shining armor. I’m just doing my job,

Murphy.” He leaned his head back against the headboard of
her bed.

“So you make house calls and cuddle every girl you get
assigned to? I feel like that’s a human resources problem.” She
teased him, trying to lighten the mood.

She settled in closer enjoying the warmth that came from

his body as she did so. She hadn’t had anyone in her bed for a
very long time and even under the terrifying circumstances,
she was grateful for the time spent.

“Just the extra pretty ones,” he laughed and squeezed her

shoulder. “I can’t believe you were going to send me back to
that cop car without remorse and after I saved you from the
wind.”

“Jack,” she scowled. She was glad to hear the rise in his
voice, the lightness to his tone returning.
 “The beat cops are idiots, I’m a better patrol asleep than
they are awake,” he looked down at her again. Her heart tried
to escape her chest every time he turned his deep brown eyes
on her. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” he
whispered, his lips curling at the corners.

He leaned down, and she waited for him to come to her but
at the last minute his jaw tensed, and he turned, placing a light
kiss on her head, “go to sleep.”

“Why do you do that?” She asked, staring up at him. Her

fingers absent-mindedly played with the chain of his dog tags
hanging around his neck. “That’s twice now.”

“Do what?” He asked and she knew he was playing into

his hand, he was too quick, too intelligent to not know when a
girl was waiting for a kiss.

“You look at me like you want to kiss me and then don’t,”

she huffed out breathlessly and his playful smile returned to
his stern face.

“One,” he said, rubbing his hand on her throat, “I’ve been

interrupted.”

“Oh is that the problem?” she shook her head.

“Two,” he dropped his head, looking toward the window

and away from her, “I like to take a lady on a date before I kiss
her.”

“We’ve been on a date,” she argued, suddenly desperate

for the attention.
 “A real date. I’ll kiss you when I’m good and ready
Beckett Murphy,” he warned.

There was something in his voice that made her stomach

warm and her toes curl. The waiting and wondering would be
the death of her. She wanted to know what he tasted like if he
tasted licorice-like he smelled. Or if it was whiskey and smoke
that lingered on his soft, plump lips. He stared at her intensely
for a long time before tugging the blankets up around her
shoulders and laying his head against the backboard again with
his eyes closed.
 9

nine

Beck stretched her legs out under the blankets, unable to forget
that she had slept curled into a ball against Jack’s body for six
hours. She opened her eyes and sighed, no trace of him left.
His jacket had gone from her chair and his boots were missing
from the floor. Not even the smallest trace of dirt was left
behind to prove her sleepover had even happened outside of
her mind. She rolled over onto the pillow he used and laid her
face into it to collect any scent that was left.

“Murphy, if you wanted a sniff, you could have just

asked.” His voice startled her, and she froze in place, her
cheeks turning red as the floor creaked behind her.

If she could melt into her bed she would.

She looked up from the pillow she had in a bear hug to see
him standing in the morning light, warm and glowing, it
illuminated him from behind. She almost choked on her spit
watching him dry his wet hair with a towel. A small chuckle
fell from his lips and his whole damp and naked abdomen
tensed from the action. Beck bit her tongue to keep from
moaning. Which only made his smile grow. She cursed her
body for giving her away and curled further under the
blankets.

His body was harder than she expected it to be. It was

toned and tight. His relaxed abs rose and fell as he breathed
with just the perfect amount of definition. The water from the
shower that he took in her house was still dripping down over
the ridges of his pelvic muscles and into the towel loosely
wrapped around his hips. He licked his lip as it curved into a
smirk watching her admire him. “When you’re done
appreciating the art, you should shower or you’re going to be
late for work.”

She shook from her stare pushing on her hands to lift her
head towards her clock. She had slept in. “Why didn’t you
wake me up?”

She expected a witty response, but he scowled at her as he

walked back toward the hallway, she noticed a duffle bag
sitting by the door. She couldn’t help but notice the number of
scars his torso carried, ranging in size and shape. All just as
nasty as the one before. He scooped it up, turning back to her.

His eyes trailed over her body, and his eyebrows knitted
together, “We both slept in Murphy. I’ll make you some
breakfast.”

She almost argued but her stomach betrayed her,

grumbling in response to his plans. She kicked free of the
sheets trying to shake off the growing need to pull him back to
bed without the towel, he would make a perfectly fine
breakfast. She leaned over on the bed; the bathroom door was
open just enough so she could see the towel fall from around
his hips. His ass was on display, as toned as the rest of his
body. She flopped back on the bed, feeling herself needing
relief as she waited for him to vacate the bathroom so she
could give herself some.

She closed her eyes and waited until she heard the door
creak open. The sound of his footsteps fading down the
hallway, she rolled out of bed and made her way into the
steamy bathroom. It took no time for the water to heat up as
she stepped inside and let it rush over her body. She leaned
over checking the door, making sure she had clicked the lock
before stepping back into the water and letting her hand drift
between her legs.

She rubbed in slow circles, closing her eyes and leaning

back letting the pleasure take control of her movements.

“Let me make you feel better,” a raspy voice whispered in

her ear, as a hand came around to cup her breast gently. She
tipped her chin up and was met with a set of deep brown eyes
staring down at her. “We’re here now.” Saint brushed his nose
against her ear, his finger playing with her hardened nipple.

She could feel a faint trail of lips on her skin, forcing her
to look down. Jack knelt before her, water running over his
hair and face as he cupped his hand around her thigh, digging
his strong fingers into the inner side. He said nothing as he
continued to trace her skin with his lips. Saint peppered her
neck with tender kisses as his hand worked her nipple with
increasing pressure.

“Oh god, Jack” she gasped as Jack’s lips found her clit.

is tongue licked up her center from the bottom and sucked

as he reached her sensitive nub. His fingers dug deeper into
her skin, and she leaned back against Saint for support as the
two of them brought her to the edge.

“Good girl,” Saint whispered, pressing his hand around her

throat gently, his thumb grazing her jaw and pulling at her
bottom lip as Jack slipped two fingers into her body.

“Jack, don’t stop,” the moan left her lips before she could
stifle it.

Jack worked her clit with his tongue and fingers, faster and
faster until she was on her tiptoes fighting the urge to finish all
over his face. Her right hand found his hair and knotted into
the dark locks as her left hand wrapped around her to grip
Saint’s bare, wet thigh. She rocked against Jack’s face and
Saint’s hip, all at once as the overwhelming sensation of her
orgasm took her over the top. Her head leaned back against
Saint, eyes closed as she moaned through the last vibrations of
pleasure.

“Murphy,” a knock at the door scared her from the trance.

She whined realizing she was leaning against the hard tile
of the shower and the water coming from the pipe had turned
cold enough to unpleasantly bite into her skin. That was one
way to cool off.
 “Food is on the table, Banks is gonna take you to work.
He’s downstairs when you’re ready.” Jack called out.

“You’re leaving,” she choked out, remembering his hands

on her thighs, his hands inside of her. She cleared her throat,
trying to rid herself of the image she had created.

“I have to get into the station, are you going to be okay?”

He asked through the door, her body tensed up from the sound
of his voice, needing more. She rolled her eyes and shut off
the shower.

“I’ll be okay, Banks doesn’t need to drive me. I can walk,”

she said, wrapping the towel around herself in haste and
opening the door.

ack looked away as she swung it open, his jaw tensing as

he avoided her barely undressed and wet body. “Don’t argue
for once in your life,” he said with a scrunch of his nose as he
shook his head. “And get dressed.”

“Jack,” Beckett smiled, wet hair falling around her face.

“Are you nervous?” She laughed, her fingers playing with the
fabric of her towel.

Murphy, for the love of God please get dressed.” He

swallowed, redness creeping up from under the collar of his
shirt. “Why?” she asked, enjoying seeing him squirm just as
she had that morning.

“Because it’s really difficult to want to go to work when

you smell that good and are standing this close, with so little
fabric between us,” he turned his dark eyes on her. His whole
body was tense and pinned back as he tried to have some
semblance of control. “Get dressed.” He ordered backing away
from the door.

She walked out and around him toward her bedroom and
let the towel fall around her ankles. She didn’t look back, but a
sharp hiss left Jack’s lips followed hesitantly by his boots on
her hardwood fading back down the hall as she closed the door
over to get dressed. Her heart pounded in her chest and she
inhaled sharply; it had been a long time since she felt so alive.
She forgot how fun it was to drive a man crazy with so little
effort. She padded around her room, pulling clean clothes on
and brushing her hair. Once she had sufficiently wasted
enough time, she wandered back out into the apartment with
her things.

On the counter was a container of fruit washed and

chopped, accompanied by a bagel and a note.

Murphy,

Thank you for the sleep, I’ll see you Saturday.

Jack

She laughed at the formal note he had scribbled for her on

the napkin, flipping it over there was something on the back. I
enjoy the way you say my name.

Her insides turned over and heated up inside her. He had

heard her in the shower. That’s why he was so tense opening
the door, he was battling his willpower to walk away from her.
 “Good, maybe that’ll teach him not to tease a girl,” she
laughed to herself collecting her things from the counter.

She found Banks sitting in his blacked-out sedan with his

head leaned back against his leather seats and sunglasses over
his pitch-black eyes.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he huffed without looking at her.

She looked around the car, impressed that he heard her
coming. “Not just a pretty face,” he laughed. “I can be a good
cop too, or so they say.”

“Thank you for the ride this morning. I can walk,” she
laughed. “You guys don’t have to babysit me.”

“First of all,” he sat up in his seat and pushed his

sunglasses down his thin nose to peer up at her with his pitch-
colored eyes. “If what Jack was doing up there was
babysitting, we need to change our job descriptions. Second, if
I let you walk to work, I not only have to deal with that cranky
bastard, I have to deal with the blind one too.”

“You answer to Saint?” She laughed as he climbed from

the car.

She forgot how tall and slender he was as he stood over

her. He laughed, taking her bag and walking her around to the
side of the car, opening the door for her. She cocked an
eyebrow at him, holding on to their chivalry must apply to the
whole gang.

“I answer to Jack,” he waited for her to slide into the seat.

 “So Jack is scarier?” she teased as he closed the door
behind her. She watched as he circled the sedan, fixing his
shirt before opening his door.

“No,” he said, sliding into his seat next to her. He turned

the engine over and metal music played through the speakers.
He shut it off quickly and laughed it off. “I like it loud and
fast,” he raised an eyebrow putting his glasses back on his
face. He tore off from the shoulder of the road and sped
through the city, at this speed, it wouldn’t take long to get to
work but Beck felt like she might die in a fiery crash at any
given moment.

“So have there been any more attacks?” He asked casually,

at least he was keeping his eyes on the road.

“No more phone calls or notes, not as of late.” She

shrugged, looking over his pristine vehicle. It smelled like
lemon and glass cleaner, and there was not a spot of mud or
dirt on anything, not even the floor mats. “Police patrol
probably scared him off.”

“Doubtful,” Banks huffed, taking a sharp right turn. “Guys

like these don’t just give up. They figure out new, smarter
ways to outsmart their opponents to get what they want. He’ll
be back.”

“You aren’t very good at the whole pep talk to a scared

woman thing,” she shook her head.

“Sorry, I forgot you were going through it. I didn’t mean

anything-” he stopped, flustered with himself. He pulled up to
the call center and cut the engine, turning to her in his seat.
“You should take this, they run a self-defense class. There are
classes every second day. It might make you feel better if you
can protect yourself. Saint and Jack can’t be everywhere at
once.” He handed her a black card, with an address on it.

“Tell him Romero sent you and he’ll let you try a class for
free,” Banks let go of the card and let her put it in her purse.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “I think you’re right.”

“Anytime,” Banks nodded, a bright smile on his face. “A

friend of Callahan and Maddox is a friend of mine.” He
hopped from the car again, walking around and opening her
door before she could.

“I could use more scary friends, so… thank you,” she

climbed from his car. He grabbed her bag from the back and
handed it to her.

“My pleasure, Beck,” he opened the call door center for

her and watched as she walked inside. “Have a good shift.”

“Yeah you too,” she nodded.

 10

ten

“Do you want me to walk you over there?” Luke asked as they
left the building. The sun would still be up for half an hour and
if she hurried, she could make it before it set.

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled, staring in the other direction.

She stopped at her apartment grabbing a change of clothes

before lightly jogging to the defense class. Her long dark hair
whipped against her back in its ponytail as she picked up
speed. She looked back at the horizon, knowing the sun would
set before she made it, and swore. “Shit.”

The one feeling she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she
tried was the fear of the darkness as it approached. She was
two blocks away as the streetlights flickered on and she
countered her lucky stars that nothing bad would happen as
her white sneakers skidded to a stop in front of the glass doors.

She pulled them open and stepped into the giant open gym.
There were a few lights on near the back, illuminating the
large square boxing ring in the center of the mats. There were
rows of treadmills and bikes against the far west wall, and the
right was packed with free weights.

There were two large men working out in the corner, belts
around their midsections as they rubbed chalk between their
sausage fingers. She padded through the gym, hoping to find
someone a little less daunting to speak to about the guy who
runs the defense classes. An echo of grunts came from down a
long hallway just past the giant boxing ring.

She moved toward them, noticing that on either side of the

hallway were two large studios, one with glass walls and
mirrors lining the front and back.

The second was closed off from the outside but the door
was open, and the grunting was coming from inside. “Hello?”
She stuck her head inside, hoping she would find the person
she was looking for but stopped when she was greeted by the
unexpected.

“Beckett?” Saint turned from the bag he was wailing on,

his arms flexed and bare, dripping in sweat from his workout.
His brows furrowed together as he tilted his head to look in
her direction.

“Yeah,” she said softly, looking around before she stepped

further inside. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

She watched as he unwrapped his hands from their

wrappings. “I could ask you the same thing,” his lips turned
upward into a soft smile.
 “Banks-” she started, and he waved his hand up for her to
stop, his head dropping so it hung against his chest. A few of
the longer strands of his sweaty hair dripped to the floor.

“Should have given you a heads up,” he chuckled.

“I can go if…” she made to turn back toward the studio

door, but his hand caught her wrist and tugged her back inside.

“Stay,” he smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “His

methods are unorthodox, but Banks means well. He’s just
dramatic.”

“So, I’m learning,” Beck looked around the studio space.

It was set up differently than the rest of the gym. All the
equipment was spaced out around the room evenly, all
surrounding a large, plush blue mat in the center. “You work
the courts during the day and…” she paused hoping he would
fill in the blanks.

“I assist with trials, analyzing criminal behavior on high

profile cases. As for this, just because I’m blind doesn’t mean
I like to lose a fight.” He said, his hand still wrapped delicately
around her wrist. “I bear witness to my share of violence,” his
voice dropped as he pulled her closer, “if I can train just one
person to defend themselves…”

“It might make a difference,” she swallowed tightly.

She knew the feeling all too well, being behind the calls
she usually felt more helpless than not. Hearing the terror in
someone’s voice as they fight for their lives or wrestle to keep
someone else alive was a sound that Beck would never shake.
 “You should stretch first,” Saint tilted his head toward the
center of the room and let his hand drop from her wrist to push
against her lower back. “I’m sorry that you can relate to that
feeling, it’s not something I ever want to have in common with
someone.”

“It wasn’t all horrible until I became the defenseless one,”

Beck lowered herself to the mat and began to stretch out all
her sore limbs as Saint sunk down next to her to listen.

“You aren’t,” Saint said with a soft nod of his head.

“Bank’s seems to think so or he wouldn’t have sent me

here.” She shrugged and tugged her legs up to her chest to
stretch her back.

“Did you stop to think maybe he sent you because he

wanted you to feel safe without the weight of the police
department hovering?” Saint asked.

“Does everyone know now?” She sighed, rolling onto her

back and staring at the ceiling.

“Jack and I share a lot more than an apartment and Banks

came with that deal, most of the time whether I like it or not.”
Saint brushed his hand against her thigh, “up you get.”

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, “If he
sent you here it was because he believed it would help you, I
just wish he had done it without the cloak and dagger effect.
He could have just told you I ran the class. Leave the shock
and awe out of it.”
 “I’ve known him for less than a day and I don’t actually
think he’s capable of that…” she let Saint fix her stance, his
hands creeping over her thighs as he moved her feet further
apart. He stood up, hovering over her but she didn’t feel
intimidated by his size. Quite the opposite, suddenly she felt
more secure in her own skin than she had for weeks.

Ever since Dorian had left in a fury of screaming and

destruction, burning all the bridges on the way out of her life.
Beckett hadn’t felt at ease. It was like she was always looking
over her shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting
for Dorian to show up like a bad dream, demanding answers
from her about why they fell apart.

She hated the sinking feeling, the weight of the guilt and
fear she carried around, and now with her terrifying number
one fan haunting her, she had never felt more alienated from
the world.

“You okay?” Saint asked, brushing his hand over her arm.

“Fine,” Beck lied.

“Your heart is racing,” he said softly as if there were other

people in the room that could hear them.

“You can hear it?” She asked.

“When it’s quiet and the world is still, yeah and it’s
moving faster than normal.” He added.

“Might be my proximity to you,” she cooed, “you seem to

do that.”
 “Can’t say I’m complaining,” he laughed, his hair had
fallen against his forehead and a soft smile appeared on his
scruffy face.

“How do you deal with it?” Beck asked him. “The burden
of helping people, losing people, losing yourself?”

Saint’s lip curled a little to the left in the form of a sad

smile, “God.”

“Funny,” she laughed.

“I’m serious,” he chuckled, shifting on his feet. “My dad

used to dad me to church, and I guess I just found solace in
that. God listened without judgement then, he does now. The
only thing that’s changed is me, I like to think he helps me
weigh the moral undoing of what I do for a living. Sometimes
the bad guy goes free because of me, sometimes what I say or
what I present isn’t enough to cement a case. They go back out
into the world, hurt people again and I get to carry that but…”

“God listens?” she said, brushing her hair back off her
face.

“Church is a complicated place but my faith, my trust in

god isn’t.” He said and she believed him. After a beat of
silence, he adjusted himself and said, “we’ll start slow, basic
attacks.”

“Saint…” she said his name hoping more words would

flow out of her but just his name fell from her trembling lips.

“These are only for if you really need them, and it’s just a
precaution. Like your first aid kit,” he explained, “you have it
under your bed, in your bathroom… Just in case something
happens but you hope it doesn’t.”

“Prepared, not afraid.”

“Atta girl,” he whispered.

Beckett listened intently as Saint instructed her through a

few movements to break holds on her arms and neck. He
showed her various grip strengths, never gripping hard enough
to hurt her but enough to show her the resistance she would
face.

She tried desperately to focus but even with Saint’s gentle

instruction and tender touches, the anxiety of why she was
here still crept up into the back of her mind. She wished she
could shake the ominous feeling that seemed to course through
her veins permanently. She hated that her entire life was being
controlled by a faceless nightmare that she couldn’t see or
catch with her own bare hands. Beckett watched as Saint’s
brown eyes washed down over her, his head tilted to the left as
he listened to her breathing.

“We can stop for the day,” Saint said, “I shouldn’t have
pushed you so hard on your first try.”

“I’m okay,” she said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Just

sweaty and gross. Finish the lesson like you would for anyone
else.”

Saint pressed his lips into a thin line, and even though she
couldn’t read his mind she felt his entire body tense against
her touch.
 “What am I paying you for if you aren’t going to teach me
properly?” she asked, her tone teasing and playful even though
her mind was anxious and sad. She selfishly liked being
around Saint, being able to admire him without him knowing
was the only thing settling her racing heartbeat. She smiled,
tempted to brush her finger over his scowl as he made up his
mind.

“What’s next?” She asked.

“Usually, we run through the moves…” Saint said, his

hand coming up to cover hers. “Beck,” he licked his bottom
lip, he was holding back from her. Hiding something that he
thought might upset her or hurt her feelings.

“Out with it Saint Maddox, I’m not a little girl,” she urged.

“I’ve worked with a handful of people over the last few

years, men and women alike, all looking to work through
some sort of trauma. Looking to make themselves feel safe
but…” Saint pushed a hand through his sweaty brown hair.
“Running through the moves, doing them with an attacker,
fake or real, usually triggers a response.”

“You think I’m going to break down because you pretend

to threaten my life, Saint?” Beckett narrowed her eyes at him,
two sides of her heart waging a war. Strong enough to fight,
scared enough to run.

“I think that it’s been a week since you were attacked, and
I know that you haven’t worked through it.” He spoke.
 Beck pulled out of his grasp, “well since you know
everything you must be right, you’ve known me a whole
week. That’s plenty of time to make assumptions.”

“It’s my job, Beck.” He sighed, reaching out to her. “The

moment we met I knew you were stubborn, it’s practically
your only outward personality trait. But being stubborn
doesn’t mean you’re strong and unbreakable. It just means you
refuse to admit when you need help.”

“Coming here was an admittance,” she laughed but it was

tight and tangled with frustration.

“You came here because Banks told you to,” Saint said,
“you came because you thought hitting something might make
you feel safe.”

“I don’t understand why that’s an issue,” Beck huffed.

“Because Beckett, you aren’t always going to be able to

punch your way out of a situation, we have no idea who this
guy is. Jack read me his file, and despite knowing this is a bad
idea, you deserve to know. Whoever it is… He’s quick, he’s
smart and he knows you too well.” Saint grabbed her arm and
pulled her closer to him. “It’s my job to understand their
thoughts, their actions. I won’t ever keep information from
you, it’s pointless and counterproductive, but this guy,” his
head dropped as he tried to work out exactly what to say to
her. “He’s been around a lot longer than he’s been leaving
notes.”

“How can you know that?” She asked, fear taking hold of
her heart faster than she could push it away. Her little bubble
of safety yet again popped.

“He’s calculated,” Saint explained, “everything that he’s

doing is part of a plan he formed. It’s meticulous, he’s telling
you a story.”

“Great,” she groaned, “so not only is my love life failing

but the one guy that is interested in me is a fucking stalker! At
least I know he’s attentive!”

“Hey,” Saint brushed some of her hair back and trailed his
hand down her spine. “Deep breath,” he instructed, and she
listened, unable to even stop herself from doing as she was
told. “Jack and Banks are doing everything they can to find
this guy. They’ve been looking into your ex,” he said, and she
was suddenly more than grateful to have some insight into
what was going on.

Even though everything that was happening, was

happening to her. It felt like she was on the outside of
everything looking in. It was a relief to have someone be
honest with her about everything for once.

“Dorian,” she chewed on her lip and felt Saint’s hand flex
uncomfortably at the base of her spine.

“Did he ever hurt you?” He asked.

“Psychically no,” Beck shook her head, “he was the type
of guy that took out his frustrations by screwing other women
and blaming me for it. I told Jack and Banks this, Dorian isn’t
the guy you’re all looking for. He’s just the most obvious
placeholder, a toss-away suspect.”
 “I’m sorry Beckett,” he said, catching her off guard. “I
think that’s enough for today,” he nodded, “we can practice the
moves next time.”

“I want to do it now,” Beck cut him off. “I can do this.”

“Knowing your limits isn’t a weakness,” he said, clearly

still very sure that forcing her into a situation may trigger
something she didn’t want to feel.

“Just do it, Saint.” She pushed on his chest, shoving him

away from her. Demanding with aggression that he at least
gave her a chance to prove herself.

Hand over hand Saint blocked her wrist, pushing it down

out of his way as he lunged for her throat. She kicked her foot
out just as he had taught her, catching him awkwardly in the
shin and causing him to pull back. She took advantage to roll
out of the hold but not fast enough to escape his other hand
that tangled into the back of her shirt and pulled her against his
chest.

He wrapped his arm around her neck just tight enough to

create pressure that made Beck panic. “You can do it,” he
whispered in her ear, “just breathe.”

She felt his chest expand against her back, guiding her
lungs silently to do the same. She shoved the panic attack
away and drove her elbow back into his stomach while she
playfully bit down on his arm.

“That was way better,” he praised as he fell away from her

dramatically, tumbling back against the mats. She almost
escaped without injury, but Saint wrapped his hand around her
ankle as she made to back away, causing her to crash to the
mats.

“Don’t let your guard down,” he warned her, but the notion
didn’t set in until it was too late.

She rolled away from him, and his hand caught her calf as
she pushed against his hold, but he was too strong. She rolled
onto her back, pressing her arms to the mat, her breathing fast
and shallow as she tried to catch it.

“Cheater,” she huffed.

“Opportunistic.” Saint hovered, his palm pressed to the

round of her stomach, fingers digging into the soft skin of her
hips. “How do you feel?” He asked.

Beckett had thought she would feel suffocated and scared,

triggered into remembering all her trauma responses that
surrounded her current situation but that wasn’t the case.

She had been convinced that the feeling of his touch was
purely a trauma response. That her body clung to the warm
safety of his hands because they had been the first to quell the
fear that pumped through her that night but now, she was
starting to think otherwise.

There was no fear anymore, just a primal need for him to

keep touching her the way he was.

“Saint,” she swallowed tightly. “I feel…” she wanted to

tell him strong and capable, but her fingers carded through his
dark, fluffy brown hair and she lost all her concentration.
 “Beck,” he answered almost instantly, his face hovering
over hers. His hands ghosted up her body, fingers never
touching her as he moved and traced the shape of her neck and
jaw. “I’m going to kiss you now,” a warm smile pulled across
his face and Beck could feel the weight being lifted from her
chest.

His hand came to her mouth, pressing it to the bottom lip,

pulling it down just a touch before dipping his head toward her
and replacing his thumb with his lips.

She moaned, her back arching as she tilted her head toward
him, hungry for the taste of him. He rubbed her jaw with his
thumb and held her in place by gripping her arm with his free
hand. She felt him push his thumb against the ditch of her arm
tenderly, he would feel how fast her heart was beating but she
didn’t care. She dug her fingers into the hardened round of his
bicep just to feel his skin on hers as he pulled away from her
breathless, pressing their foreheads together.

“That was way better than pancakes,” she moaned under

her breath.

“You’re damn right,” he laughed against her lips, her

cheeks flushed knowing he had heard what she said.
 11

eleven

Saturday rolled around faster than Beck had been prepared for,
she was still sore and dazed from her training session with
Saint. She had changed her outfit a thousand times and stood
over her bed with her hands on her hips staring at the pile of
clothes she had turned her nose up to.

“What are you doing?” Ashton leaned against the door

frame with his arms crossed over and his dark blue sweater
straining against his muscles.

“I have nothing to wear,” she sighed, flopping over on the

bed into the pile of clothes. Her dark hair spread over her bed
sheets, and she felt Ashton come up behind her and kneel on
the bed.

“Wear the dark blue sweater with those dark wash jeans
you bought last summer,” he suggests, “and pair it with those
cute white Converse.”

“You know way too much of my clothing catalog,” she

groaned rolling over and padding to the closet. “This one?”
she tugged the long sleeve from the hanger and held it out
without looking. Ashton confirmed and that was enough for
her to shuck it over her head and fix her hair around the collar.

“Perfect,” he said. “Why are you so worked up about a

date anyways?” He positioned himself on the bed, watching
her as she brushed mascara over her lashes.

“I have no idea,” she rolled her shoulders out and tried to

breathe but every time she gave herself a moment to think, her
mind flickered to Jack, dripping wet, or to Saint, covered in
sweat. She swallowed tightly and watched as her cheeks
turned red in the mirror. “You didn’t tell James did you?” She
turned, suddenly feeling a wash of guilt.

“That you’re going out with the cop assigned to your case?
No, I’m just here to watch the train wreck,” Ashton laughed.
The corners of his deep blue eyes scrunched up in a billion
tiny lines as a bright smile spread across his face.

She threw a makeup brush in his direction and nodded to

herself, “is it normal to like…” she let her head roll side to
side as she worked up.

“Be this nervous?” Ashton stood up and grabbed her

shoulder pulling her into a hug. “I know it’s hard dating…” he
started. Beckett pulled back, eyeing him and warning him
silently to drop whatever pep talk that may involve him
bringing up her ex. “You’ve been out of the game for so long
I’m not sure you even know how to date but I believe in you,
and as much as I don’t like Callahan, I trust you. I trust that
judgment.” He tapped a finger against her temple. “It’s never
steered you wrong.”

“That’s an overshoot,” she laughed, “why don’t you trust

Jack?” She looked up at him and his playful expression faded,
flickering just a touch before he tucked the concern away from
her.

“It’s not as much that I don’t trust him B, you’re safer with
Jack Callahan than you are with most people.”

“Then what Ashton?” Beck pulled from his hug and

slipped some of her favorite weighted silver rings over her
fingers before turning back for his answer.

“Don’t you remember?” He asked.

Beck shook her head, she was completely in the dark on

this one.

“I really hate that you don’t watch the news.” He ran a

hand through his hair and pulled his phone out of his back
pocket, typing in something to the search bar before handing it
over.

The calls I get are enough bad news for me a day, I don’t
need to watch it.” She grumbled as her eyes skimmed over the
article on the screen.

“Six years ago Jack’s entire family was killed in a target

hit after he locked up some major players in a crime ring on
Staten Island. It was the case that gave him that cushy office
he has, his promotion. It was a massive bust.” Ashton took the
phone back from her, watching her carefully with his steel
blue eyes. “A week before the trial he was out with them, at a
park on a walk or something-”

“Ashton,” she wanted to stop him, not wanting to hear the

details of Jack’s life unless he offered them to her. But Ash
wasn’t done.

“I was on the call Beck.”

She had never seen such deep sadness in him, it crashed

over his usually sunny features like a tidal wave and suddenly
it was cold as hell in her room.

“His five-year-old son, eight-year-old daughter, and his

wife. All died that day.” He swallowed thickly. “When we
pulled up, the park was a war zone. Jack was…” he trailed off.
“He was barely alive, thrown over his family… his back
chewed up with bullets, but it wasn’t enough.”

That’s why he had been so sad telling the story of his

daughter. Beck’s heart felt constricted in her chest at the
thought of when the last time he held her was. Tears
threatened to fall against her warm cheeks as she inhaled
deeply to steady her thoughts and racing heartbeat.

“Stop,” Beck swallowed tightly, “What are you trying to

do by telling me all of this?”

“Nothing, I just think you need to know that Jack is

hardened by life and not by choice.” Ashton gave her a weak
smile. “He’s not a guy you fall in love with.”

“It’s just a first date, Ash,” she smiled back at him.

 She fidgeted with her ring against her fingers and tried her
hardest not to think about the way Jack smelled, or his boyish
charming smile and the way he laughed from his throat all
husky and deep. She bit down on her tongue embarrassed that
she was already obsessing over him like a schoolgirl in heat.
“Be good,” Ashton pressed a kiss to her temple and left the
apartment without another word. She was glad for his advice,
and his honesty but now there was a tiny pang of sadness that
latched onto her that wasn’t there before.

He had lost them all.

He was all alone.

***

“Well don’t you look pretty,” Jack leaned against the door of
his big, blue pickup truck. His arms crossed over his chest, he
was dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight dark red shirt that
clung to his abdomen and pecs as if it was painted to him. His
tongue brushed over his bottom lip as she crossed the street in
her Converse to where he waited for her.

“You don’t clean up so bad either, Callahan,” she smiled.

Her heart almost jumped from her chest when he leaned over
and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Where are you taking
me then?”
 “You’ll see,” he laughed, leading her around the truck he
let her slide into the passenger seat on the bench. “Seat belt,”
he leaned over as he climbed in beside her and his hands
hovered across her body, his nose brushing against her face as
he pulled the belt and went to click it in for her.

“I’m a big girl,” she laughed, pressing her hand against his
and trying to take it from him as he leaned back.

“Even big girls like to be taken care of Murphy,” Jack

clicked the buckle in place, his dark eyes flickering from her
hands to her mouth and back to her eyes.

He turned the engine over, starting the truck and for how
the outside looked she expected it to sputter to life, but the
engine roared beneath them as he pulled out into traffic. He
drove them down past the outer limits of the city to a small
town that Beckett had never been to. She gasped with
excitement as the twinkly lights and smell of fresh popcorn
and horses tickled her nose.

“Is this a fair?” She leaned forward on the dash as far as

she could, trying to hide her giant childlike smile from him.
She had never been to the fair, she thought, turning to look at
him. Her eyes brimming with tears, “I’ve never been to the fair
Jack,” she laughed, the noise bubbling from her because she
couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t joke,” he shut the engine off, looking over at her.

Beck was aware she looked like a lunatic, her big smile
and water-rimmed eyes staring back at him. The lights from
the Ferris wheel reflected in his eyes and she nearly cried more
at the sight of it.

“Oh canary,” he laughed, that beautiful husky sound again,

and hooked his finger under her chin with delicate intention,
“we’re gonna have so much fun.”

He helped her from the truck, waiting until she was

situated on the ground to lead her toward the entrance. He
walked close to her shoulder, the smell of whiskey and licorice
wafting over her as the breeze pushed it off of him. He paid for
their tickets, wrapping her wristband around her. She noticed
all the small scars on his hands and the fresh set of bruises that
maimed his knuckles.

Her brows pushed together in frustration, “how did that

happen?” She hooked her hand around his wrist so he couldn’t
pull away.

He flexed his fingers in her hold and looked away from her
scolding glare, “I’m a cop, bruises and beat-up knuckles are
part of the job.”

She wanted to believe him, rubbing her thumb over the

closest bruise. He smiled at her, soft and warm as he turned his
hand over into hers and gave her a soft squeeze. “What first?”
he asked, “we got all night.”

The sun had barely started to fall in the sky despite it

already being a quarter to eight. She let the sounds and sights
sink into her bones as she watched kids drag their parents
around with squeals of joy. Beckett couldn’t believe that this
was the first time she had ever gotten to experience something
like a fair. She felt silly letting it overwhelm her but Jack
stayed close as he walked them around and showed her all the
options. She made a mental list of all the things she wanted to
try and Jack obliged each and every one of them.

“Snuggle in,” he tugged her close as they climbed onto the

Scrambler’s bucket seat and the bar came down to hold them
in place. She had no idea what to expect from it but as the ride
roared to life and the buckets started to swing she lost all
control of herself and started to scream. She gripped tightly to
Jack as the force from the ride pushed her against him.

“You’re alright,” he encouraged, wrapping a strong hand

around her waist and holding her tight. Butterflies ran rampant
in her stomach and her head got dizzy from the fast sharp
whipping movements of the ride. Her hair whipped in her face
and she screwed her eyes shut to feel the rush of the ride as it
halted to a slow stop. “It’s over,” he whispered in her ear,
laughing at her. “You going to puke?” He asked.

She opened her eyes slowly to look at him and shook her
head no, even though she wasn’t sure of her answer and the
world was spinning in a thousand different directions.

“That was so much fun!” She laughed, letting him hold her
close as they walked toward the exit. “I’m glad we did it
before we ate,” she admitted and he laughed alongside her.

They continued to conquer more rides as the night went on

and Jack obliged her to need to eat with a bucket of cotton
candy and a little carton of fried cheese, that she was
shockingly surprised to find out that was her new favorite
food. He dragged her down into a row of games and screaming
carnival workers with his hand linked to hers. They hadn’t had
much time to talk between all the rides and food but Beck
didn’t mind. The silence between them was filled with
laughter and screams. She was enjoying the night and the ease
that followed no pressure to talk.

First dates were scary but Jack was making it feel like they
had been on a thousand.

Don’t get attached, she thought as he handed a man a five-

dollar bill and grabbed three balls in his one hand. She wanted
to believe her words, the shaky affirmation of her willpower
that Jack wasn’t long-term, or boyfriend material. She was just
there to have fun with him until she was ready to really move
on but then he looked over at her. The sun setting behind his
short-cropped hair and broad shoulders. The stringy bulbs of
light reflected in his dark brown eyes, his brows softening as a
small admiring smile spread across his pouty lips.

He said something to her, she saw his lips move but the
world had slowed down around them and all she heard was
white noise. She watched as his tongue darted over his bottom
lip again before the smile returned.

Jack tilted his head to the left, causing the sun to catch her
in the eyes and snap her from the trance she had fallen into.
“You alright?” Jack asked as he reached out to her and nudged
her elbow with his fingers.

“Yeah,” she nodded, unsure how else to answer him when

she was so caught up with the way he looked at her. She felt
the warmth of his smile settle down against her heart and she
knew that she was kidding herself if she thought he was just
going to be fun, simple, or easy.

Jack Callahan had her wrapped around his finger.

She snuggled a little closer to him, still leaving him plenty

of space to throw the baseballs in his hand at the milk bottles
set up across the tent. The carnival worker watched with the
utmost boredom until Jack nailed the first tower and exploded
the bottles from the stand on the first throw.

“Don’t go far kid,” he pointed to the bottles.

He gave Beck a cocky smile and waited as the kid set the
bottles back up, only hesitating for a split second as he got out
of the way and knocked them all clean off the table again.

“Listen, man, just pick a toy so I don’t have to pick up the

bottles again,” the kid grumbled from the floor, making Jack
laugh.

“You heard him, pick a toy, Murphy.”

“For me?” She stared up at all the stuffed animals hanging

from the latch work panel ceiling.

“Yeah, you pretty girl,” Jack whispered, pressing himself

to her back and she made a decision. His hand wrapped around
her hip, fingers slinking against the sliver of skin between her
jeans and sweater as if they had always belonged there.

“The gray rabbit,” she pointed to a fuzzy gray stuffed

animal that was about the size of a hare, with long plush ears
and a round tummy. She took it from the kid and nuzzled her
face against it to check the softness before spinning in Jack’s
hold.

“What are you gonna name it?” He asked in a low voice.

With his hand still pressed around her, she was much closer to
his face than she expected.

“Frank,” she laughed.

“Frank?” Jack pursed his lips in approval. “A bunny

named Frank.”

“A fluffy bunny,” she giggled as the moment passed.

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him she carefully
pressed onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek.
“For my five-dollar stuffed animal.”

“Worth it,” he tapped her chin with his knuckle, “come on.
One more ride,” he pointed over her shoulder to the Ferris
wheel.

“Oh no,” she shook her head, tugging on his hand to bring
him back to her.

“Murphy,” Jack got within eye level with her, “are you
afraid of heights?”

“A little,” her voice shook, and the playful look faded from
his face.

“I got you,” he brushed his hand between her hair and jaw,
his thumb rubbing over her cheek. “I promise.”

She nodded, not sure if she actually believed him but she
let him drag her toward the line and the closer they got to the
front of it, the harder she shook. She had been afraid of heights
from a young age, something about falling a few hundred feet
to her death seemed horrifying. Jack helped her into the bucket
and slid in next to her, his hand wrapping around her waist
without hesitation as the ride jolted to life.

Beckett held her breath as the bucket swung in the breeze,

she hated the feeling of not being buckled in and it settled in
the pit of her stomach. Jack’s hand rubbed against her back as
they lifted to the top of the giant circle. She could see the edge
of New York, the sun beating down behind it as it dropped into
the sky. The clouds were light in color, with oranges, reds, and
pinks, and along the horizon where the dark set in a strip of
dark purple grew in size.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, trying to sound

impressed but the fear gripped her so tightly that her lip shook
as she spoke.

She looked over at him and he was already staring at her,

softness flickering across his usually stony features. “He’s not
a guy you fall in love with.” She could hear and feel Ashton’s
judgment from here and she hated herself for wanting to ask
Jack what happened, but she also didn’t want him to find out
that she knew before he had the chance to tell her. And maybe
it wasn’t even her place to know. She had just met him and
asking him for all his deepest secrets didn’t seem very short-
term booty call of her.

Thinking about Jack’s darkened past made her brain

wander to her own for the first time that day. She hadn’t
stopped to think about her stalker or the breaking for almost
eight hours and she felt a little lighter for it.

“Jack,” she said forcing herself out of her thoughts, “thank

you for today,” she smiled. “The last couple weeks have been
hard,” she admitted, “but today was fun… a really good
distraction.”

She watched his brows tick at the word distraction.

“Yeah, anything to get your mind off things,” he nodded.

“That’s not…” she grumbled.

“It’s alright, Murphy. I get it.” Jack nodded.

Beck chewed on the inside of her mouth, letting the copper

tang spread across her tongue as she broke the skin. Jack
hardened a touch after his words, his shoulders pinned back
against the bucket and he left his hand around her but it felt
different.

Like he was only doing it because he promised her and not

because he wanted to.
 12

twelve

“This is becoming a habit,” Beckett smiled as Banks leaned

against the door of his car. Dark glasses covered his pitch eyes
and a cheeky grin across his face. He wore a long dark dress
shirt that he had rolled up around his strong forearms and for
the first time she got to see the tattoos that decorated his olive
skin. She hadn’t taken him as the sort to ink his perfect
playboy skin, but she felt butterflies swarm at the sight of
them. Wrapped around his slim shoulders was his signature
dark leather gun holster that seemed to accentuate his
muscular chest and traps.

“If Jack wants me to play chauffeur to the prettiest girl in

New York I’m not going to complain.” Banks extended his
hand to her, and she handed him her bag as always. “Besides
today you get a work buddy,” he opened her passenger door
for her and helped her into the seat before leaning through the
open window. “We have more logs to go through.”
 “And you need me for that, why?” Beck asked when he
finally jogged around to the driver’s side, he pinched at the
thighs of his dress pants and settled against the leather.

“Well, I don’t,” Banks smiled, “but if I’m going to sit at

the call center all day, I’m going to do it with company.
Besides, your boss approved it and I bought you coffee,” he
nodded to the cup in the center console.

She stared at him for a moment, appreciating the way the

sun basked across his face, chest, and arms making him glow.
He followed her gaze to his painted arms, his tongue licking
across his bottom lip slowly.

“Didn’t take you for a tattoo guy,” she smiled.

“What did you take me for then?” Banks started the car
and pulled out into traffic. She was starting to get used to her
car rides with him. He had dropped her off for work three days
in a row when neither Saint nor Jack could chaperon her
walks. Beckett had told them both repeatedly that it wasn’t
necessary for them to babysit her, but they denied her request
to be left alone.

She looked him over, only noticing then that he was

periodically looking over at her as she examined his arms with
a pleased look on his face. She enjoyed the dark scruff around
his jaw and wondered how soft it would feel between her
fingers.

Holy shit, Beck shook her head. Keep it in your pants.

 “I knew Jack had a puppy,” Beckett laughed, and Banks’
faces scrunched up.

“What?” He turned right on a red, stretching his police

privileges like he always did.

“You’re the golden retriever,” Beck watched his ego

deflate and had to stifle the giggle that rose. “Every
partnership has one, sheriff sunny disposition.” The laugh won
that time, ripping from her with an echo as he scoffed, his lips
hanging open in shock. “You use flattery to get your way more
often than not and you use that pretty smile to win any
argument you start.”

“You think my smile is pretty?” He lulled his head to the

side as he pulled the car into the giant cement parking garage
and cut the engine.

“You’re insufferable.” Beckett rolled her eyes.

“Oh I know,” he looked at her, flashing his hungry smile

without hesitation. “One sugar,” he handed her the coffee.

“How did…” she sniffed the warm coffee and held it

between her palms to take a long sup. It seemed to quell every
nervous thought she might be having as he stared at her. “You
gotta stop,” she shook her head.

What?” He pushed his glasses into his console and leaned

over the seat to the back, grabbing his coat. “If me admiring
the way your face scrunches up when you laugh makes you
uncomfortable, then I’ll stop. “This can be as professional as
you need it to be,” he said checking his folder to make sure he
had everything before leaning on the console to look at her.
“But I also know that sometimes it’s easy to forget the fear
with a little laughter. That’s all this is Beck,” he said.

“You see what you did there?” She laughed and found
herself leaning into his space, gravity tugging her closer.

“Using flattery to get my way?” He winked at her, “you’re

spending too much time with Saint, he’s got you
psychoanalyzing everything I do.”

She waited for him to open her door, handing her the bag
she had packed with snacks and dinner for her shift. “Ooh,
maybe next time I’ll be able to figure out if you have mommy
or daddy issues?” She teased as he wrapped around her to
close the passenger side door.

His scruffy beard rubbed against her jaw as he pulled back,

“definitely mommy issues,” he whispered into her ear, sending
a wave of warmth down to her toes as he guided her to the
elevator with his hand against her bicep.

“Will you?” He handed her his cup and took his jacket
between his teeth as he rolled down his sleeves and pulled it
over his shoulder. Slinking into it before straightening it out
around his neck.

So worried about his appearance to the world around him,

he hid his tattoos from anyone that might judge him for them.

What?” he asked, seeing the curious smile on her face.

“Nothing, I just learn a little more about you every time

you fidget.”
 “What’s that supposed to mean,” he pretended to be
offended but before she had the chance to respond the doors
opened and they were greeted by Luke and Topper both
looking more uncomfortable than not to be saddled together.
“Morning Romero,” Topper extended a hand for a shake and
Banks looked to his right, full of coffee, and shrugged.

Beckett forced her laughter down at Banks’ blatant

disregard for his superior. They led them to a small meeting
room with glass windows and a long conference table in the
middle surrounded by plush black chairs that looked comfier
than her desk chair. She laid her bag on one of them and
stripped from her thin sweater, laying it over the back before
waiting to be debriefed by the police chief on her own life.

“Romero is here because Jack insisted that one of them go

through your call logs from as far back as last July,” Topper
said, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. He ran a
hand over his perfectly gelled blonde hair, giving Banks a
dirty look. “Once you find what you need, it’s back to the
precinct, I don’t care what division you’re with. One stalking
case is an absolute waste of our resources.”

“Say that again,” Banks’ brows kissed together, and it felt

as though all the air was sucked from the room. “Sir.” he
added as he twisted the knife a little further.

Luke looked over between her and Banks, his face telling
her everything she needed to know about what was going on in
his head. She shrugged, unsure what to make of the tense
standoff, but unwillingly to get between them.
 “You and Callahan are wasting our resources.” Topper
snapped, “don’t think just because you work under Jack,
you’re safe Banks, I can rip that badge away as fast as you
were given it.”

Banks clicked his pretty white teeth together and looked

the police chief up and down, “consider me spooked Chief,”
he mocked, his shoulders coming up in a playful shrug,
“please don’t take my badge. I’ll be a good little boy.”

It was Luke’s turn to stifle a laugh as Topper turned the

color of tomatoes. He turned on his heel, leaving the three of
them alone in the conference room.

“You have a habit of pissing everyone off with that charm

or just the important people?” Luke asked him, shaking his
hand.

“He’s not important,” Banks shook his head and finally let
go of Beck’s arm. “He’s just the face the department chose to
be on the news. I lobbied,” he turned to Beck with his soft,
charming smile. “But apparently I have trouble following
directions.”

“I should have assumed you can’t read,” Beck teased, and

his head tilted to the side.

“Sticks and stones Beckett, my high school English teacher

said the same thing after I…” Banks pressed his lips together.
“That’s a story for when we don’t have an audience,” he
waved to Luke and the giant glass windows of the conference
room. His dark eyes washed over her hungrily as a flush
formed on her cheeks, she hated the power he held over her.
 “There’s a computer set up for you, let me know if you
need anything,” Luke said, looking between the two of them.

“Thank you, Luke,” she said, excusing him and shutting

the door behind him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone
besides Ashton go toe to toe with Topper.”

“Joel,” Banks corrected her with his first name, “is a

pussy.”

“You are trouble,” she laughed, moving away from his

spicy, leather scent toward the computer.

“The best kind,” he said, popping the lid on his hot coffee.
“He shouldn’t be talking to you like that.”

“Topper and I have a long history,” Beck looked up from

the screen as she typed in her login info.

“The kind I should be aware of?” Banks stopped what he

was doing, his tone drifting from its playful inflection to a
more serious one.

“Down boy,” she shook her head, “we dated a few years
back before he was… whatever the hell he is now.” She
sighed, “he used to be funny. Now he’s stuck up and has it out
for anyone that comes near me. Honestly, if I was you, I’d cut
my losses and run.”

She had meant it as a joke but when she looked up from

her computer Banks was staring at her. Somehow the dark
brown of his eyes had turned to coal and his jaw was tightened
from whatever thoughts were swirling around his mind.
 “We’re not going anywhere, Beckett.” Was all he said to
her, not an ounce of playfulness to his tone. It sent a shiver
down her spine, but she nodded, unable to respond with words.
She could see the whites of his knuckles as he leaned over the
table, his shoulder pinned back and tight.

“You guys are to wound up about this,” she said softly, “I

appreciate the loud and proud approach, I do, but you all just
met me. It’s overwhelming, I’m glad to have you in my
corner… I am, but” she stopped, unsure of what to say to him.

“But nothing, you want to assume that we’re all here doing
this because of feeble schoolboy crushes,” Banks circled the
table, only settling against it when he was able to brush up
against her with his shoulder and really see her. “Which
granted we all obviously are caught up in the gravitational pull
that you seem to put out in the world but Beckett this is about
a dangerous man on the streets. I can’t speak for Jack and
Saint with the utmost of confidence, but I can tell you right
now, pretty girl or not, this hits too close to home for any of us
to leave it alone.”

“So,” she swallowed tightly, turning from his intense stare

back to the computer, “this is last June, if we run through all
the calls from all my shifts until yesterday’s date… we’ll be
here until,” she looked over at the analog clock hanging on the
wall. “Eleven,” she sighed, looking at the total hours of audio.

“Better get to work then,” he watched her, pushing her

coffee toward her and settling into his chair beside her.
 The day went by abnormally fast; she found the banter
between her and Banks refreshing as they listened to some of
the worst calls she had ever taken. Banks practically fell out of
his chair when they got to the woman who called 911 because
she had seen the fire department across the street helping her
elderly neighbor and she wanted the number of the cute
firefighter.

“People really call in for that?” Banks shook his head in

disbelief. “There are easier ways to get laid.”

“You’d be surprised,” Beckett laughed, “hangnails, cats,

raccoons in trash bins, cheating husbands.” She inhaled in a
meek attempt to settle her anxious heart. She hated listening to
the calls; she could pick out every wrong choice she had ever
made down the second. How many people had died because
she had paused to think? Or stuttered a life-saving instruction?

“Space cadet,” Banks pushed a loose strand of dark back

from her face, retracting his hand quicker than he had lifted it
to her skin. “You glossed over,” he tilted his head to catch her
eyes, “we can take a break if you need. You hungry?”

“Yeah, a little,” she said with a small laugh.

“What?” he asked, pushing back from the table to roll out

his shoulders.

“Just getting used to having people around,” she admitted,

propping her head up on her hand and scrolling through the
call logs with her other hand on the mouse.
 “I’ll be right back,” he flashed her a perfect bright Banks
smile and left the room. She watched him as he moved across
the call center, stopping to talk to Luke as he went. They both
looked over at her and the dread seemed to set in
instantaneously.

She chewed on her lip, so alienated from normalcy and at

the drop of a hat. She ran her tongue over the sore spot she had
created on her lip before she inhaled slowly, taking her time to
really let the breath wash through her.

Do what you can and take control.

She turned back to the computer, trying to listen to the

voice inside of her scrambled mind. She flicked through the
next call, listening to the woman on the other end complaining
about dogs barking from the yard over. She leaned over and
scratched out the call on the stack of paper that Banks had
neatly piled beside her before moving on to the next call.

It rang twice over the line, with a long stretch of silence

which made Beck turn up the volume. The call may have been
just static, but she had to double-check that she didn’t miss
something. As the call connected, she heard it.

She froze solid hearing the familiar click, over and over.
She leaned into the computer trying to figure out where she
had heard the noise before. Closing her eyes, she realized.

“What’s wrong?” Banks set the containers of food he had

brought back down on the table and moved around the table as
quickly as his feet would take him. “Hey,” he whispered,
“come here,” he tugged on her hand, and without hesitation
she let him pull her against his chest. Both listened to the call.

“That noise,” she swallowed tightly.

“The clicking?” Banks pulled away from her to pull up the

sound and run it through the noise cleaner. “That?” he asked.

The sound of the rhythmic clicking seemed to grow into a

dull roar behind her eyes as he played it again. His dark stare
looked back at her, “Beck,” he said, “what is that noise?”

“The lamp in my living room.” She looked over at him

from the computer screen as she fought the tears that
threatened to fall.
 13

thirteen

“Have you shown Jack this?” James leaned over the island
listening to the noise over Banks’ phone. He was wearing a
light gray dress shirt and pants, his badge hooked to the belt
around his waist alongside his firearm. He had come straight
from the call he was on when Banks texted him.

“I asked you because I couldn’t get a hold of him, not

because I wanted alone time with Captain ocean eyes Bailey.”
Banks groaned, pausing the recording.

Beck sat on the counter, her legs hanging against the

cupboards as she sipped on her tea. She couldn’t help but
space out the unpleasant conversation that the two of them
were having. James had tossed her a judgmental glance the
second he realized that Banks had joined her inside her
apartment.

She was hoping that over time she would start to feel safe
in her home but with the news that the calls had been coming
from within her walls she was even more uncomfortable and
on edge than before. Banks cast a concerned look in her
direction, her eyes settled firmly on the tiles as she
methodically counted them over and over in an effort to
distract her mind. She inhaled slowly, her lungs feeling
suffocated even in the best circumstance lately. How had her
morning gone so wonderfully only to have everything come
crashing down yet again? It felt like she couldn’t catch her
breath.

Beckett ran her tongue against her teeth and slid from the
counter, her bare feet cold against the floor as she moved
around the island. She looked at James, trusting him to
understand where she was coming from when she said what
she said next.

“Fighting with each other isn’t going to help catch this

guy,” she stopped him as he aimed another insult at Banks. “I
understand that you feel threatened right now, but you gave
Jack the file, and you asked for help. Let them help.”

“Beckett,” James ran his tongue over his bottom lip and
turned to look at her, resting his elbow on the island. “I’m
not…” he swallowed tightly looking over at Banks, silently
asking for him to give them a moment and he obliged,
wandering through the house to the bathroom. “Threatened,”
he finished as the door clicked shut, “I’m worried.”

“I’m barely alone anymore,” she shrugged, “between you

and Ashton, Luke and Saint, Jack, and Banks…” she pointed
lazily to the bathroom and groaned. “I don’t even have time to
be myself because I’m being babysat during every waking
moment.”

“It’s for your safety,” he said.

“It’s for your conscience.”

“That’s not fair,” shook his head. “You refused to even tell
me any of this was going on until it was too late and now
whoever this is has moved up their timeline. They’re taunting
us. I know it’s a lot, having us hovering around you, and as
much as I don’t like Callahan or his smart-ass partner Romero,
they’re the best.”

“So why push back so hard against them every time they
have a suggestion?” She asked.

“Because fear makes us all a little snappy B,” he raised an

eyebrow at her.

Maybe she had been short with him the last few times that
she had seen him without meaning to. But it wasn’t her
intention, she just wasn’t sure how else to voice her concerns.
She felt like a mouse in a room full of lions. Like her voice
wasn’t being heard no matter how loud she yelled and maybe
that shoving slivers in the toes of the lions made her feel
better.

“I’m sorry,” she nodded, “I just want my life back.”

“I know,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand. “And

we’ll get it back, just work with us, not against us.”

“I can’t promise anything,” she forced a soft laugh to settle

the tension that had fallen between them.
 “I’d be concerned if you lost all your bite,” he teased.
“Have you been able to get a hold of Callahan?” He asked and
she shook her head. “What about the other one…Maddox, the
analyst.”

“No,” she ground her teeth together, “they’re both

AWOL.”

“Listen,” he said, “I know it’s not your favorite place to be

but you have a room at our house if you don’t feel safe here.
No questions, we’ll help you pack.”

“I know,” she said, confident in her decision to stay in her

apartment. She didn’t need to feel like a monkey in a glass
cage, and living out of their guest room would do exactly that.
“Have you found Dorian?” She asked him and watched him
fight with his unruly facial expressions.

“No,” James groaned.

“Good, leave him in the wind Benji,” she said, “It’s not
him. That guy could barely tie his shoelaces.”

This made him laugh, genuinely, creating the tiny lines

around his worried blue eyes.

“Alright. You should get home to Ash, I’ll let you know if
I find Saint or Jack.” Beck said.

“Be safe, keep this on you,” he kissed her forehead and

pushed a pocketknife into her hand, the one that Ashton had
given her when she got her promotion at the call center.

Banks appeared from the hallway, his sleeves rolled down

around his wrists and his hair brushed back off his forehead in
long slick waves.

“Don’t let her out of your sight princess,” James snapped

and Banks just shook his head.

“I emailed the isolated sound to you, maybe you can get

something off of it.” Banks chose his words carefully, but
Beck could see him rolling his shoulders back tightly in a
strong-willed attempt to seem bigger.

He filled the hallway arch with his ego before James

finally gave him a sarcastic goodbye and excused himself from
her apartment.

“He needs a vacation,” Banks groaned, slumping into the

seat on the island beside her.

“He’s not usually so mean,” she sighed, running her hands

over her face and trying to stretch out her sore shoulders.
Banks reached out brushing his hand against her forearm and
silently urged him to look at her.

“He’s always that mean,” he laughed, and Beck might have

scolded him for making a joke when she was so stressed out
but even a momentary glance of his boyish smile made the
tense vibrations in her chest settle. “I’m sick of talking about
your traumatic situation Angel, you never told me how your
class went,” he rubbed a knuckle up her arm.

Beckett knew he was only trying to distract her from the

emotional torment she was putting herself through beneath the
surface but she felt so incredibly suffocated even then.
 “You never told me that Saint was the teacher,” she shoved
the feelings down as far as she could and poked him in the
chest.

“From what I heard from lover boy you didn’t mind

much,” Banks flashed her a cheesy grin.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, rolling her eyes and shaking

her head at him. “Do you three tell each other everything?”
She asked.

“No,” he laughed uncontrollably, his eyes flickering over

her. “But you just told me everything I needed to know
without even asking him.”

“I hate you,” she sighed, she had played right into his hand
like the fool she was.

“You wish you hated me,” Banks smirked.

“You make it so easy,” she teased.

“I can make it harder for you…” he whispered, his hands

wrapping around her waist as he pulled her against him. She
settled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, she
trusted him to hold her in place on the small stool.

“Banks,” she sighed, her mood slipping fast. “I just need to

relax.”

“Relaxing doesn’t have to be complicated,” he whispered,

looking down at her lap, a few strands of his dark hair fell into
his face. “We can keep them separate, angel,” He looked up at
her through his gloriously thick lashes and smiled, “Business
or pleasure?” He asked. “Let me help you relax.”
 They had never really defined it. More so, Beck had never
chosen what she wanted from him. Tangling three men
together was hard and even though they all seemed to be fine
sharing she still hadn’t found the balance. But tangled in
Banks’ arms, the cinnamon smell of his cologne washing over
her his fingers traced small circles around on her skin as he
drank her in, and a new piece of the puzzle seemed to click
into place.

He brushed his nose against her jaw, his lips tickling the
sensitive skin of her throat and she leaned into his touch,
needy for it. She pushed her hands down his back, itching for
more contact. The dress shirt he wore gave no give and the
only way she was going to get what she wanted was to undress
him.

Like he could read her mind, he lifted her against his hip,
wrapping her legs around him, and carried her to the bedroom.
He laid her onto the bed gently, watching her as she propped
herself up on her elbows to see him. He slowly undid the
buttons of his shirt and slipped from the fabric, exposing his
beautiful tan skin in the dim light of the bedroom. The light
glimmered off a small cross necklace that hung around his
neck, it rested gently against the center of his muscular chest
catching her eye. The tattoos on his arms were soft and
intricate, painting his skin with dark, swirls and shadows that
complimented the hardened muscles of his biceps and
shoulders. His hair was messy from her running her fingers
through it and she took warm pleasure in seeing him so
undone before her.
 “I gotta hear you say it,” he said, waiting and watching her.

“Pleasure,” she breathed, the word falling easily from her

lips while her eyes trailed over him as slowly as she could,
trailing down past the small line of hair that led beneath the
expensive pair of black dress pants he wore.

He crashed down into her mouth, not wasting time with

pleasantries or the awkwardness of first kisses. No, it was all
hungry, hot kisses that suffocated her in the best ways. His
hands raked down her body, pressing into the bare skin of her
stomach under the shirt she wore. She wanted more from him,
needed more. He was the most beautiful disaster she could
have asked for. She didn’t want to think about the notes or
photos, wanted to forget the stupid noises in the dark and the
phone calls. All she wanted was a break. A moment to breathe.
And what better air to breathe than the cinnamon scent of
Banks’ skin rubbing against her own?

She shimmied beneath him and tugged free of her own

shirt. Banks pulled back to admire the dark red lace bra she
wore beneath her shirt, his fingers dancing over the sheer cups.
He tickled her skin, tracing the fabric to the strap on her
shoulder before he carefully pulled it down over her shoulder
and kissed the bare skin there. He worked his way across her
body, kissing and licking, nibbling like he couldn’t get enough
of her as his other hand roamed into her hair, tangling between
her long brown locks with just enough grip to drag a moan
from her lips.
 “Do that again,” he whispered, pulling at her as his lips
found her hardened nipple and sucked at her. “The noise Beck,
I wanna hear it again,” he begged, yanking on her hair until
she was nothing but a puddle of whimpers.

She tangled her hands into the bed sheets as he worked at

her, so embarrassed that he was making her come undone with
so little effort. He hadn’t even teased at her pants, his hands
still well above her hips. She was wet, clenching her thighs
together tightly to keep from rolling into his as he pinned her
to the bed with his thighs.

“I want to hear you make that noise for the rest of my life,”
Banks leaned back against her mouth, dragging her bottom lip
into his.

“Give me more,” she demanded.

His tongue swiped into her mouth, needing more of her as

he slid down on the bed to lay next to her. She was ready to
beg him to touch her but she didn’t have to, his hand pushed
into the band of her work tights and between her wet folds. He
groaned against her mouth, breathlessly out of control of his
own emotions.

“Is that for me?” He asked, knowing the answer. “Oh

pretty girl, you spoil a man.”

She giggled against him. Beckett loved that he treated

every small action like a gift like she had been born to make
him happy. It made her feel on top of the world. She wanted to
give him more, reaching for his belt buckle but he pressed a
hand to hers, “Not today, I want to make you cum all over my
hand, I want to hear every noise you can make and some of the
ones you didn’t know you could. And then when I’m finished,
I’ll start again because it’s like music to my ears.”

She practically melted into the bed sheets, his hand

moving in tandem with his lips as he kissed her roughly and
pulled her close to him. His hands were smooth and efficient,
slipping lower he curled two fingers within her dripping cunt.
She relaxed her thighs giving him room to work and brushed
her hand over her nipple, teasing and pinching at it.

His dark pupils were blown as he moved from her mouth

and sucked the nipple between his teeth, biting down. She
yelped, the sound dripping from between her clenched jaw as
she bucked back into the bed. Beck throbbed against his hand
as he drove a third finger into her, silently demanding another
moan.

“Banks,” she whined, wiggling down onto him. “Kiss me,”

she raked a finger through his hair to get his attention. She
wanted him and all of his attention turned on her.

“Needy,” he whispered but obliged, colliding with her

mouth as his hand quickened between her thighs. “There it is,”
he growled as she writhed beneath his touch, the coil in her
stomach turned as tightly as it could go and with his mouth
against her neck it snapped in two. She clenched around his
fingers, her body squeezing out every last drop as she
drenched her thighs and his hand.

Her nerves fired off in every direction as he worked faster,

moving her through the delicious orgasm. Her whole body
sunk into the bed, and into his touch as she came down from
her high and the stars blurred from her vision.

His hand slipped from between her legs and he slipped two
between his lips, staring down at the mess he had made with a
hungry look in his dark eyes. “You are gorgeous when you
come undone,” he smirked, “and you taste even better than
you look.”

He cupped her jaw with his hand and kissed her again,
letting her taste herself and impossibly so she leaned into him,
needing more.

She opened her mouth, wanting to help him the way he

helped her. She could feel how hard he was against her hip,
straining beneath the fabric of his pants but his phone rang out
into the silence between them.

He grabbed it and shoved it against his ear before Beck

had the chance to see who had called, even in her relaxed
stupor she was hoping it was Jack. She was starting to worry
that he was radio silent, he usually responded to her texts even
when he got swamped at work or before they went into an op.

“I have to go,” Banks rasped, shoving his phone into his

back pocket. He kissed her a thousand times before he slid
from the bed, returning briefly to kiss her again and then
finally shook out his shirt and slid it over his arms.

“It can’t wait?” She pouted, fixing the straps of her bra she
sat up in bed. He leaned down, trapping her in with his arm,
his shirt hanging open and the necklace swaying between
them.
 “God I wish I could,” he kissed her slower this time, so
slowly she could feel every unsaid word between them.

“Be safe,” she chewed on her lip, chasing the taste of him
as he stood to button up his shirt.

“You’ll be okay? I’ll call the patrol, and make sure they’re
downstairs. Stay here,” he pointed to her, “I don’t need to get
my ass kicked by Jack because you wander off.”

“I’m not a small child,” Beck shook her head.

“Debatable.” Banks countered with a soft smile. “Text me

if you find either of them.”

Beck nodded following him on exhausted, dizzy legs

followed him to the kitchen locking the door behind him
before grabbing her mug of tea and settling into the couch, she
rested her back against the armrest and stared at the lamp. The
apartment was so quiet without anyone else inside and all she
could hear was the thrumming pattern of the clicking noise. It
seemed to echo off the walls and vibrate her bones.

Beckett wrapped her hands around the mug but still felt
too restless to close her eyes and try to sleep. She debated
taking the sleeping pills that were shoved in the drawer of her
nightstand but something about being knocked out cold at a
time like this… She couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe
tonight wasn’t the best time to be drugged into a heavy sleep.
She wished that Saint or Jack would answer their phones, she
wished that Banks hadn’t rushed away to work.
 All day complaining that she couldn’t have a moment
alone and here she was… complaining that they had given her
exactly what she wanted. She felt foolish and weak.

Beckett looked out the window and realized that the sun
had started to set but also that there was one place no one had
thought to check for Saint.
 14

fourteen

My clever pretty bird.

He watched her from afar, the way the wind brushed

through her hair as she walked down the street back to her
apartment. He had known that eventually, she would figure out
that the clicking on the recordings had come from inside her
house.

So smart and brave. He thought, “I will beat that out of

you until the only thought you have is me,” he whispered and
watched her look around her surroundings.

He took sick pleasure knowing that even so far away he

had the ability to send shivers down her spine. He liked that
she looked for him, searched for him in the crowds.

Soon my little bird, soon.

 15

fifteen

She pouted, looking into the darkness of the building. She

knocked on the door, noticing a soft light cascading from the
back hallway.

No answer.

She knocked again, even if Saint wasn’t around, she would

prefer to wait inside for a cab to take her home. So, she
checked the door. It was open. Pulling it quietly, she flipped
her pocketknife from her waistband. Suddenly glad that James
had reminded her to bring it with her.

“Hello?” she called down into the darkness, hoping that if

Saint was here at least he would hear her. One class of self-
defense wasn’t going to make her an expert. She wandered
down the pitch-back hallway until the light from the back
room flooded the hallway.

As she stepped into the light of the back room, she

instantly knew something was wrong, Jack stood over Saint,
pushing a needle through the skin on his shoulder. His body
turned away from her as he did. Banks was digging something
from a bag in the back of the room, near one of the filing
cabinets and his entire body tensed at the sight of her.

Saint’s hand came up to stop Jack, “Callahan,” he spoke a

single word that caused him to grab the gun on the table beside
him without hesitation as he turned it viciously on Beckett.

Fear lodged in her throat staring down the barrel of a gun,

but her expression softened seeing the state of them.

“Is this why you ran off?” She shot a dirty look at Banks,
who merely shrugged in response. “Seriously, your loyalty is
fickle lover boy!” Beck growled at him.

She wasn’t worried for a second about the gun, Jack

slammed it back against the table and turned on her. Saint was
slumped in a steel office chair, shirtless. Bruises painted his
beautiful body in nasty misshapen circles, his eyes closed over
as he writhed in pain. He was taking slow breaths to hide it,
but Beckett could see the pain all over his scrunched-up face.
Banks took Jack’s place, bringing a cloth to a particularly large
gash in Saint’s shoulder to staunch the bleeding.

Jack stalked toward her, pushing past her to look out into
the hallway. He pulled the door closed behind her and locked
it before turning back to her with an angry expression.

“How did you get here?” He asked, his eyebrow was

bleeding over his right eye, and he had a nasty rope-like bruise
forming around his thick neck.
 “Banks has been looking for you both, I just figured if
Saint wasn’t answering his phone he may be here,” Beckett
explained, pissed off that she had been on the outside of
everything all along.

“And you came alone?” Jack ground his teeth together.

“He got called into work, I snuck past the patrol,” she said,
raising her eyebrows. Clearly unimpressed that Banks had lied
to her. “All of that is unimportant.”

He nodded, a smile forming on his face. “We’ll get back to

that, sneaking around.” He huffed.

Her hand lifted the bruise forming on his jaw. He tensed

under her touch but didn’t pull away. She hissed at the sight of
Jack’s face before moving towards Saint and cupping his chin
in her hand softly, “Are you okay?” Banks continued to work
on his shoulder as she asked.

She heard Jack scoff at her question as if her tone had

somehow implied that it was Jack that hurt Saint. “I know it
wasn’t you, settle down.” She bit, turning back to see Jack
looking ashamed of himself.

“I’m fine,” Saint groaned trying to sound OK, a guttural

noise leaving his lips as he lifted his wounded arm to wrap his
hand around her wrist. He rubbed his thumb against the
underside, lowering it against him as he pressed his head
towards her stomach and rested it there with his eyes closed.

“And you?” She looked at Jack who looked away from her
again.
 “I’m okay tough guy,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes
trained on something across the room.

“Good, now tell me what the hell is going on?” Beck

demanded; her hand tangled in Saint’s hair at the nape of his
neck. Jack stood just close enough for her to feel his anger
rolling off him in hot waves. Banks ran a hand through his hair
nervously, clearly, his abilities to handle confrontation were
flimsy.

“Sit,” Beck pushed on Jack’s chest, and he winced which

only made her wanna scold him even more. “Take it off,” she
ordered, letting Banks take back his space to work on Saint.

“Is that any way to get me naked?” Jack groaned, hooking

his finger into the sleeve of his shirt so he could pull his arm
out and the shirt over his head. Beck ignored his joke and
gasped at the sight of his skin, two weeks ago it had been
covered in scars, but his skin was tan and pristine. Now it was
covered in red and purple bruises, ranging in size and shape.

She tossed her cell phone and pocketknife to the top of a

filing cabinet before moving towards the med kit he had
sprawled over the desk.

“Was that a knife?” Saint asked, his head slumped back

against the wall behind his chair. She was constantly surprised
by his ability to gauge an object by the sound it made when
she slammed it against something.

“It was definitely a knife,” Banks confirmed, peering at the

silver object on the cabinet.
 “And?” Beck looked back at him, exhausted already with
them. Jack scowled at her, and a huff of air left Saint’s lips.
“You three are going to sit here and judge me for a pocketknife
when two of you look like you were just in a gunfight? And
the third won’t even look me in the eye?”

Banks turned his head toward Saint, focusing his gaze

somewhere else. Coward.

She pressed a finger to one of Jack’s bruises, causing a low

whine to rip from his throat. In a sick way, she enjoyed the
noise because it reminded him that he wasn’t the one in charge
right now and Beck had a feeling he wasn’t used to that.

“Ow Murphy,” he growled, grabbing her hand in his like a

reflex.

“Don’t be a jerk,” she warned.

“Why do you have a knife?” he tilted his head to meet her

eyes as he asked her.

His lips parted in pain as she pushed his jaw to the side,
her fingers brushing into the coarse beard hair. She just wanted
to check the gash in his eyebrow. She didn’t want to see his
dark brown eyes or feel bad for him. She wanted answers.

“For protection,” she mumbled.

She forced him to let go of her hand so she could grab a

gauze pad. “Tell me what’s going on,” she said. She moved
her hand through the bag to find a pair of scissors, her eyes
drifting to the contents on the desk.
 “Are you serious?” She scoffed. Looking at the fabric
scraps on the table and back to them.

“It’s how choir boy keeps his face hidden,” Jack grunted.
She turned to him, her ponytail whipping around as she did.

“Oh my god,” she stopped, slowly putting things together.

Between the two broken men sitting in the chairs before her,
the bruises and cuts, the mask and gun. “You’re them.”

Saint sat forward in his chair, his hand reaching for her but
she pulled away from him. He didn’t deserve to know how she
was feeling, how fast her heart was beating in her chest.
“You’re the vigilantes running around the city. The calls that
have come into the center because of you two over the past six
months have been insane!”

She threw the scrappy excuse for a mask at Saint, who

caught it mid-air without hesitation. “Are you even actually
blind?” she snapped at him. Banks let out a sharp laugh,
amused with the situation.

“Watch it,” Beck tossed a roll of gauze at his head but

Banks caught it before it hit him, his dark eyes finally settling
on her with a regretful look behind the rich brown.

“Yes,” he unwound his arm from his body and dropped the
mask on the floor before shifting to get comfortable again. “I
was in an accident when I was younger that left the world on
fire but it changed me, all of my senses are heightened.” His
eyes closed over and she watched as he tilted his head back,
exposing the long expanse of his neck.
 He took a long deep breath that looked painful, “Beck your
heart is beating too fast, it’s tangled and confused. I can’t
figure out if you’re angry or scared.”

“Both,” she sighed.

“We won’t hurt you, Beckett,” Saint sighed, his lips

pursing together in pain. “Calm down.”

“That’s rich. Clearly, I don’t know anything about any of

you,” she scoffed. She covered her face with her hands, just
trying to stabilize her thoughts and breath long enough to
make a proper decision about them. “What happened tonight?”

“No,” Jack snapped, moving to stand from his chair but

she shot him a look that made him plant his feet and stay
seated. He raised his hands, “You don’t need to know what we
do.”

“Why do you all think I’m a child, Jack?” She stared at

him, wincing at the state of his beautiful face. “You think I
don’t already know? I’m the one that takes the calls when
someone stumbles upon the mess you’ve made. Tell me what
happened or I’m calling for the ambulance, between the three
of you I don’t know who they’ll arrest first.”

“They can’t arrest what they can’t catch Canary,” Jack

laughed painfully.

“I’m not fooling around! Why is that when I finally find a

good guy, a fucking gaggle of good-” she sighed. “And how
naive of me, thinking you were just oblivious to it all.” She
hissed at Banks. “Of course, it’s just my luck that you turn out
to be fucking lunatics. You lied to me, and you both sat in
front of me, with your cheeky smiles and smooth lines.
Flirting with me and then what? Ran off into the night to fight
crime like Batman? You’ve been sleeping in my bed you
asshole!”

She charged toward Jack who sat up ready for the fight she
brought but Banks cleared his throat swiftly moving in front of
her target. His chest coming to her chin and his hands flexing
at his sides as he stared down at her. She stood her ground,
unwilling to let him make her feel small.

“Hey,” Saint called to her, pulling her attention from Jack.

“Come here, it does no one any good to fight among
ourselves.”

She swallowed hard, walking back toward Saint. Looping

his hand around the back of her thigh he pulled her close.
“Listen,” he looked up, his soft brown eyes searching for her
in the sound around him. “We go downtown to make it safer
for people like you to live here. We don’t do this because we
enjoy it.”

“You sure seem to enjoy it,” she said.

“You think I like stitching my friends up twice a week?”

Banks bit. His tone clipped as he moved to cut the long black
thread hanging from Saint’s shoulder with a pair of scissors
and wiped his bloody hands on a towel that was already
stained through with their blood.

“There are cops for a reason,” she sighed, pressing a hand

to Saint’s face. Her thumb grazed his bottom lip, unable to
stop herself. “Why put yourselves in danger like that?” She
looked over to Jack.

“Because we’re the best,” Saint answered below her, his

voice calling to her.

“And we aren’t restricted by the laws,” Jack added. She bit

her lip, she was so angry but Saint’s fingers rubbing the back
of her thigh was a different kind of medicine. She could feel
herself forgiving them, cursing herself for doing so.

“You didn’t answer me. And how long have you known?”
She asked, looking between them and landing on Banks.

“I set it up,” he said, putting the towel down. He leaned

against the desk behind him, the dress shirt he had worn was
soaked in blood around his elbows and untucked around his
hips. “We were restricted,” he explained, “Topper doesn’t let
us out of his sight, he chooses our cases, he takes the credit.”

“So you become extremists?” Beck was having a hard time

understanding.

“A few years ago, I was on a case,” Saint coughed slightly

and stretched his body loose from the pain. “I sat through
thirteen confessions from girls who were sixteen at the time of
the trial. All thirteen recount vivid memories of what a man
did to them, violent, horrible things Beckett. Things you can
never unhear.”

“Marcus White,” she said. “I remember that case. The

evidence was solid…but he,” she stopped, the pit in her
stomach growing. “He walked.”
 “He went on to rape six more girls Murphy,” Jack said
from behind her.

“Saint came to Jack, thinking maybe he could help. But

Topper closed the file and said there was nothing more for us
to do. The judge had the final call.” Banks explained. “It
didn’t sit with us; we’ve been friends since college. We’ve all
seen shit, the worst kinds of things, but this…” he inhaled
deeply.

“It was happening in our city,” Jack growled. “So, we put

him down.”

“I find them,” Banks said, closing his eyes.

“We execute them,” Saint finished.

She couldn’t decide how she felt about that, it seemed

impossible to just go that far and never stop to think about the
consequences of their actions. “Does anyone else know?”
Beck turned to look at Jack, waiting for him to answer her. She
was met with silence, but she could feel him breaking the
longer she stared.

“Bailey,” he said.

“Remind me to kill him later,” she growled and lurched

forward but Saint held her in place by her thigh, applying
pressure and holding her back.

“That’s why he brought me your case. We can do what he

can’t,” Jack grumbled.

“Murder a man?” Beck snapped.

 “Murphy,” Jack warned, his voice low and stern.

“What, Jack? Is that not what you’re both doing out there?
I had a call last week that reported six dead bodies in a
warehouse downtown. Was it you?” She asked, her blood
boiling. Beckett pulled free of Saint and stepped forward until
she was between them. “Answer me.”

His chest heaved, “Yes.” His eyes followed hers as she

shook her head and made to turn away from him. “Look at
me.” He ordered, she stared at the white sneakers she wore to
the class that never happened and fixated on the small drop of
blood that stained the tongue and laces.

“Beckett look at me.” He asked again, this time his voice

broke as he said her first name and she turned her head to see
him lean over trying to get her attention, blood dripping into
his eye.

“Those men had thirty-six women peddling drugs in that

warehouse, naked and beaten. They were starving them and
keeping them hooked on just enough heroine so they didn’t
leave but could still work. How long do you think it would
have taken me and Banks to make that bust if we followed the
law?” Jack rubbed the blood from his eye with a hiss and
waited for her to answer. “It wasn’t even on our radar Murphy;
we didn’t know about it. Saint found the warehouse in three
days.”

“One of the women said they had been in there for three
years,” Banks said.
 “Three years ago, she had a family, a daughter,” Jack said
and the sound of his defeated voice broke something within
her. A family, a daughter. Just like he had at one point.

Beck took a long deep breath and without a word, she

collected what she needed to fix Jack’s cut. She laid the things
in his lap as she came over to him in silence. He didn’t say a
word as he wrapped two fingers around hers, just like she had
that night to stop him from leaving her room. Her heart
stopped from the gesture. She sighed, knowing he had won the
argument. How could she have come out of that on top? They
had saved thirty-six women and given a little girl her mother
back. They had put a rapist down, who knows what else they
had done to protect the people not able to protect themselves.
She just wasn’t convinced about the murder. As she pressed
the cloth to his forehead, his jaw tensed and his finger
squeezed around hers.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she mused, staring down at him.

Her comment tugged a smile from his lips. He shook his head
in disbelief, “stop moving.”

She pressed the gash together and brought the liquid stitch
to his forehead, he hissed as she closed the skin. His other
hand came up to grip her hip, his fingers digging into the skin
above her tights roughly. She pressed a kiss to his forehead
before pulling back to see him staring at her with a strange
softness she hadn’t seen in him before.

“Ground rules,” Beck said.

 “You make it sound like this is a club,” Jack laughed,
abandoning his previous soft demeanor.

“If the three of the men in my life that I care about are
going to nearly get themselves killed once a week.” She spoke.

“Hey, I just make the phone calls, the pretty face behind
the computer,” Banks winked at her.

“Shut up,” She shook her head, cocking it to the side when
he flashed her that smile, he knew would break down her
defenses. “I want to have some rules.” She looked back at him
while she pressed a clean bandage to the wound Jack had on
his bicep. “I don’t want to be worried about you constantly, it’s
exhausting.”

“Your best friend is a cop and he’s married to a firefighter.

That should be a normal occurrence for you,” Jack rolled his
eyes, and she moved toward Saint. Wanting to check him over
before he dressed.

“Go on,” Saint mused, rubbing his knuckle against her

extended arm. “He’s just being difficult ‘cause it’s past his
bedtime.”

“I want to know where you are,” she said softly, Jack

shook his head. She looked over at him and scowled, “I don’t
need the details, I just wanna make sure if you go missing, I
can find you.”

“You can’t get rid of us that easy sunshine,” Saint teased

her, licking his bottom lip playfully.
 “No more late-night medical sessions, if you’re hurt come
to me,” she sighed, looking down at Saint’s face again. A
sharp purple bruise was forming around his jaw under the
scruff of his beard. “You’re terrible at stitches and I don’t even
wanna see the blind man do it.” She sighed, taking note of the
nasty amount of scars Saint carried.

“Well, that’s what Banks is for,” Jack scoffed.

“His stitches are worse than Saints.” She scowled.

She pressed a hand to Saint’s chest, feeling his heartbeat

and he wrapped his hand around her wrist habitually, rubbing
his thumb against her. He took a long deep breath, his head
dropping slightly as a smile formed on his face. “And neither
of you needs any more scars.” She added, her voice breaking.

“I thought chicks dig scars,” Jack said. His naked chest

was rising unevenly, he had probably broken a rib the way he
was breathing but he was hiding the worst of his pain from her.

“Do I look like a chick to you, Jack Callahan?” She

snapped.

Banks and Saint chuckled.

“No baby, you don’t,” he mused, and her heart fluttered at

the low tone in his voice as he stared at her with a feverish
glare.

“Do you have extra clothes here? I’m tired and I have to
work tomorrow. Get dressed.” She said, sick of seeing their
bruises and wishing the first time she had seen them both like
this was in a place she could take advantage of it. Jack pointed
to a duffle bag on the floor by the front door.

She let go of Saint and wandered to it, unzipping it to find

three more guns. She turned on her heel to stare at Jack,
knowing full well they were his.

“New rule,” she sighed, “no guns in my house.”

Jack grumbled but seeing her face he consented, putting

his head back and closing his eyes. She dug out two clean
shirts, walking to Saint first and tugging it over his head
carefully. He groaned, pulling his shoulder through the sleeve.
She laughed as his messy hair pulled through the top, trying to
help him lay it flat. He stood up, letting Banks tuck under his
arm to help him walk before he collected his dollar store ninja
turtle mask, and hobbled through the door into the hallway.

Jack stood as she came to him, stretching the collar of the

black shirt she pulled down over his head. He growled from
the movement, flexing the muscles in his abdomen to stabilize
his bruised ribs.

“Stop doing that,” she whispered. “You’ll only make them

worse.”

He looked down at her as she settled the shirt around his

hips, leaving her fingers to play with it as she spoke.

“Why are you whispering Murphy, he can hear

everything,” he grumbled, always so grouchy. “And what, now
you’re a doctor?”
 “Watch your attitude,” she warned. “And stop hiding your
pain from me,” she poked gently at a rib below his peck, and
he whined under the touch. “You need rest and ice.”

She stared at him, blood still staining the side of his face as
his brown eyes traced her expression. “I don’t have an
attitude,” he smiled, licking his lip.

She rolled her eyes and pushed off his chest causing him to
groan. “You’re infuriating,” she walked away from him,
grabbing her phone and knife before hoisting the duffle bag
full of clothes and guns over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“To my bed, are you coming?” She turned to ask him as

she wandered through the door, and he nodded softly. Jack
took her hand gently and led her to the back of the building
where Saint and Banks stood uncomfortably waiting for them.

She watched him feel along the truck until his hand found
the handle and popped it open for her, “in you go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Banks leaned over the bench and
pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “No more sneaking off.”

She tangled her hand into the collar of his shirt, and said,
“don’t give me reasons too.”

“Night angel,” he laughed, kissing her hand and pulling

away.

Saint slid into the bench seat beside her with a groan of
pain as she wrapped her hand against his bicep, leaning into
him and closing her eyes. She didn’t stir even as Jack slammed
his door or drove them back through the city. She only startled
awake as Jack slipped his hands under her body, kicking her
leg out at him and catching him in the shoulder.

“Hey,” he growled, “it’s me, tough guy.” He whispered to

her, and she relaxed, falling gently back against his chest as he
carried her into the elevator.

“I can walk you know,” her head lulled against his arm as
she looked up at him. Her voice was sleepy; he just kept his
gaze straight ahead and ignored her. He set her down finally
when they came to her apartment door, Saint unlocked it and
swung the door open for her. “You shouldn’t have been
carrying me,” she snapped.

Neither of them stirred as she moved inside. She stopped,

her eyes sweeping the darkness.

“Would you-” she didn’t even need to finish her question

as they moved inside, completely in sync as they went to
check the shadows for her. Beckett watched as Saint checked
the living room and Jack the hallway, bathroom, and bedroom.
“Thank you.”

She turned and closed the door to her apartment and

locked the deadbolt and chain. She could see the soft smile
forming on Saint’s face as he heard the click of metal.

“You know the drill,” Jack nodded to the room, “into bed.”

She smiled, pulling her hair from the ponytail and tip-
toeing past Saint to the hallway. Without words she slid into
the bed, watching as both men kicked from their shoes and
shed their shirts. Jack came to his side of the bed, fixed the
pillow that had quickly become his and sat against the
backboard so she could wrap herself into him. It felt natural
and easy with him.

“Come on Maddox, don’t be shy,” Jack invited him in.

Saint pressed his thigh against the mattress, feeling for it.
Finding her skin with his hand, she wrapped her fingers
around his. He crawled into the bed behind her, laid on his side
not quite pressed against her back, and laid his head between
her shoulder blades. Letting their tangled hands rest on her rib
cage as Jack ran his fingers through her hair.
 16

sixteen

“Beck,” Saint sat at the island across her as she organized her
bills into a basket. She looked over at him and smiled, she had
enjoyed waking up to the two of them still there. It had settled
deep into her chest, the comfort of a good night’s sleep and the
easing of her touch-starved soul. She would deal with the
screaming concern in the back of her mind later.

“Where’s your head at?” He asked when she didn’t answer

him. “Talk to me.”

Jack had left to handle business, but Saint had stayed

behind to keep her company as she worked around the house.
“Do you three make a habit of uh…” she inhaled deeply.

“No,” he said softly. “Never before,” he smiled.

“And you guys…” She felt foolish for stumbling through

her thoughts about all of this.

“We,” Saint reached across the island for her, wiggling his
fingers out to her to take. She slid her hand across the counter
palm up so they could curl their fingers together. “Don’t date.
It’s too hard, it’s too dangerous.”

“So I’m expendable?” She teased.

“Beck,” Saint’s jaw clenched tightly. “We can’t risk

another person just because we have a crush.”

Is that what it was, the feeling in her chest? A crush? It felt

like more than that to Beck but she couldn’t tell from his voice
if he was hiding his intentions. She suddenly wished Banks
was here, everything he ever thought was written across his
face like a billboard. Even Jack was easier to read. Saint had a
talent for keeping his voice level and his breathing steady, she
couldn’t get anything out of him.

So she’d change the subject.

“Jack learned the hard way?” She knew that she had miss
stepped the second Saint’s hand flexed against hers.

“Listen to me Beckett,” his voice got tight, “there’s a lot of

unresolved trauma that has rooted itself in Jack about that hard
way. Don’t push him.”

“You sound scared,” Beck felt the temperature drop in the

room.

“You should be,” Saint quipped. “And you aren’t

expendable, you’ve managed to earn an ounce of trust from
him. The flirting, the dates, it’s a distraction. Find the love you
seek elsewhere, but don’t sit at Jack’s feet and think he’ll be
the one to give it to you.”
 She made to open her mouth and ask more questions when
his eyes shifted to his left and before she could ask what he
was thinking about, a knock rang out through the apartment.

Beckett jumped from the noise, still so touchy about every

slight sound around her. “It’s your friends,” he mused, tightly
squeezing her hand. “I’ll get it.” He said slipping from his
chair he made his way to her door, his hands feeling for the
lock he turned them with ease and greeted them.

“Who are you?” Ashton’s voice floated through the room

and Beck sighed, wandering over to peer around the door.

Ashton hovered beside James with a tray of coffees

balanced in his hands. Her hand slipped into the soft back
pocket of Saint’s pants; his head tilted slightly from the
invasion of her fingers, but he extended his hand smoothly to
Ashton. Completely unbothered by her intrusion. Find the love
you seek elsewhere.

“Saint Maddox,” he gave them his best cheeky smile and

waited as they tentatively reached out to shake it.

“Ashton Bailey and Benji-” Ashton started.

“Detective James Bailey,” James cut him off with a scowl.

Cut the big brother act for one day, she groaned.

Beck rolled her eyes and stepped back, guiding Saint with
her hand still on his ass through his jeans. “This is
unexpected.”

“It’s your day off, we thought we would come to keep you

company.” Ashton wandered past them and set the coffee on
the island. “But it seems like you have sufficient
entertainment.” His eyes trailed over Saint, to where her arm
extended behind him with a smirk on his face. Saint reached
back slowly, pushing his hand into the soft cotton pocket and
linking his fingers with hers.

Beck’s heart fluttered as he cleared his throat, “Bailey and

I have met actually.”

James turned from setting the bag of food on the counter,

looking at Saint, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
“You’re the therapist guy.”

“Psychologist, you do remember me, I must have left quite

the impression,” Saint said.

Beck snickered beside him trying to stifle her laughter.

“Not much of a cop if you can’t remember faces,” Saint

added.

“I don’t make a habit of remembering unimportant

people,” James scowled.

“Important enough for Beckett’s standards,” he smirked.

Ashton looked at her as she turned red, she was going to

crawl out of her skin.

“Beck’s a big girl, she’s free to make mistakes,” James

shook his head.

“Wow,” Beck had enough, “if you two are done with your
dick-measuring contest, maybe I can get that coffee?” She
pulled her hand from Saint’s pocket, untangling their fingers,
and walked towards Ashton, just trying to shake off the
tension that filled the room.

Ashton handed her a cup and crossed his arms against his
chest.

“Control your husband.” Beck glared at him and pressed

her forehead against the door frame just behind him. He turned
slightly to look down at her, “why does he do that?” She
asked.

“He’s high-strung,” Ashton laughed quietly, he gently

nudged her with his elbow without turning around. “And he’s
worried about you.”

“He’s being hostile,” she mumbled.

Frustration curled around her. Saint grabbed an apple from

the basket in the kitchen and lazily returned to his position in
the kitchen. His slack demeanor only furthered James’ bad
mood but Beck could see that he was doing it on purpose.
Causing trouble just for fun.

“How long have you known James?” He watched the two

men circle each other like lions, James sipping on his coffee as
Saint asked him questions.

“As long as you Ashton,” Beck looked up at him. His

stupid fatherly eyes stared down at her ready to cast sage
advice.

“Then you know why he does what he does,” Ashton

laughed. “He’s protective, he’s suspicious and most of all he’s
scared. Especially right now,” his lips pressed into a thin line.
“He’s not trying to be cruel or rude. He just doesn’t know how
to cope with fear without being an asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” she huffed, pulling herself away from the door
frame to rest her head against his arm. “I’m the reason he’s
being an asshole and I’m still questioning it.”

“It’s a cycle I will never understand,” Ashton looked down

at her again. “One of you is always in danger and the other is
always angry about it.”

“We aren’t that bad,” Beck laughed.

“You are absolutely that bad,” Ashton pressed his shoulder

against hers. “But I know better than to get between you.”

“Do you though?” Beckett quipped as he backed away.

He shook his head at her and stood behind his husband

who had finally relaxed enough to sit.

“We’re having dinner next Saturday,” James noted,

flipping the pen that Beck was using to make notes with his
fingers. “Do you work?” He asked her but was more of an
order to be there because he knew her monthly schedule better
than she did.

“I’ll be there,” she smiled. “Party dinner, or sit down,” she

questioned, with those two there was a big difference. She had
learned that the hard way.

“Party,” Ashton was quicker to open his mouth and James

shot him a death glare, his eyebrows knit together and his jaw
tight. “Bring Saint,” he smiled. “And Jack.”
 “Low blow,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Don’t forget Banks,” Ashton added, curling his name off

his tongue just to drive her nuts. Saint bit into his apple slowly,
a smirk creeping on his face. Enjoying her torture just a little
too much.

It took everything in her not to jump across the room at the

big idiot. “So much for staying out of it,” she bit at him.

Jack Callahan?” James shook his head, a huff of frustration

leaving his lips. “I can’t believe you, Beck. “First, this guy,”
he haphazardly pointed to Saint, “and now Jack Callahan and
his clown of a partner, are you trying to get yourself killed? I
didn’t give him your file so he could get in your pants.”

“I know why you gave him my file,” she said, the rest of
the room faded into the background as she leaned across the
island. “I know everything.”

James flinched, knowing exactly what she meant before he

slammed his hand on the table, causing her to jump. Saint
dropped his apple to the counter, gliding to her side without
pause, and put his hand on the counter, his shoulders pinned
back in defense. His hand raked up her back, stopping below
her shoulder blades and wrapping around her rib cage. His
fingers applied a calming pressure to her side as he stood
between her and James. Ashton watched them all, his blue
eyes flickering between his husband and Beck.

“Do you think scaring her is the best move you could make
right now?” Saint asked.
 “I’m sorry,” he swallowed hard, pushing back from the
island. “You know…” he stopped as he walked toward the
door and turned back to her. “I love you, Beck,” he said, and
she suddenly wasn’t angry anymore. “Don’t let her out of your
sight and keep her away from Jack Callahan.”

James wasn’t speaking to her anymore, his eyes were

focused on Saint who had let go of her and turned his body, so
it was between them even as he moved. “It’s okay,” she
whispered, knowing he would hear her and no one else. “It’s
how he shows his love.”

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she said as the two of them left her
apartment. Only after the door clicked shut did she rest her
head on Saint’s back and wrap her arms around his rib cage,
gripping his chest with her open palms.

“Has he ever hit you?” Saint asked, dead serious.

She could feel his heart beating rapidly under the thin shirt
he was wearing. He lifted his arm as she snaked around so
they were face to face. Knowing a vocal answer wouldn’t be
enough to quell the fear that coursed through him she would
answer in a way he could understand. In a way, he could feel.

“Here,” she pushed his hand to her chest. “Feel.”

Her heartbeat was fluttery, soft, and steady just as it always

was around him, “I jumped because the noise scared me. Not
James. I’ve known him my entire life and where he is
explosive, his anger is curbed, it’s purposeful. He uses it to
help people. He would never hurt me, Saint, he never has.”
 “I’m sorry,” he apologized, pressing his forehead to hers.
His shoulders finally released from their tense position.
“Sunshine,” he said, a cheeky smile spreading on his lips.

He dipped his chin and pressed his soft lips to hers, pulling
her bottom lip against his as his hand came up to carefully cup
her throat. “I have to go to work,” he mumbled, finally pulling
away with his eyes closed. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course,” she whispered, stealing another hungry kiss

from him. He fixed her hair off her face before drawing back
from her. She hesitated, not fully letting go.

“What’s wrong, Beck?” He asked.

“Are you sure you’re all really okay with this?” She asked,
her fingers rubbing against the skin between his shirt and
waistline.

“We’re adults, we know how to share Beckett.” He smiled

and she melted, he had that effect on her. “We prefer it.”

Jack riled her up to no end, Banks wound the cord tight,

and Saint was there to help her simmer.

But when he looked at her like that, his lips slightly parted
begging for another kiss….

Her temperature spiked just thinking about his hands on

her body. And as he sensed her need, he backed away even
further, breaking all their contact. She bit her lip cursing her
heart rate for betraying her intentions.

“I have to go,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose and then
the corner of her lips.
 “Be back for dinner?” She asked and he nodded. His
mouth parted as if he might add to it but his touch faltered and
he stepped back from her.

I love you too Saint, she whispered to herself knowing that

even as the door clicked shut, he had probably heard her.
 17

seventeen

“Knock, knock,” Banks pushed open her bedroom door and a

smile crept onto his face. She was barely awake from her
afternoon nap and her hair was fanned out over her pillow.

“Hey sleepy head,” he cooed as he kicked off his shoes

without thought and crawled into the bed next to her, tugging
her against his chest and kissing the sweaty, sleepy skin of her
neck. “You don’t answer your phone anymore?” he teased his
fingers across her stomach under the blankets.

“You just walked into my house; I think we’re more than

even.” She groaned. “I’m taking that key back.”

“Oh baby, we are far from even. You gotta answer your
phone, Jack’s doing that thing that he does.” Banks waved his
hand in the air to explain the dramatics.

“Throwing stuff and making babies cry?” she mumbled

pushing her ass against him and feeling the strain in his jeans
was a small victory. “I’m trying to catch up on my sleep.”
 He nuzzled his nose further into her hair and kissed the hot
skin behind her ear. “Sleep is for the weak Angel; you know
what will really help that exhaustion?” He whispered.

“If any of your answers involve a pun for your penis

Banks, I will kick you out of this bed,” she grumbled and he
laughed wildly against her back, the sound was infectious and
light.

“At least three of them,” he tugged at the collar of her shirt

and kissed a soft, sloppy line across her shoulder.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” She giggled, the

smell of his spicy cologne floated down around and tangled
with the scent of her clean sheets. She tried to wash them
when she knew Saint wouldn’t be in them for a while because
the smell bothered his senses and messed with his nose.

“Oh Angel, why would I wanna sit alone in an office full

of crude racist old men when I could hide in the sheets with
you and memorize every inch of your body and all the sounds
you make when I touch you.” He inhaled deeply and wrapped
himself around her impossibly tight.

“What’s going on?” She asked, she could feel him trying to
cuddle out the tension in his biceps and forearms.

“Why does there have to be anything going on?” Banks

whined like a child, his teeth sinking into her shoulder
playfully.

“Business or pleasure?” She asked him, knowing it would

make him think about his decision.
 “Business,” he groaned, blowing cold air over the spot he
bit. “It has to be or I’ll never leave this bed.” One of his hands
drifted lower, but she wrapped her fingers in his and held him
in place. “This is a buzz kill,” he said, “James found Dorian,”
he explained, his breath hot on her back. “Wants you to come
down, he and Jack are going to interview him this afternoon.”

She reached for her phone and saw three missed calls from
James and twelve from Jack. “He’s insane,” she sat up in bed
and pulled her knees to her chest. She dialed back, resting the
phone on her knees and putting it on speaker.

“Answer your phone, canary,” Jack snapped, the first dial

tone barely having the chance to ring.

“I was napping,” she laughed.

“Don’t,” he said gruffly.

“Jack,” she sighed and heard Banks stifle a laugh from

beside her. He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder
setting her skin on fire.

“Is that liability there yet?” He asked, referring to Banks.

“You should hear the sounds she makes in her sleep

Callahan,” Banks teased and she shook her head.

“I’m going to shove your head through a wall.” Jack

barked. “Get her to the station.”

The call hung up abruptly and Beckett could only drop her
phone to the bed. “You make him extra cranky,” she shot a
look toward her lover boy. His dark hair fell in strands around
his slim, sharp features. He let him drink her in with his dark
eyes for a moment too long as his hand crept up her spine.

“I’m only doing you a favor,” he flashed her a toothy grin,

“he’s more fun when he’s in a bad mood.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she chewed on her lip, her
thoughts drifting to the poor, dumb Dorian they had in
custody.

“Okay Angel,” he nodded, slipping from the bed he

walked toward her closet and pulled a fresh shirt from the
hanger, and grabbed her Converse from the floor. He slipped
the soft purple fabric over her brown messy hair and kissed her
nose as she appeared through the other side. “Let’s get you to
the station before Jack shoots someone for looking at him
wrong.”

“You’re on the hook for murder if that happens,” she said

as he dropped to his knees before her. The sight of him looking
up at her through his thick lashes and thin strands of jet-black
hair had her breathing unevenly.

“Hell no,” he slipped one of her shoes on, “He’s probably

got the stopwatch out,” he groaned, shifting on his knees to put
her other shoe on.

“But you look so pretty on your knees for me,” Beck ran
her tongue along her teeth.

“You’re trouble,” he huffed, licking his bottom lip. He tied

her lace and rose off the floor, hovering over the bed and
nipping at her jaw before he leaned back. “God I fucking love
trouble.” There was a hunger in his eyes that told her she was
going to pay for that remark later. Good, she thought.

“Worth it,” she laughed as he helped her from the bed and
into his arms.

***

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Jack opened his office door and
stepped into the busy shuffle of the station. He was dressed in
a tight dark blue t-shirt that rippled over his body and a pair of
jeans that were equally as fitted.

Beck could see the tension rolling off him as he pointed

down the hallway in the direction they needed to be going. His
lip was still healing from the last op and he had a nasty bruise
on his jawline that the majority of his beard concealed. But
Beck had spent hours memorizing his face and every small
knick, every bruise, and gash was a big neon sign flashing the
word ‘death’ in her face.

Saint appeared behind him in his dark gray suit and dark
button-down shirt, she hadn’t expected to see him here today.
She walked toward both of them and let go of her hold on
Banks only to tuck into Saints’ open stance. He wrapped his
fingers around her bicep gently, resisting the urge to bury her
nose in his shoulder.
 He opened the door to a small room that had a long table
pressed up against a massive one way mirror that looked into a
brightly lit interrogation room. As she entered, Banks rested
his hand against her back and guided her toward the window.

“Banks and Saint will stay here with you,” Jack explained,
he flexed his hand at his side as if he wanted to touch her but
instead crossed his arms and tilted away from her. “James is
going to sit in on the interview because Dorian knows him.”

“What do you want me to do?” Beck asked, nervously

playing with the hem of her sleeve.

“Listen, watch,” Saint explained, “we need to know if

anything he’s saying is a lie. There’s a lot I can figure out from
the tone of his voice but you know him. You’ll catch more
from his answers than I ever could.”

“Dorian…” she swallowed thickly, shoving away the

darkness of her past. Jack tilted his gaze to meet hers, even in
the darkness of the observation room she could see him tracing
her features. “Our past is tumultuous at best… he’s not going
to like this,” she said.

“I don’t give a shit what he likes,” Jack scoffed.

“He’s going to say things that…” she couldn’t get the

words out. Couldn’t figure out exactly how to explain to him
that Dorian was going to use every flaw against her and paint a
disgusting image of the person she is and was.

“Hey, I don’t care about anything he says in that room, he

can tell me that you murdered a box full of kittens,” she
looked away from him and he followed her eye line with his
own, he pulled his hand from his pocket and grabbed her chin
to pull her back to him. “It won’t change a damn thing.”

“You can’t be sure of that Jack,” she swallowed tightly.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. Now stay here,
if anything suspicious comes up make note of it.” he said,
brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. The smallest show of
his affection toward her even when he was fighting to keep
professional, but he couldn’t resist. She felt Banks stiffen as
Dorian was let into the interrogation room by James. He
looked good, his sandy blonde hair was pushed back off his
boyish charming features and his glassy ice blue eyes drifted
around the room, landing on James with a scowl to his thin
lips. He was wearing a dark suit and already looked impatient
and angry with the entire situation.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Banks quipped, looking toward her

standing with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Dorian.

“He’s just not your type,” he smiled, “blonde hair, blue-

eyed stuffy wall street asshole.”

“The asshole trope is consistent,” she kicked his shoe with

her own. Saint laughed from beside her and leaned forward on
the table so he could hear everything.

Jack scoffed, a chuckle leaving his lips as he walked from

the observation room and into the interrogation side. He
leaned over to whisper something to James who turned back to
look at the mirror with a scowl on his face before he joined
him at the table.

“James didn’t know I would be here,” Beck stated and

watched Bank’s eyes shift from the room to her in the
reflection of the window. “You guys enjoy powder kegs far too
much to be cops.”

“No angel,” he smiled, “we don’t enjoy them enough.”

She went quiet as the interview started, her blood running

cold at the echoing hollow sound of Dorian’s voice.

“What the hell do you want James?” He asked.

“Nice guy,” Saint mumbled under his breath.

“It’s about Beck,” James shifted the folder in front of

himself across the table. She watched the expression on
Dorian’s face soften and then tighten just as quickly as he
opened the folder that contained all the horrifying photos of
her and the attacks from the last three months.

“What is this? Is she okay?” He asked.

Jack’s shoulders pinched together, the only tell that he ever

gave off. When he was concealing his anger he would roll
them back together, as if he was holding all of the explosive,
animalistic rage between them.

“She’s fine,” Jack said.

James inhaled deeply, “for the last three months someone

has been tormenting her with photos and phone calls.”
 “What does that have to do with me?” Dorian pushed the
folder away from him and Jack caught it under his palm
without a second thought.

Wrong question, she thought to herself, feeling the shift in

energy around the room.

“Are you okay?” Banks asked, reaching out to her and she
nodded.

She wasn’t really, she hated this.

“You’re her most recent partner,” James said.

“Ex.” Dorian corrected him. “So you sent the police after
me, three states over to drag me back here so you could
confirm that I wasn’t involved?”

“Or that you were,” Jack nodded, crossing his arms and
leaning forward. “Nearly one out of every five women
involved in a homicide case is murdered by their spouses or
ex-partners.”

“You’re serious?” Dorian shook his head, his eyes settling

on the mirror behind him. Settling on her. “You think that I
would ever lay my hands on her?” he asked, his eyes trailing
back to James. “We were together for three years, you can
attest, was I ever cruel to her?”

The word stung, cruelty came in so many different forms.

Sharp comments about her clothing or the hobbies she
enjoyed. Ordering dinner for her to control her weight,
tracking her phone calls to control her time.

She felt Saint’s fingertips tickle at hers.

 “You didn’t leave bruises, Dorian,” James said, and she
could see how uncomfortable he was being put in this
situation. He tapped his wedding ring against the steel chair to
steady his thoughts and to keep himself on a leash. The rest of
his sentence was left to rot, but the look on Dorian’s face told
Beck all she needed to know.

He hadn’t left bruises, but he had taken something else

from her, a deeper emotional price that she would never get
back.

“We’re going to need your movements for the last six

months, where you’ve been, jobs. You know the drill. Are you
seeing anyone now?” James asked.

“No,” Dorian’s response was clipped. James slid a pad of

paper with a pen toward him. “I moved two weeks after
Beckett broke up with me.”

“Why did you move?” James asked.

“Because she kicked me out of our apartment, onto the

street. I moved back to live with my parents until I got my feet
on the ground.” He scribbled some more onto the paper. “Are
you two finished with this witch hunt?” he asked looking up at
them.

Jack laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Dorian turned his icy eyes on the

detective.

“She was right,” he said. “All bark.”

 Dorian rolled his eyes but filled out the paper with details
from his life over the last six months and as he did, Beck was
finally able to take a breath of air. She just wanted him gone;
she had known from the very beginning that he hadn’t been
involved but she was glad that it was confirmed.

“Talk to us Beckett,” Saint whispered.

“It’s not him,” she sighed, “This was pointless.”

She pushed Saint off and stormed from the observation

room, slamming straight into Dorian’s chest with her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words blurting from her before she
could stop them. She had promised herself not to do that
anymore, especially because he had never deserved it.

“I should have known you’d find some way to cause

trouble,” Dorian looked down on her.

“I wasn’t trying to,” she swallowed tightly, suddenly

feeling like that little helpless girl all over again. She stepped
back from him trying to find a way out of the suffocating
hallway, looking for anyone to help her.

Dorian’s hand wrapped around her bicep and tugged her

back.

“Remove your hand,” Jack’s voice sounded from behind

her, the tone was dark and demanding. James had come out
into the hallway with him and was watching everything from
the door.

“This has nothing to do with you.” Dorian looked over her

shoulder at Jack. She heard the door behind him open and
close, knowing without checking that Saint and Banks had
followed them out into the hallway.

“Remove your hand, before I do it for you,” Jack said,

adding the threat.

Dorian’s shaky grip tightened a touch before he released

her. She stepped back, trying to inhale what air she could into
her lungs as she rocked on her heels, ready to run. But she felt
Jack press against her back.

His slow steady breathing commanded her silently to

follow the pattern.

The back of his hand pressed to her lower back, and he

stabilized her balance.

Literally having her back.

He wouldn’t get between them, that would make her feel

small. No, instead Jack had given her the confidence to face
him, to stand up to whatever invisible trauma he had instilled
and beaten in her soul.

“That’s just like Beckett,” Dorian stared at Jack, “she’s

good at that you know? She acts helpless and plays an
incredible victim. But she’s a viper. She’ll snake her way into
any situation, but she prefers warm beds. Utterly useless
unless she’s sucking dick. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” He
looked back down at her, venom dripping from him.

He was just pissed off that he was dragged down here and
accused of something he hadn’t done and now he was taking it
out on Beck.
 “Watch your tone,” Jack barked and she felt him hold his
breath.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” He smiled, “you didn’t tell

them?”

There it was, she had been surprised when he had stayed

quiet about it during the interview, glazing over the real reason
they had broken up. But he had been waiting, holding on to it.
He had read Jack like an open book in the integration room,
and he wanted to see how far he could push him.

He wanted to start a fight; he wanted them to make him a

victim.

It was the same old tired story with Dorian.

“Three years together and I proposed to her, and you know

what she did?” Dorian was only speaking to her now, his voice
low.

“Dorian enough,” James growled, from beside them.

“She said no… by sleeping with my brother,” he laughed,

“I’ve never figured out if it was something that was going on
for a long time or if she just did it because she was trying to
sabotage everything. But I found her, throat full of my
brother’s cock in our bed.”

“Jack don’t,” Banks was the first to say it but none of them
were fast enough to stop him as he pushed Beckett back and
away from him. His hand wrapped into the collar of Dorian’s
shirt as he slammed him roughly against the wall behind him.
 Banks moved to stop Jack and Saint replaced him at her
shoulder, “I-” she went to defend herself against what he had
said but it wasn’t untrue… It just wasn’t the entire story.

“All bark,” Jack spat.

“What are you going to do, detective? Hit an unarmed

man?” Dorian fought against his hold, but Jack didn’t budge,
he barely moved against his protests. “She’s got you so
wrapped around your finger, you’re willing to lose your job
over her. Over some pussy?”

“The only pussy I see is the one pinned to the wall.” Jack
snapped.

“She’s not worth the pity fuck she gives.” Dorian pushed.

Jack’s hand turned tighter, restricting the airflow to his

lungs.

“Jack!” Beck yelled as he cocked his hand back, slamming

it into the wall beside Dorian’s head. “Don’t give him what he
wants. It’s not worth it.”

He didn’t turn to look at her because she could see him

considering her words carefully as his fingers loosened on his
shirt and he let Dorian go.

“Get the fuck out of here before I lock you and the three of
them in the broom closet where no one can hear you,” James
ordered.

Dorian laughed, hollow and whispering as he smoothed

out the labels of his suit. “You always did need more than
normal women,” he scoffed, running his hand through his hair.
“Three men and a stalker,” he said with a shake of his head.
“It’s like a bad rom-com.”

“Now,” James pushed him by the shoulder and shoved him

down the hallway.

Jack finally turned to look at Beckett and she held her

breath when she saw the look in his dark brown eyes. His jaw
tensed and he shoved Banks’ hand from where it rested on his
shoulder. “Take her home,” he said before leaving them all
standing there as he stalked to his office.
 18

eighteen

He watched them snap the three fingers on the hand he

touched her with, screaming out into the dark like a child. The
bones clicked, clicked, clicked. Out of place. Echoing into the
night air like a symphony. That brought a sick smile to his
face.

They took their rage out under the guise of teaching the
man a lesson but if they really wanted to undo the horrible
things, he had said they would have to do more than play with
their food. They chased him through the woods for a while,
laughing and teasing his terrified screams as they reminded
him how pathetic of a man he was. He scoffed in the shadows
as Maddox watched, the holier than now Saint wouldn’t get his
hands dirty. Not if he didn’t believe in the cause and it seemed
to torture little bird’s ex-boyfriend was not a worthy cause.
Suddenly he found a crack in the armor around them.

They had spent hours up on that hiking trail, far away from
the prying eyes of New York. He wondered if they would lie to
her when she asked where they had been. He wondered what
she was doing at home alone if she had taken her time and
pleasured herself in their absence. He hoped she had.

Leaving his little bird was the last thing he wanted to do

but someone had to watch the destruction they could cause.
Someone had to prove to her just how bad they were.

She was too sweet, too kind to them. They didn’t deserve
her, and he would do anything to show her just how low they
could sink.

She would die knowing she made the wrong choice.

 19

nineteen

Beckett sat at the dinner table by herself. Staring down the

food she made like if she did so for long enough maybe it
would eat itself and she wouldn’t feel so fucking stupid for
cooking for them.

Saint had promised they would be here when he dropped

her off but he had left so quickly that she knew something was
going on. She turned toward the sink, pouring herself a glass
water of when her suspicions were confirmed when the lock
clicked open and all three entered her apartment in a single
line, covered in dirt and mud.

“Good to know that you all can keep a dinner date,” she
sighed, drinking back the wine. “Where the hell have you
been?”

Banks was the first to break, a smile plastered on his face

as he slipped from the combat boots he wore and padded
toward her. He wrapped a dirty hand around her face and
pressed a kiss to her temple before sliding up and onto the
counter behind him.

“Are you kidding me?” She poked at the mud on his cargo
pants, and he shrugged.

“We were having a little fun,” he winked.

Saint washed his hands in the sink beside her, “thank you
for dinner.”

“It’s cold.” She brushed her hand against his muddy

forearm, she had never seen Saint so dressed down. His arms
were barred under a rolled-up dark long-sleeve and a pair of
cargo pants that were equally covered in mud and other crap.

“Is that blood?” She asked, her gaze trained on Jack.

Jack didn’t say a word, slipping from his boots polite and
stoic he walked toward her. The black shirt he wore hugged
every curve of his chest and left little to the imagination of
what she knew was lingering beneath. He held out his hand, a
cell phone in his palm. She looked at it, pressing her hand to
the cell phone only to turn it over to inspect the bloody and
bruised knuckles.

He made her take the phone, slipping from her grasp to

slide his fingers into her hair and around her neck. He pulled
closer, his thigh slotting between hers as he brushed his lips
against her ear, “no one,” he whispered, “will ever talk to you
that way again.”

He kissed the skin behind her ear before he pulled away

and tapped the screen of the phone. “Ever,” he warned as she
hit play.

It was a video of Dorian, on his knees in the dirt. His

blonde hair was soaked and pressed against his forehead and
his shirt was unbuttoned and covered in mud. He had a
bandana around his eyes. The rain was heavy and pouring
around him and she couldn’t hear anything but the way it hit
the ground. “Is he…” she looked around at the three of them,
faces beaming back at her, mud smeared across their features.
“Did you?”

“Kill him?” Banks laughed, “no angel, we aren’t

murderers.” His pitch-black eyes were somehow highlighted
by the giant smudge of dried dirt under his right eye.

“He just needed to learn some manners,” Saint leaned

against the counter, drying his hands. His gaze fixated toward
the floor as he listened to the conversation.

She looked back down at the phone, waiting for anything

to happen. Dorian looked scared, terrified, his hands were hog-
tied behind him, and the dirt had started to become mud
beneath him. She knew by the stance that the man that walked
onto camera behind Dorian was Jack. He leaned down, his
face obscured, and whispered something in his ear.

“No way, who the fuck are you guys?” he hollered.

“That’s fine,” Jack said, “tie him to the tree.”

Banks moved in from the left side, aiming to grab Dorian’s

hands.
 “No no!” he screamed out, “fuck you,” he sighed heavily.
“I’ll have you all arrested,” he barked.

She heard Saint laugh, but it had come from beside her and
not the video, “sorry,” he said, muffling his amusement.

“Apologize,” Jack clapped his hands down on his

shoulders, the noise was loud, and Dorian’s stiff posture
buckled beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said, his words were curt and begging.
He was terrified.

Good, the word came from the back of her mind, sickly
aware that she shouldn’t enjoy the pain of others.

“For what?” Banks asked, pressing his boot against

Dorian’s thigh with enough pressure to make the grown man
squeal.

“For not behaving like a gentleman in front of a lady,” he

ground his chatting jaw together.

“Good boy, now run,” Jack hollered, scaring him to his

feet. Dorian clambered on the video to rise, his bare feet
sinking into the wet mud beneath him as he fought to gain a
semblance of balance.

Jack took the phone back from her, causing her to look up
at him. His brown eyes searched hers, checking in silently
before he finally spoke. “He’s alive, just cold and scared. Tied
him to a tree in central park,” he said. “Someone will find him
in a couple of hours, but he won’t remember any of it. Banks
slipped him some acid, we didn’t even chase him, Beckett. He
just ran.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, “not for

me. You could get in trouble.”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Jack said. “You can’t let
people talk to you like that.”

“He won,” she said, stiffening her shoulders. “You gave

him what he wanted, proof that the world is against him. That
he’s been the victim all along. I told you that and you didn’t
listen. Instead of being here with me, when I needed you…”
she swallowed. “You were out terrorizing a man that means
nothing to me.”

“If I believed that I wouldn’t have done what I did

tonight,” Jack grumbled.

Before she could fight him, he turned away from her

without another word and scooped his boots from the front
door. Beckett made to chase him, but Banks slipped from the
counter and pecked her cheek before quickly backing away.

“I’ll talk to him,” he nodded, “for what it’s worth, the guy
deserved to feel helpless tonight, Beck. We all saw how he
made you feel today, he doesn’t deserve your pity.”

Banks closed the door behind him, leaving her to hash it

out with Saint, the only remaining man.

“You gonna run too?” she asked quietly, not expecting him
to stay.
 “Sunshine,” he whispered, and she dipped her head toward
the sound of his calming voice, “I don’t run. You wanna fight,
let’s fight.” He searched the space around him for her fingers
and she tangled them in his palm. “Take the bottle to bed, I’m
going to shower.” He kissed her shoulder gently and pulled
away. Feeling his way around the island to the hallway, he
paused for a moment at the entrance of the hallway and
stripped from the dirty shirt. He pulled it away from his body
and let it hang at his side.

“Beck,” Saint said without turning toward her, but he

angled his head, searching for her in silence. “Don’t shut down
on me,” he whispered, “Jack does that enough for all of us,
don’t make me get into your bed covered in mud.”

“Go,” she quietly responded and after a long moment, he

listened.

She was grateful that he always told her the truth, Saint
never flattered her with pretty lies to make her feel better. He
was honest and kind all at the same time.

The bathroom clicked shut and she took another swig of

her wine.

Beckett stood there alone for a moment, collecting herself

and her thoughts.

They had done that for her and even though she hated that
they had, she was glad that someone had scared him. He
deserved it. But they had tortured the wrong man, Dorian was
just a waste of space, he had proven that he didn’t have the
guts to psychologically torture her.
 She swiped the bottle of wine off the counter and shut off
the lights in the kitchen, making sure all the doors were
locked, and made her way to her room. She turned on the
lamp, covering its bright light with a shirt, and crawled into
her sheets. The shower covered the sound of her pathetic cries
and it wasn’t until Saint wrapped his damp, warm arms around
her and pulled her close to his chest she realized she had
sunken down into her pillows and was sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling her hair back from her

face and brushing his thumb over a stream of her tears.
“Tonight we let our anger get the best of us,” he pushed his
face against hers, and his wet hair fell against her temple as his
hand wrapped around the base of her throat. “But I’m not
sorry for letting them do it, he needed to feel your fear the way
I do. The way we all did today.”

His fingers rested there, feeling the uneven rhythm of her

heartbeat until he finally slowed and followed the time of his
own. “I’m going to get dressed,” he said in a whisper but when
he attempted to pull away from her she tugged him back.

“Don’t leave,” she pleaded without meaning to, every

word and cry another step closer to feeling like she was
nothing more than a scared little girl. She was better than this.
She rolled over in his arms so she could see the shape of his
face when she told him the story. Tucking into his curves she
wrapped her arms around his bare chest and let him settle bare
thigh between her own. He was warm and welcoming, like a
weighted blanket.
 “He wasn’t lying today,” she swallowed tightly, barely able
to tell the story. “I slept with his brother.”

“Breathe for me,” Saint whispered, she hadn’t realized she

had held it when she started. He pressed a hand to the flat of
her stomach, his fingers drumming along slowly. “I’m here to
listen, Beck, not to judge.”

“You should.” She swallowed tightly.

“How can I?” He smiled. “I’ve done plenty of unspeakable

things,” he said.

“To men that deserved it, to rapists, abusers and

criminals.” Beck argued.

“And Dorian was a holy man? Free of all sin?” He

countered, brushing a piece of her hair away from her face.
“All I’m saying that it’s not up to me to tell you what’s wrong
or right. I can barely sort out my own sins.”

It was very rare that Saint spoke about his religion. She
found that he was quiet about it but still visited the church
once a week. He had meetings with his pastor and she had
caught him praying under his breath every once and a while.
But he had never brought it up to her or preached his beliefs.
Instead of praying at her, in the dead silence of the night, Saint
would pray for her.

“He was charming, funny, and sweet when I met him. He

was a slow burn, not like…” She stifled a burst of small,
nervous laughter. “A hurricane, when you three came into my
life it was a hurricane. I feel like I’ve known you my entire
life.”

Saint’s touch deepened into her skin like he was trying to

convey his agreement with the tips of his fingers.

“Dorian and I moved into this apartment together, made it

a home that we were proud of but the day we moved in
something changed in him. He became cold and short with me
like having me around all the time was a burden. He
complained…” She pressed her forehead against Saint’s chest,
searching for his heartbeat, and only when she found a steady
rhythm she continued. “He complained about everything, how
much I ate, how much I worked, how much I slept. Nothing
was ever good enough for him anymore no matter how much I
tried. I loved him, and I thought that there was something
wrong with me.”

She felt him flinch beneath her, but he stayed silent in the
wake of her confession.

“I waited,” she chewed her lip and his thumb found it

instantly brushing against it as if he could rub away the
soreness. “Thinking that one day he would come home and hit
me, give me a reason to leave… or at the very least break up
with me. But he didn’t want to let me go, he wanted to control
me. The day he came home and proposed was the day I knew I
would die under his thumb.”

“So, I-” the next breath she took was unsteady and wired
with emotions she couldn’t control, “I told him no, over and
over but he wouldn’t take that for an answer. I had to prove it,
show him my hatred in a way that he could wrap his mind
around.”

“So you slept with his brother,” Saint nodded.

“I took the day off, invited Henry over, and spent the day
talking myself into it. Henry was an even bigger piece of shit
than Dorian, it didn’t take much to convince him, and I barely
had to do anything. I timed it so…” she swallowed.

“Enough,” Saint said.

“The only other person that knows that story is James

because it’s disgusting, it’s the lowest moment of my life and I
wouldn’t be surprised if that was your tipping point, Saint. I’m
not the girl you all defend so adamantly.”

He didn’t say a word as he cupped her face in his hands.

He kissed her slowly, dragging her bottom lip gently between
his teeth, and then peppered the corners of her scowl. His
hands ran over the curve of her jaw and neck, resting there so
he could feel her heartbeat.

“We know exactly who you are Beckett,” Saint said, “you
are brave,” he kissed her lips, “intelligent,” and then her nose,
“beautiful,” he whispered, kissing the lids of each of her eyes
with feathery touches. “You’re a fighter, a lover, and a sinner,”
his hands ran over her body, pressing firmly into the small of
her back, bringing her hips to his. “And we wouldn’t have it
any other way. Stop doubting our judgment.”

“You really don’t care that I did that?” She asked, suddenly
so unsure of every decision she had made to survive up until
this moment.

Saint swiped his tongue over his lower lip as the corner of
his mouth rose. She brushed her finger against it, wanting to
feel the amusement that vibrated from him. “Sunshine, you did
what you had to, and if we’re keeping a list of our sins mine is
much longer.”

“Will you tell me about them?” She asked.

“Not tonight,” he kissed her again. “I’ll kiss you some

more instead, make you forget, and then maybe when I’m
done tracing every inch, memorizing every curve then I’ll tell
you every way I’ve sinned.”
 20

twenty

“Where’s my girl?” Jack’s voice floated through her

apartment.

“Your girl?” Beck smiled, warmth blossoming in her chest

at his call. “Last time we talked you were a little colder than
that. What has you in a good mood?”

She shifted in her light blue sundress. It was supposed to

be abnormally hot that night and she wasn’t sure what they
were doing so she wanted to be cool either way.

“Mmm,” he mused.

She turned to find him holding a bouquet, in pretty, rich

colors. His eyes were covered by a pair of dark sunglasses to
hide his swollen face no doubt. His chest was exposed, dog
tags hanging loose under a black button-up shirt. The jeans he
wore were dark and tight around his thick thighs, she had to
keep herself from moaning at the sight of him.

“Use your words, Jack Callahan,” she cooed at him.

 “If I use my words, we won’t leave his apartment tonight
and I have somewhere I want to take you,” he countered. He
walked away without another word leaving her to finish her
hair. When she finally finished, she found him with his foot
propped on her coffee table and his nose in a book.

She whistled at him, knowing full well she couldn’t sneak

up on him and he knew she was standing there. He just
enjoyed making her work for every morsel of attention he
gave her. She loved it.

“Well?” She said from behind him.

“Distraction or not, I don’t care Murphy. All I know is that

I like having you around,” he said without turning around, but
she could see his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall
of the living room across from him.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said. She wanted
an explanation for his outburst yesterday. Saint had done his
best to calm her down, and a slew of sweet, very sexy texts
from Banks was as much of an omission to guilt that Beckett
would get them.

Jack was different.

Difficult, stubborn, and hard to decipher. One wrong move

and he would shut down.

His dark eyes stared at her. In a game of chicken, the first

to blink forfeited a game neither of them was willing to lose.

He said looking to the side, breaking the contact. “I know

what we did last night scared you,” he sighed. “I won’t
apologize for what I did, he deserved it. He deserved worse for
talking to you like that. I don’t even want to know what he did
to you before.” The word was like a knife to her gut, but she
understood. “I can’t tell you that you’re always going to agree
with my methods to protect you Murph, but you’re always
going to be safe with us.”

Maybe that would be enough.

She swallowed her anger knowing that she would get no

more answers even if she asked the right questions.

She nodded, brushed past the feelings, and moved through

the apartment. He had found a vase for the flowers and set
them on the island for her. She smelled them as she passed,
except for the small hiccups a smile was permanently on her
face as of late.

He stood from the couch setting down her copy of The

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and stalked over to her. She
practically purred as he put his hand on her hip, fingers curling
into the meat of her hip bone as he leaned in for a small kiss
on her cheek. The smell of licorice and leather smothered her.

“Did you dress up for me?” He asked pulling back from

her.

“You better take me somewhere nice,” she teased back,

and he smiled, so soft she could feel her legs clench together
under her thin sundress. Mind and body wanting and needing.

“Only the best for you Canary,” he winked, linking his

hand in hers and leading her from the apartment. Downstairs
his truck sat pretty on her curb; he opened the door for her
letting her slide across the bench before settling next to her.
“Seatbelt,” he grumbled, and she obliged him.

He drove until the horizon became water and the harsh

cement of the city became a beach. She smiled, kicking off her
shoes in the truck, and hopped from the truck as soon as he
parked. She pressed her toes into the warm sand, staring out
over the water as the sunset.

Jack leaned against the bumper of his truck, she spun to

look at him. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind. A
smirk played on his lips as he watched her enjoy himself under
the hues of oranges, reds, and pinks. It only hit her at that
moment that she thrived off seeing him smile because it
happened so sparingly that she felt like she was constantly
chasing that high.

“You gonna join me or stare at me all night?” Beckett

paused her childish twirling to look at him properly, the world
a little dizzy but Jack was in perfect focus.

“I kinda like staring at you,” he said across the sand,

“makes the world feel not so bad anymore, Canary.”

“Why do you call me that?” she finally asked.

“Canaries used to lead the coal miners to safety from the

darkness of the mines,” he said, barely a whisper off his lips.
She felt the weight of his words pressed down on her
shoulders, and she could feel her body sink a little deeper into
the sand. She was proud to be his canary.
 He slowly untied his laces from his boots, pulled off his
black socks, and threw his boots through the open window of
his truck. She watched curiously as he turned the radio on as
loud as it would go and wandered through the sand toward her.

Beckett took his hand as the music flooded over the beach.
Spinning her without effort, he pulled her back in so she
pressed to his chest. She tilted her head up, looking at his
bruises, and lifted her hand to his sunglasses to remove them.
She could see the embarrassing puppy love oozing from her
face in their reflection.

“I don’t want to stare back at myself when we dance,” she

laughed as she folded them and tucked them into his back
jeans pocket.

“You’d rather stare at this beat-up face?” He laughed

tilting his head, so he was looking past her as a smile formed
on his face.

“Chicks dig that stuff,” Beck teased.

He adjusted his grip on her hand and tangled their fingers

together as he swayed them into a soft circle.

“Not my baby,” he said, his tone serious as he ran his

tongue over his bottom lip. She was starting to love hearing
him say that.

“Is this really what you wanted to show me?” She asked
him.

He looked over her head again, his eyes searching the

beach just beyond her. “I used to bring my family down here,”
his words sounded suffocated. Her heart broke in her chest.
“Some days it’s the only place that reminds me I’m not my
job. I’m just a man.”

She stopped their soft dancing and stared up at him, it took

him a long moment but eventually, he gave into her silent tug
and met her eyes. “What I said the other night about…” she
trailed off. “Implying that you were a murderer…” she sighed.

“You were scared,” he nodded, “it’s easier to be hostile

when you’re afraid because it makes you feel in control.”

Beckett stared at him, a heavy guilt weighing on her chest

for being so hard on him.

He wrapped a hand around her face, his thumb brushing

against her sun-kissed cheek. “Besides, you’re adorable when
you’re angry. Like a feral cat.”

She slapped her hand against his chest playfully, “Jack!”

she scoffed, her fingers tangling in the chain of his dog tags.
“Thank you for trusting me with this place, it’s beautiful.”

She turned and pressed her back against his chest, laying
her head back and closing her eyes so she could listen to the
ocean. He brought his hands under her arms and linked them
against her stomach before bringing his mouth to her neck. His
lips tickled the skin as she let the sounds of the ocean create a
blanket of calm around them.

The world couldn’t touch them out here. All that mattered
was the ocean, the sky, and the feeling of Jack’s lips on her
neck. His hands gripped against the fabric of her sundress as
they stood watching the sunset over the water. Jack sat them
down, digging into the sand with her back against his chest
and his legs wrapped around her. With their toes in the sand,
she found a weird sense of peace that she didn’t know existed.

She hadn’t realized she had fallen asleep, tucked into his
arms until she shuddered awake from the cold. Jack squeezed
her tightly, rubbing his hands over her arms to warm her up.
He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before whispering in her
ear. “Let’s get you home.”

Beckett whined against the crook of his arm, not wanting

to leave the beach. Not wanting to break the bubble of her
false reality. His chest heaved with the chuckle that left his
lips, he slid from under her and scooped her into his strong
arms. “I’m starting to think you like being in my arms,
Murphy.”

“I think you might be right,” she smiled at him, laying her

head back against him.

He slid her into the seat, grabbed her shoes, and started the
engine. The drive home was quiet, Beck played with the chain
of his dog tags at the nape of his neck and his hand slipped
between her bare thighs. The pit in her stomach warmed as he
drew small circles against her skin, his hand slowly climbing
until his fingers were brushed against the damp fabric of her
underwear.

He chuckled lightly, keeping his eyes on the road as he

worked his way up, trailing his hand between the hem of her
lacy panties and her bare skin. She opened her legs a little for
him as he tucked his fingers deeper, pushing into her wet folds
with ease.

“Murph,” he growled, rubbing torturous circles against her

clit as her head lulled back against the bench of his truck. She
felt the truck come to a rocky pause at a red light and Jack
didn’t waste a second, brushing his lips over her jaw and neck.
He groaned impatiently as the truck moved again, his fingers
showing every ounce of his frustration as they pinched at her
clit.

She whimpered under his touch, letting him have his way.
“That feels so good,” she moaned against him, her hips sliding
forward. Jack understood, extending his reach with a muffled
groan as his finger dipped inside of her core. She clenched
instinctively around his touch and pressed her bare feet to the
mats of the truck to control the noises that threatened to fall
from her lips.

“Such pretty sounds,” he laughed softly, the frustration

evident on his lips. The truck stopped again, and Beck finally
opened her eyes to find Jack staring at her like he was ready to
tear her clothes off. He dipped a second finger into her,
dragging a rough moan from her lips that he silenced with his
mouth. His tongue swiped into her lips as his fingers worked
relentlessly against her pussy. “Keep singing for me, Canary.”

Beckett granted his wish as he pulled away and started

driving again, they had to be close to home she thought as he
curled his fingers against her. “Jack,” she growled in warning
as he teased her.
 “What baby?” he asked, knowing exactly what he was
doing to her. “What do you need?” he asked.

“More,” she begged, the word dripping from her

breathlessly as she fought to control herself.

The truck stopped again, and Beck knew they were home
as he shut off the engine. She slid back against the bench as
Jack removed his fingers from her. She whined out as he
pulled back from her but was quickly rewarded as his fingers
found the top of her dress brushing against her breast with
feathery touches.

She heard the clink of his belt buckle fall open, and the
zipper of his jeans tugged down roughly as he tugged on her
dress. Beckett felt powerless against him, and she loved every
fucking moment of it. She helped him, slipping the straps of
her dress down just enough to free her tits from the fabric, and
they fell loosely against her.

“Fuck Beck,” he growled, taking a nipple between his lips.

“You taste incredible,” he moaned against her skin, nibbling
on her. The pressure in her stomach built with a rage and she
was needy for him.

“More Jack!” She whined lifting her hips to meet his.

She watched over the uneven breathing over her own chest
as he pulled himself free of his boxers. His already hardened
cock bounced against his stomach, ready for her as he pumped
himself in preparation. “Now,” she didn’t care how needy she
sounded.
 She wanted to be filled by him, right here in his truck
parked on the side of the road.

Jack tugged at her underwear, tearing the fabric without

care.

“I liked those,” she growled at him, watching him toss the

underwear to the truck floor.

“You’ll like this more,” he argued, rubbing the soaking tip

of his cock through her fold. The pressure was incredible as he
dipped slowly into her tight entrance, stretching her around
him as he pressed all the way into the hilt. “Take it all baby,”
he whispered into her ear as he leaned against her, “that’s my
girl.”

She bit down on her lip to keep herself from screaming out
as he retreated just as slowly. He carefully pinched her nipple
between his fingers, rubbing until she was writhing beneath
him before he slammed back into her.

She pressed desperately to his hip, matching his thrusts

with her own as she tangled a hand into his short beard.
“Christ Jack,” she moaned, her head tilting back against the
seat. “It’s too much,” she whined, feeling pushed to her limits.

His hand cupped her ass as he fucked so hard her head

rubbed against the passenger door. She moaned for more and
god did he deliver, proving just how much he adored her. His
lips peppered her nipples and breasts, tickling up her
collarbone and over her neck until his teeth wrapped around
her lobe.
 “Just a little more,” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear
and neck. “You can do it,” he licked the sweat that beaded
behind her ear and picked up the pace. His fingers found
home, slipping between her belly and back into her folds. He
rubbed roughly at her clit as he pushed her to the edge.

His touch was magic and before long she could feel the
overwhelming sensation of her orgasm budding through her
core. Her toes curled and she hooked her leg around his ass,
encouraging his already quickened, sloppy pace.

he sounds of shallow breathing and slapping skin filled the

truck’s cabin as he slammed into her over and over.

He pulled the orgasm from her, sending a wave of burning

pleasure over her entire body. She arched up into him,
gripping his hair between her fingers as he rode her through it,
filling her impossibly full with his dripping hardened cock.
She spilled around him, coating his dick and her thighs.

“You’re drenched for me baby,” he purred. It didn’t take

him long; a few extra hard pumps of his hips caused his body
to tense around her and the most sinful noise to fall from his
lips while his hot finish poured out into her. The feeling of him
stuffing her full was enough to make her stomach tangle into
impossibly tight knots, ready for round two. She couldn’t get
enough of him.

“You need sleep,” he kissed her face and neck, helping her
straighten out her dress. He kissed the top of her breasts
gently, praising her silently. “Let’s get you to bed, tiger.”
 He grabbed her shoes and walked around to the passenger
side of the truck. “Up you go,” he instructed, turning his back
to her so she could get a ride to her apartment without putting
her shoes on. He looped one arm back around her ass, hoisting
her up so she was balanced, and started toward the apartment.

Beckett fumbled with the lock from her position but after a
fit of laughter it clicked open and he set her down on the
carpeted lobby outside her elevator. He snaked his arm around
her back, leaning her against the buttons, and pressed his lips
to hers, hungry and hot. He moaned against her as she tangled
her hands into his hair, shoving them together even more. He
dropped her shoes and tickled the back of her thigh before
grabbing a hand full of her ass.

She practically fell into the elevator as the doors swung

open, still gripping his hand she attempted to tug him inside.
Instead, he swept her shoes from the floor and handed them to
her. “I have to meet Maddox.”

“You aren’t coming upstairs?” Disappointment flooded her

body and an involuntary pout formed on her face.

“Awe hey… please don’t look at me like that, Murphy,” he

groaned through gritted teeth. “If I don’t meet him, he’ll go in
alone and do something stupid.”

He gripped the doors to the elevator, keeping them open so

he could settle her down before sending her upstairs, alone.
She hadn’t been alone in weeks. She could already feel the
chill of her empty bed, the whispers that the shadows produced
when Jack wasn’t next to her. “I’ll text Banks,” he promised.
“But if you want to keep all of us I have to go,” he sighs.
“We’re dysfunctional but we have each other’s back. It’s how
we come home to you,” he licked his bottom lip as that soft
look formed on his face again. The one she saw yesterday, the
one that gave his feelings away. He shook free of it, looking
out the front door to his truck. “Murphy,” he said, quickly
looking back at her. “I have a key, I’ll be back, whether or not
Banks is in your bed when I return, I promise.”

He let go of the door, a twinkle of fear crossing over his

face as the door slid closed between them… Suddenly his
promise felt flimsy, but she needed to trust that they would
keep each other safe. She swallowed hard and stepped out onto
her floor.

As she rounded the corner to her apartment, the bubble

finally shattered.

Attached to the door was a pale green sticky note.

She froze, palming her phone in her hand but stopped.

If she called them, they would be distracted, and more

people could get hurt. She took a deep breath, filled her lungs
with bravery, and ripped the note from the door.

You’ve been having so much fun without me.

She clicked the lock of her apartment, pushing into it as

quickly as she could. Her entire body shook with fear as she
made to flip on the light, her feet touched something slippery
and without the light, she lost her balance. Clicking it on at the
last second, she landed in a puddle of photos.
 Beckett looked up from her legs and surveyed her
apartment.

The entire floor was covered in the photos, the hardwood

underneath barely visible.

Slowly she scooped a stack of the photos into her hand.

She sucked in violently, the air filling her lungs and doing
nothing to calm the throbbing pain in her chest as she filtered
through the photos.

Snapshot after, snapshot of her, Jack, and Saint cuddled in

bed the night before.

Someone had been watching them.

 21

twenty one

Beck scrambled from her position, her hands struggling to find

purchase against the slippery photos. She pushed herself to a
clumsy stand position, her hands shaking violently as she
grabbed her bat and scrambled to slink against the fridge in her
kitchen.

She pushed some of the photos around beneath her fingers,

taking in the images. There were ones of her changing, before
and after work. Ones of her and Saint cuddling in the early
hours of the morning, more than a couple of her sleeping
alone. She chewed through her bottom lip when her eye caught
sight of one that was of her and Banks, her hips rising from the
bed and his hand plunged into the front of her tights.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swore pushing it away.

She flipped her phone over in her hand and looked at the
number, she wanted to call them. Jack had just left to help
Saint, and Jack had said he could call Banks but…she knew
she couldn’t call them. Not if they were out helping someone
who needed it more than her. She was a big girl and could
handle this. She wasn’t going to call James, he wasn’t on the
case anymore and he was probably asleep. It seemed foolish
but she just wanted to prove herself brave for even a fraction
of a moment.

She pressed her head to the fridge, closing her eyes as she
listened to the sounds around her. “The sound can’t hurt you,”
she breathed out, trying to convince herself.

She couldn’t hear anything but that didn’t mean there was
no one there.

Whoever it was had been in her apartment the other night

and no one had heard them. Unless she tried to think clearly
but it was all a mess of panic and fear blurring her vision. She
unlocked her phone, dialing Banks foolishly because even
though he may be busy or sleeping, or maybe Jack had already
called. She needed him.

The dial tone rang twice before a sleepy voice answered on

the other end.

“Banks?” She said softly, “something happened.”

“Beckett?” He responded, “Hey what’s going on?”

“He was here again, and…” she stopped. “I can’t call

Jack,” she swallowed the lie.

“Okay,” he said softly, “where are you?” he asked. She

could hear him shuffling around on the other end.

“In my kitchen,” she whispered trying to control her

breathing.
 “I need you to get up,” he said.

“I can’t,” her voice trembled.

“I know you can,” Banks said, “get up Beck.”

She pushed herself off the floor with the bat still tucked
into the palm of her hand. “Now I want you to go into the
bedroom, and make sure the window is locked. You know the
one,” he instructed her.

“The drafty one,” she whispered.

“The drafty one,” he repeated back to her, confirming her

statement. “I’m not leaving you, I’m right here.”

It was small, but the encouragement settled against her

heart and gave her the courage to take those first steps. Her
bare feet curled against the slick Polaroids making every step
uncomfortable and shaky.

“Talk to me baby,” he whispered, and the word vibrated

through her.

He hadn’t crossed those lines with her, not really. The

harmless flirting during rides was nothing more than that. But
this, that soft encouraging baby, that was different, and God
did she want him to keep crossing lines. Even beneath the fear
that coursed through her, she felt a little more confident. Each
step to the bedroom was slippery, more photos covering the
walk to her bedroom, she couldn’t bear to look down, so she
focused on the sound of his voice. She flicked on the light; the
bed was covered in more photos. She swallowed tightly
looking around her room until her eyes fell on the far side of
the wall. The dark streetlights flickered across the walls of her
room, and it gave everything a dark eerie feeling.

The window was locked, “it’s locked.”

“That’s good,” he said. “I’m in the car, I’m ten minutes

away. I’m going to lose-” he started.

“Don’t hang up,” she begged. Cutting him off, she didn’t
care how pathetic she sounded.

“I’m going to lose service in the west tunnel Beck,” he

said, “but I’m coming.” The phone cut out and she was left by
herself again.

Beck turned to look at the bed. There must have been

hundreds of them, all slightly different than the last. She
picked one up, studying the angle of it and realizing it was too
high to be taken by a person. These photos were from a set-up
camera.

“Fuck,” she screamed using her arms to clear them off the
bed and onto the floor. She started to search for everything in
her room. She smashed the two posters that hung on the wall
above her bed, looking for another small camera. One that was
high enough to take the photos that tortured her.

Beck cleared the dresser across from her bed with her arm,
smashing two more framed photos and checking them as well.
Nothing. “Where the fuck are you?” she growled pushing over
the bookshelf beside the window and shaking out the books.
She stepped back, her feet crunching into a pile of fresh glass,
“shit,” she groaned as the glass cut into the bottom of her feet
painfully.

She hissed falling back on the bed, tugging the shards from
her heel and chucking them across the room. She didn’t have
time for this, that camera was in this room somewhere. It was
the only explanation. No one would have been able to sneak
by Saint, let alone both the men that night. She spun around
crawling onto the bed, blood staining her sheets as she pushed
to her feet and unscrewed the light fixture cap from the
ceiling. She threw it on her bed and fumbled around with the
wires.

“Nothing,” she swore, sitting back on the bed.

Beck stared across the room at herself in the long dressing

mirror she had gotten for her birthday. She had hung it with
wire to the ceiling in the corner and its reflection was almost
the same as the angle from the photos. She tiptoed through
more glass, hissing as she went. She would deal with the pain
later. It was nothing compared to the sick, dirty feeling of
being watched.

She furrowed her brow and gripped either side of the long
mirror not bothering to take it down properly she ripped it
from its hooks sending it crashing down around her. She knelt,
her bare knees crunching against the shattered mirror, and
pulled apart the thick ornate frame that she had loved so much.
Now it only scared her.

“You piece of shit,” she swore as she pulled a long cord

from the top piece of the frame, attached to the end and
embedded into the wood was another small camera. Her hand
shook as she lifted it to her eye level and examined it.

“Leave me alone,” she whispered into the lens.

She stood, her body screaming in pain from the glass

buried into her knees and soles. But the pain ceased to exist as
the front door rattled, she quickly grabbed the hockey stick
from the doorway of the bedroom. Trying to stay quiet but also
walk on the only clear skin of her feet she padded down the
hallway using the wall as her brace.

Fear was a powerful tool, it masked her pain and gave her
the kick of adrenaline she needed to swing the hockey stick
directly into the stomach of her attacker.

“Aye!” Banks yelled, too late to catch the bat as it caught

him in the hand. “It’s me!”

He grabbed the bat and chucked it across the room. It

thudded to the ground, the sound of steel ringing out through
the apartment. “Jesus Beck, are you bleeding?” He stopped,
looking down at her knees as he shook out the pain in his
hand. His pupils were blown with concern as he wrapped
himself around her.

“There’s no one here,” she mumbled, “there’s no one

here.”

“Beckett?” Banks lowered himself to look into her eyes

and reached for his cell phone. “I’m going to call the
ambulance.”
 This clued her in, pulling her from the state of shock she
was in.

“No,” she shook her head. “I have a first aid kit in the
bathroom.”

She turned from him, despite his protests, and wandered

toward the bathroom.

“Stop,” he called after her, “Beck just stop,” he ordered.

She didn’t listen, determined to keep moving. Blood

trailed behind her down the hallway, smudging her fear into
the photos. Each step was more painful than the last. She
flicked on the light only to be met with more photos and
another note on the mirror. This time it’s written in a dark,
sticky lipstick that was smudged against the reflective surface.

I want to see you bleed, pretty girl.

It was like all the air was sucked from her, she felt her
body give way but before she hit the ground Banks scooped
her into his arms.

“Jesus,” he swore catching sight of her ruined mirror.

He carried her to the living room, setting her down on the

couch only for her to spring back up in a fit of rage and
fleeting adrenaline.

“Here I am!” She raised her hands in the air. “I’m bleeding
you fucking lunatic, what more do you want?”

“Enough,” Banks ordered, pressing his hand against her

face to get her attention, “sit down.”
 She listened, slumping against the couch feeling her
heartbeat in every cut and gash that now adorned her feet and
legs. Banks sat on the coffee table, pushing things out of his
way as he settled across from her. Her eyes focused on the
copy of Hitchhiker’s that was still flipped upside down on her
coffee table. Her heart begged her to crawl across the floor,
back to her phone, and call him. Don’t you dare— She said to
herself and leaned back against the couch.

“Can I?” Banks asked but she pulled her body away from
him. “I won’t hurt you, we need to get the glass out,” he said.

“In a bit, I can’t…” she stuttered, “I can’t feel it anyways.

Just don’t touch me for a minute,” she snarled.

“Beck,” he spoke her name like a warning, “the glass,” his

teeth ground together like the glass embedded in her skin was
causing him pain.

Beckett spoke clearly and concisely. “Do whatever cop

crap you need to do and get out.”

Banks sat back on the coffee table, resting his hand on his
jeans. She looked up at him from her bloody knees, her heart
contracting painfully in her chest. He was wearing a dark shirt
and blue jeans. His tattooed arms were on display and his hair
was un-brushed and kept back off his face by a beanie. She
realized that she was projecting her fear and anger on him
without reason and she tried to breathe through it.

“I’m sorry,” she said so quietly it was barely a murmur in

the silent apartment.
 “I understand,” he said, running a knuckle along her jaw,
“I get it.” he used his other hand and fished into his pocket for
his phone.

“Please Banks, no ambulance, I can’t go to the hospital,”

she choked out.

An irrational fear that they wouldn’t be able to find her

when they returned flooded her sore limbs.

“I’m calling for forensics,” Banks explained. “We need

them to process the scene.” He stood up and walked away
leaving her curled up on the couch. Bleeding from her knees
and feet but she didn’t care. The pain was minimal compared
to the crippling fear that returned. She had been stupid enough
to believe because they had come into her life that the threat
was gone but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

“There are sweaters,” she swallowed tightly trying to

apologize to him without sounding pathetic. He turned to her;
his dark eyes sad with concern. “I know you like to cover
them,” she nodded to the swirling dark ink on his arms, “you
rushed over here so fast, and now…” she stopped. “There’s
sweaters in the closet in my room, before the…”

He looked away from her and finally down to his arms,

“Murphy, you didn’t hurt my feelings, I understand why you
didn’t want me to touch you. Stop,” he whispered, kneeling to
her eye level, “you can’t do anything that’s going to make me
angry.”

“Go get a sweater,” she hushed him, trying not to cry.

 He was too soft, too forgiving. Her golden retriever was
scolded and remained loyal. Doing as he was told, he returned
with his arms tucked into a dark sweater that Ashton or Dorian
had left behind at some point.

“Sit with me?” Beck asked, “I promise not to bite you.”

She uncomfortably cracked a joke.

“How do you know I’m not into that?” Banks joked but his
voice was tight and on edge. She stared at him, wanting to
laugh but no sound came out. She was terrified that if she did
the laughter might trickle into uncontrollable crying.

“You really did a number to your room,” he said softly

after a beat of silence, “I’m proud of you, for finding it. The
camera. You got up, you cleared the apartment, and you found
the camera. You did that because you’re brave.”

As everyone filed into her apartment she remained on the

couch. Banks spent most of that time with her, whispering in
her ear that he would get everyone out as soon as he could.
She understood the need for them to be here, the urgency to
them collecting the clues and cleaning up. She curled up
against the cushion as he was called over by another cop, her
eyes were half-open as the clock ticked into the early hours of
the morning.

Banks stood by the window talking to another cop when a

ruckus outside exploded. He moved in on sweeping steps to
move between her and the door as a figure came into view.

“Murphy!” Jack’s voice boomed through the apartment. It

was the loudest she had ever heard him yell as he tossed a bag
to the floor and charged Banks. “Why didn’t you call me?
Where is she?” He shoved Banks answering his question as
she came into view.

“What the hell happened to your face?” Banks asked

pointing out his split lip.

“Bar fight,” he brushed him off and knelt beside her on the
couch. Banks rolled his eyes, knowing exactly how Jack got
the injuries.

Without a word, he brushed his hand against her thigh

looking down at her bloody knees and torn-up feet. She
opened her mouth to speak but the words stuck to her throat as
he turned his sad eyes toward her. She could read him like a
book, I failed you.

“What the fuck happened?” Jack’s shoulders heaved and

his eyes scanned her face and wounds at a thousand miles per
second. She had never seen him so unhinged, “was she
attacked? Fucking speak, Banks!” He snapped when her
retriever remained quiet, his gaze trained on his partner’s hand
resting on her thigh as though assessing a threat.

Beck wanted to stop him, to tell him that it was her. That
she wouldn’t let him do anything, and even the touch from
someone she knew so personally felt dirty at the time. But now
with Jack’s warm hand against her thigh, she felt safe, it was
cruel. She had never heard him yell at anyone and clearly,
based on the shock on Banks’ face and the rigid posture of
Saint… he and Banks had never had it out in such a way.
 “And why is she still covered in blood?” he stood,
brushing the feelings loose. He rushed Banks and shoved him
up against the wall behind them. Books fell from the shelf
beside him as Jack wrapped his hand into Banks’s shirt. “Do I
have to tell you how to do your job?”

Her heart rate was rabid, she hated that he was so angry.
That he was lashing out against Banks but she couldn’t find
the words to stop him and the two of them fought.

“Jack,” Saint’s voice came from the door and a sob tore
from Beckett’s lips. His jaw tensed tightly as he used his cane
to walk around the debris and clutter. “He did what she would
let him,” Saint put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Let
him go.”

Jack and Banks stared at one another; fury painted across

their faces. “She wouldn’t let me call an ambulance.” Banks
choked out, “I was respecting her space Jack, she…” the
words caught in his throat. “You took her out tonight,” he
pushed back on Jack’s hold, “you were supposed to be here.”

Jack snarled at his comment, ready to tear him apart.

“Clear everyone out,” Jack ordered through a clenched jaw. He
let go of Banks’s collar and moved back to Beckett. “Saint,”
he looked towards his friend. “Help him.”

Without further instruction, Saint and Banks began to clear

the apartment and once everyone was out he brushed his hand
over the heavy golden deadbolt and locked the door behind
them.
 As soon as the door clicked over Jack wasted no time
scooping her up without pause, he carried her to the bathroom.
“Run the bath,” he instructed setting her on the toilet. “I’ll be
right back,” he whispered to her, but she gripped his fingers
tightly and pulled him back.

Saint leaned over the tub, running the water warm, and sat
against the edge. His hand found her arm and traced her skin
with his finger as Jack pushed the hair back off her face.
Banks leaned against the door frame, the sweater had been
stripped and his arms were back on display. A show of trust,
that even when Jack was furious with him, they were
comfortable around each other.

“I wasn’t brave, I tried to be but—,” she trailed off, her

voice cracking. She couldn’t do it, not with all three of them
there, staring at her…waiting. “I didn’t wanna call. I should
have just cleaned everything up. I found the camera. The
second one. I…” she sobbed out the last part, Saint’s fingers
paused on her skin as her shoulders heaved. Banks hovered in
the doorway, watching and waiting.

She wasn’t sure how to breathe with them all around, sure
that within seconds she might stop completely, but Jack finally
spoke.

“We were right—,” Jack stopped, coming down onto his

knees, and stared up at her. “You gotta stop crying, Murphy,”
Jack said, pleading with her. Like the sound of her crying was
breaking something inside of him. “I can’t— please.”
 His voice begged and snapped a cord within her. Her
breathing steadied matching pace with the slow count of
Saint’s shifting fingers against her bicep. One, two, three. His
fingers played against her skin like a piano, slowly and
methodically as her breathing slowed and the tears dried.

“I left you tonight.” Jack swallowed. He didn’t dare look

back at Banks, his jaw clenched tightly and his dark eyes
boring into Jack’s back.

“I’m sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his thick throat.

Beck watched as he worked through his emotions silently.

Trying to mask them with anger as the guilt and shame are
away at him for being foolish. She took a deep breath, “you
couldn’t have known.”

“It’s my job to know.” He licked his bottom lip and pushed

off his knees.

“Jack don’t walk away from me,” she snapped, reaching

for his hand.

He looked down at it, inhaling deeply before he stomped

from the bathroom leaving her in silence with Saint and
Banks.

“He’s adjusting,” Saint explained.

“He’s beating himself up for not being in two places at

once,” Beckett scowled.

She lifted Saint’s wandering hand to her face and pressed

against it. Closing her eyes so she could focus on his skin, his
breathing, the way he faintly smelled of fresh laundry and
nothing else.

“Listen to me,” he said softly over the running water. “I

know why you didn’t go to the hospital today, it was foolish
and dangerous,” he paused, his thumb caressing her cheekbone
gently. “We’ll always find you. If we had come back here— to
this—Jack would have turned this city inside out to find you.
You needed medical care, there’s a vast difference between
stubborn and tough.”

“Saint, I do not need a lecture,” she huffed but her heart

was warm and it only made her feel more guilty that they had
run to her aid.

“I ruined your op tonight?” She asked quietly after he

didn’t respond.

“No, you didn’t. Because you didn’t call, Banks texted on

his way over.” Saint’s tone was low and laced with alarm.

“Did you do that to your room?” Jack appeared in the

doorway, Banks taking the clean clothes in his hand for her
into his arm. There was a wild look in Jack’s eyes. “Was
someone in here with you?” She could feel his anger, could
feel the tension rolling off of him and it buried itself deep
inside her conscience.

“No,” she shook her head, “it was me. I was looking for
the camera,” she explained. “It was in the mirror. I just knew
nobody could get past you both. That it had to be something
that was already in place from before and the adrenaline was
pumping.”
 “Here,” Banks set her clean clothes and moved the garbage
pail closer to Saint before backing up. “Let him take the glass
out in the bath, the warm water will help.”

“You want me to get in the bathtub?” she asked, surprised

at his suggestion.

“Did you think he was running the water for himself?”

Jack teased gently, easing them back into a comfortable place.

Saint shook his head, “you’re not helping Jack,” he

warned. “Go make her some tea, Banks stay, she’s going to
need you.” He said when Banks shifted uncomfortably, clearly
not used to the dynamic between Saint and Jack.

“In you go,” he stood moving toward the sink and door.

Turning his face away from her, she huffed through the
pain at his gesture and pulled her dress over her head. Slipping
from her bra, with ease she chucked it to the side and crawled
into the bath. She hissed as she entered the water, settling
against the back of the tub with her feet and knees extended
out.

“Banks,” Saint called and without words, Banks stripped

from his t-shirt and jeans. She looked at him momentarily,
tears still brimming in her eyes as she took in the sharp cut of
his tattoos at the rounds of his shoulders. Only the left side
came down across to cover his hardened chest. He really was a
work of art. The cross he wore around his neck hung loosely
against his perfect untouched olive skin, unlike Jack, there
were no scars, no bruises.
 He kept his eyes on the ground, respecting her naked form
as he nudged past Saint and slipped into the bathtub behind
her. She flinched for a moment, unsure why he needed to get
in but the second his arms tugged around her and pulled her
against his chest everything made sense. His fingers gripped
around her rib cage, avoiding her bare chest, and applied just
the right amount of pressure to steady her.

“This won’t feel good,” Saint made his way back to her.
Rolling up the sleeves of his gray dress shirt and sat on his
knees beside the tub. He circled his hand in the water gently, it
lapped against her bare thighs as he moved his fingers to find
the warm underside of her calf. She extended her arm, helping
him find each small shard in her knees. “Human touch helps
regulate the pain, your breathing. I can’t be in there and clean
your skin,” Saint explained.

She groaned in pain, pushing her head back against Banks’

chest with each slick sliver of glass he pulled from her flesh.
“Just breathe,” he instructed her, pressing his lips to her hair.

Banks took the small body cloth from the side of the tub
and ran it down over her face, slowly tracing her jaw and neck
in an attempt to distract her. He worked on her arms and chest,
careful not to invade her privacy as he cleaned away the blood
until the tub was a pale pink color around them.

“Walk us through what happened tonight,” Saint asked.

“Jack dropped me off,” she winced as he pulled the biggest

piece from her knee. A small smirk played on his lips.
 “Fun date?” he asked, dropping the piece of glass into the
sink.

“Curb your jealousy Maddox,” she pushed against his

shoulder. “I came upstairs and tried to turn on the light but I
slipped and fell.” Another three pieces fell into the sink beside
him.

“Leg up,” he instructed, patting her inner thigh with a

tender touch. She propped her foot up for him. His hand
tortuously traveled from her thigh, raking down her wet, soft
skin until he wrapped his hand around her ankle. “And then?”
He asked as he began to clean her feet.

“There were pictures. So many of them, of us, sleeping. I

panicked and hid in the kitchen—,” she sucked in a harsh
breath of air as he tugged a large piece from her foot. Banks’
grip around her tightened just a touch, holding her firmly. His
hand drifted over the soft skin of her stomach and laid there
flat, pushing her against him.

“Do you need a break?” he moved, pressing the top of his

hand to her wet thigh, and leaned over the tub. Her face was
pressed into Banks’ shoulder to keep herself from crying, but
she managed to whimper out a no.

“Beck,” he shifted on his knees.

“You can’t lie to him,” Banks warned her.

He found her face, cupping the side with his open palm,
and gripped her neck with his fingers carefully. “It’s just us.
You don’t have to be strong,” he pressed his forehead to hers.
All three of them were intimately close, breathing in tandem
with one another. “Your heart is pounding, and you aren’t
talking to me.”

“I want to be…” she mumbled. “I want to be stronger than

this.”

“Not tonight,” he kissed her delicately, running his teeth

against her bottom lip as he pulled back.

She felt herself relax, even in so much pain. If Saint told

her she could be soft just for the night, she believed him.
“There are a few more pieces,” he explained to her, shifting
back.

Once he was finished, his shirt soaking wet and his eyes
were exhausted. He placed a long, sweet kiss on her exposed
thigh and stood from the tub. “Up,” he instructed.

Banks loosened the hold around her, supporting her as she

pushed off the side of the tub with her tired arms and clumsily
stood on sore feet. Saint had turned away again, “hey,” she
whispered and watched his head cock to the side. He was too
much of a gentleman, and it made her feel a little lighter.
Banks chuckled, still submerged “Give a girl a hand,” she
asked politely under her breath.

“Beck,” he warned, so rigid and unable to bend his morals

even then.

“Please,” she asked practically begging.

He turned to pull the towel from the rack beside him

effortlessly and held it up for her. He wrapped it tightly around
her chest and braced himself as he hooked his arms under her
bruised knees. She fell against his damp chest as he carried her
back to the living room. She heard Banks climb from the tub
after they turned the corner, and she tucked her face into the
warm protection of Saint’s neck.

Jack had cleaned all the mess created by the cops and the
stalker. No trace of the photos or her bloody footprints
remained. The living room was completely back in order
except for the copy of Hitcherhikers which had been neatly
placed back on the table. Beckett smiled as Jack took his place
in front of her. Saint stripped from his wet shirt, his fingers
working the buttons with ease, and tossed it over the island
chair.

Banks joined them, his jeans hanging low on his pelvis and
her piled clothes in his bare arms. He handed them to Jack
silently, standing close to him, and with a low voice he said to
Jack, “her body is covered in bruises.”

He hadn’t said a word in the tub but she didn’t have a

proper explanation, she hit things all the time, the table, the
counter. Sometimes the wall, she barely stood up straight half
the time.

“Beckett,” Jack growled, the noise was low and warning.

the tone was accusatory, Saint stilled beside her.

“Simmer down pup, it wasn’t Jack. He was nothing but a

gentleman. I’m clumsy,” Beckett huffed, she was so
exhausted.
 This seemed to defuse the tension between them, and
Banks moved on to scoop the warm mug of tea from the
island, setting it down on the coffee table for her.

“Arms up,” Jack instructed, pulling a light cotton shirt over

her arms.

She knew from the smell that it didn’t belong to her, but
she wasn’t about to ask the man questions. If sharing his
clothes was his way of communicating that he cared for her.
She would steal every last shirt he owned. “Next time don’t
walk in the glass, Murphy.”

Saint settled into the couch like it was made for him and
let her shift into the curve of his rib cage as Jack began
wrapping her feet. “For the record, I know you don’t like to
listen to people but when Banks tells you to do something,
listen. He’s just trying to protect you,” Jack looked up at her
from under heavy lashes and cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh handsome,” she laid her head against Saint’s bare

shoulder, “I’m not promising to start listening, that’s a death
wish with you three.” She groaned from the pain that the
bandages caused.

“You’re trouble,” Saint sighed, his chest rising and falling

beneath her. Banks settled on the floor at her feet as he tugged
his shirt back over his chest. Jack rubbed the top of his head
playfully, a silent apology for the lashing of anger he had
projected on him earlier.

“I need to focus on this case,” he finally said, cutting the

bandage and laying the scissors away from himself. “I can’t be
here and catch this guy at the same time,” he sighed.

Saint untangled from her as she sat forward and looped her
fingers through Jack’s messy hair. She watched him mull over
her, creating the speech in his head, ready to drop whatever
excuses he had created to make himself feel better for leaving
her. It didn’t matter to her; she was just glad they were all safe.
His guilt was minuscule in comparison to what could have
happened.

“Not tonight,” she repeated Saint’s words knowing that

eventually the other shoe would drop, and Jack would pull
away. It was only a matter of time.

Tomorrow they would worry about what this meant for

them. Tonight, she would wrap herself around her men without
hesitation or shame and remind herself that she was strong
enough to beat this. She tugged his face toward hers and
dragged a kiss from his scowl. “Let’s watch a movie,” she
said.

“It’s four in the morning, Murphy.” Jack shook his head.

“Mr. Deeds,” Banks suggested, leaning his head back for

her to run her hand through it. “Something funny,” he said,
trying to hide the anxiety in his voice.

“That movie is terrible, and she needs sleep,” Saint kicked

Banks in the shoulder.

“I can’t sleep, I won’t be able to. Just humor me,” she

pleaded with Jack.
 He sighed and slid from the coffee table. He tugged her
bare legs across him as he settled into the couch on her other
side, his hand rubbing circles into the skin above her ankle as
she picked a movie for them to fall asleep to.
 22

twenty two

Everything was so dark.

Beck’s head was pounding so hard it woke her from her

sleep but when she opened her eyes there was a wall of black.
She stretched her hands out in front of her just trying to feel
for anything in the darkness.

“Little Bird,” a voice called from the inky shadows.

She spun around, trying to find the source of the noise but
was only met with more black. Hands scraped at her skin,
clawing into her flesh as she ran, picking up speed just to leave
the sound and shadows behind her. But no matter how far and
fast she ran, the darkness stretched out in front of her. Trapped.

She knew she had to be having a nightmare. Her brain was

playing a cruel joke on her, again. The nightmares weren’t
new, they had started shortly after she found the first note and
had gotten increasingly worse with each attack.
 “Why don’t you want to play with me?” It purred into the
darkness, wrapping around her throat two hands appeared
from a curtain of black and squeezed.

She clawed at the hands, fighting to breathe, her toes

scraping the ground as she lifted in the air. Her lungs screamed
for life as her vision blurred.

“Beckett!”

She shot from bed, her hands going to her throat as she
gasped for air in the safety of her room. Saint’s chest heaved
beside her; his face twisted into a wince. She hadn’t been
clawing for freedom, she had been maiming him in her sleep.

“Oh god,” she turned to him, covered in sweat that smelled

like Jack’s shirt and breathing too fast to be normal. “I hurt
you,” she bit her lip.

“Are you okay?” He grabbed both her hands in his and

held them between their bodies in the bed.

She hissed as they shifted together, forgetting her feet and

knees were sore and healing. She stared at his face as he hid
his panic from her, his soft brown eyes searching in the sound
around her. He was listening to her body, not her words.

“It was-,” she stopped, swallowing tightly she tugged from

his grip and pressed her finger to the scratches that painted his
chest. “I’m sorry.”

The nightmare was violent, and it had felt so real.

Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to explain

herself. She hadn’t meant to bring him any pain, but Beck
seemed to have a pattern of hurting the people she loved. She
counted the bruises on his naked abdomen, taking a long
breath which every bruise she added to the list.

“Beck,” he chuckled, the sound was soft and sweet, “I’m

fine,” he found her chin with his finger and lifted her gaze to
his face. His thumb brushed her lips before he stole a calming
kiss from them. “You were screaming,” he said against her
mouth, “what happened?”

“Apparently sleep isn’t a safe place anymore either,” she

said with a huff of air and shoved off the bed away from Saint.

She didn’t need to burden him with the details. How long
would it be before he ran away too? She scowled as her sore
feet contacted the floor.

“You shouldn’t be walking around,” He shifted in the bed,

the sheets falling around his hips as he sat up against the
headboard and put his arms on his knees. The sun cast through
the window, painting his beautiful, toned body in the morning
light. She bit her lip, tempted to thank him in a thousand
different ways but she couldn’t force down the nausea in the
pit of her stomach.

Beckett turned away from him, “and what let you carry me
around for the rest of my life?” She limped to the dresser and
pulled open a drawer.

She needed to rid the smell of Jack Callahan off her skin.

She stared back at the empty space on the bed, he hadn’t

even said goodbye. She had stirred from her light sleep to him
kissing her on the forehead and slipping from the bedroom. He
had run away, dragging Banks with him and she was furious.

Saint sighed, “give him space,” he swallowed hard, his

throat bobbing as he stared past her to the wall. “He’s not
really good at this kind of thing.”

“He seems fine when he’s flirting,” touching, kissing and

fucking. She growled, pulling the shirt from her body and
tossing it over to the chair beside the bed.

She tugged on a clean one over a sports bra and looked for
a pair of pants on unstable feet. She tipped unsteadily to the
side as she fought with the sticky bottom drawer of her
dresser.

He slipped from the bed without her hearing him and

wrapped his arms around her from behind, steadying her
against his body. “Let him figure it out,” he kissed her neck,
lingering there against her skin. “Do you work today?” He
asked, his breath tickling her throat.

Beck shook her head against him and let herself lean into
his grip, relaxing against his chest. She closed her eyes,
dreading that every moment in the foreseeable future would be
the one the other shoe dropped.

“Let me,” he said, letting go of her and kneeling by the

drawer.

He flattened his palm and ran it underneath the drawer

leaning forward on the balls of his feet as he lifted the drawer,
and it slid out with ease. “The ball was off the track,” he
explained. She rolled her eyes and dipped down to grab a pair
of pants.

“Of course it was. It’s been like that for three years and
you’re here less than twenty-four hours and have it fixed,” she
sighed.

She stood, noticing the pictures from the frames she had
smashed had been neatly piled on her dresser. Jack wasn’t
allowed to be kind if he wasn’t going to use his words with
her.

She messed up the pile like an angry child and moved back
to the bed.

Saint leaned against the dresser and pushed the photos

back together in a pile with his hands before turning and
leaning against it with his back. As his arms crossed over his
bare chest his muscles tensed and flexed against his skin. She
was cursing herself for getting into this mess as Saint
Maddox’s perfectly sculpted thighs tested the fabric of his
boxers. In her face, like a dare.

“I have to run to the office, would you like to come?” He

asked into the suffocating silence, kneeling before her as she
struggled to get her tights over her injured feet. He took each
ankle, slipping the fabric over her heel and up her calf, tracing
his fingers against her skin as he went. He placed a hand on
her thigh and raised his eyebrows, she tried not to laugh as his
eyes wandered over her chest unknowingly.

“You could use the distraction,” he suggested.

 She rolled her eyes, knowing she was being cruel to him
for absolutely no reason. He wasn’t the one who walked away,
and she had to stop treating them like they were one person
instead of three. It was starting to get hard to keep them
separated.

“I’m sorry,” she brushed her fingers through his hair. “I

would love that.”

“Can I use your shower?” He rubbed his thumb along her

leg as he sat back on his heels.

“Of course, I’ll get you a clean towel.” Beck smiled to

herself and watched as he stood, stretching to his towering
height over her. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

He nodded and with that he let go of her wandering slowly

through the doorway to the bathroom. Beckett followed,
leaving the towel hung on the rack and left him to shower in
peace. She wasn’t in the mood to be flirty, but that didn’t stop
her from watching him slip his fingers between the waistband
of his boxers as she shut the door behind her. Her body begged
her to go back only fueling her irritation.

Beckett hobbled to the living room window checking for

the car downstairs, hoping for the truck, or even Banks’ SUV.
A rabid growl left her lips when she saw the marked police
unit.

Coward. And making Banks his partner in crime.

She thought, looking back to the book on the coffee table.

She had it in her right mind to throw it in the garbage just
because he had touched it. The anger was too much, and she
was letting it take over her feelings for him. She didn’t know
how to deal with a person that didn’t just talk to her. It was
territory she had never navigated.

Instead, she walked past it because she didn’t have the

heart to do what she threatened and focused on changing out
the filter and brewing a pot of coffee. The water stopped in the
bathroom and Beckett poured the coffee into a mug as Saint
appeared in the kitchen. She jumped at the sight of him so
suddenly.

“You’re so quiet,” she laughed, steadying her heartbeat as

she took him in. He was in a fresh suit, paired with a white
dress shirt. She circled the island, leaning on it for support,
and fixed the two small pieces of hair that had stubbornly
fallen out of place on his head before stealing a kiss from his
damp lips.

“It comes in handy,” he laughed, tugging on her ear lobe.

Saint slid onto the island chair as she pushed a cup into his
hand. She huffed nervously, taking a sip of her coffee. “Are
you sure you’re up for this today?”

“Absolutely,” she swallowed her discomfort. “The less I

have to be here the better.”

She stared around at the apartment, the walls felt like they
were closing in on her. Like they were alive and every second
she spent standing within them it felt like she was suffocating
to death. Beck nodded, working herself up with enough
confidence to be a human being that day. She could meet his
friends and be normal and happy. She was good at fake smiles
and small talk, it’s what she did for a day job. Talking people
off the cliff was easy when she wasn’t the one teetering on the
edge.

“What are you panicking about over there?” Saint called

her out. “You stood so far away from me, it’s too early in this
relationship for you to be using my hearing against me.” He
scrunched his nose up and set down his coffee. “Don’t put up a
wall because you think it’s going to protect you, it’s only
going to confine you with your fear.”

“Saint,” she warned gently and he stopped talking, his

head tilting so he could hear every single syllable that fell
from her lips. “Not today,” she paused, “let’s just spend the
day without you fawning over my mental health. Just one
day.”

“I was just,” he stood from his chair, dragging his hand

against the counter as he wandered into the kitchen.

She watched the way his hips moved, the way his dress
pants hugged his thighs. Her body screamed at her again, just
begging her to forget the pain in her feet and the fear in her
heart. He stood back from her, waiting for the invitation from
her to come closer.

She set down her mug and hooked her finger into his belt
pulling him forward. His leg pressed between her open thighs
and his hand looped around her back pulling her hips towards
his. “You just what?” she teased, brushing her lips against his
mouth. “Use your words.”
 A smirk played on his pink lips and curled to the left just
an inch higher than the right. Beck brushed her hand against
his jaw, hooking her fingers around his neck and bringing him
short of her lips.

“You’re shaking sunshine,” he said but it wasn’t scolding,

or meant to slow her down.

It was just him.

Unable to ease his way past a mood, or a feeling because

he felt everything so differently from her. Shaking wasn’t just
shaking. It was fear, hesitation, anxiety, and panic.

He obliged her attempt to avoid conversation with a tender

kiss, running his tongue against her bottom lip as he dug his
hands into her hips, she squealed as he lifted her onto the
counter behind her and pressed further between her legs. His
hands ran over her back, his fingers trailing over her sore
muscles with just enough pressure that it didn’t tickle. As he
reached the base of her spine his hands separated and rounded
the swell of her ass against the counter.

She moaned against his mouth, needing more of him.

He abruptly pulled away leaving her lips cold and lonely,

“tell me what’s going on in here,” he softly tapped her temple.
“If you want a distraction go find Jack,” he warned.

“Really?” She challenged her eyebrow cocking at his

statement.

“Do I look like I’m joking, Beck?” He lowered his voice

an octave and pressed his beautiful lips into a harsh line.
 “That was uncalled for,” she snapped. “I cannot believe
you guys kiss and tell like gossiping old ladies.” She pushed
on his shoulder in an act of defiance.

“I won’t be that guy Beckett; I can’t be the one that helps

you forget. I want you to talk about it. I’m here and I’m
listening.” He tapped his finger against her skin.

“That wasn’t the first nightmare,” she confessed.

Saint pressed his hand against her thigh with a light sigh,
“are they always that violent?”

“You mean have I ever hurt another person? There’s never

anyone in my bed to test the theory,” she growled, she wasn’t
in the mood to be questioned about her sex life.

“Beck,” he whispered her name as the scowl formed on his

face.

Curb your assumptions Beckett, that’s not what he meant,

and you know it.

She bit the inside of her mouth.

“I wake up with bruises and scratches in weird places

sometimes,” she rolled her eyes. “I started taking sleeping pills
a few months ago to help me adjust to night shifts. They knock
me out pretty hard, but the nightmares still manage to creep in
sometimes.”

“The hands always come out of the dark, they grab me. I
have to fight to get them off of me, this morning it was my
throat.” She closed her eyes and her shoulders rolled back as
the fear crept through her spine. Saint silently found her neck,
his fingers trailing down to her collar bone and she worked
herself through her rapid breathing again.

“Do you sleepwalk?” He asked his face tight with thought.

“Not that I know of,” she shrugged against his hand. “Can
you tell me what you’re thinking please, I can’t… read your
mind as you do to me.”

Saint chuckled, “I don’t read your mind,” he smiled.

“That’s what it feels like, now out with it. I’m a grown
woman, I can handle whatever you’re thinking.” She snapped.

“Today,” he nodded slightly, tilting his head back a

fraction. “During the nightmare, you weren’t attacking the air,
you were attacking me.”

“I apologized for that,” she said softly, he ran a thumb over

her collarbone in response. A silent forgiving touch when
repetitive words weren’t needed.

“How do you injure yourself if you’re defending yourself

from your nightmare?” He asked.

“I’m sure there are ways,” Beck fumbled with her words,
suddenly very nervous. Saint’s voice was waning and he
looked away from her, his head tilted to think. “You’re doing it
again. Thinking, without talking.”

She pulled his face back to look at her. “Do you still have
bruises?” He asked, “when was the last time this happened?”

“Three days ago,” she huffed.

“Was Jack here?” he asked, his tone low and serious.

 “No,” she said softly.

“We need to go see him,” he helped her off the counter and
pulled away from her to grab the rest of his coffee. He downed
the warm liquid in a quick shot, “Do you have any
comfortable shoes?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she shook her head. “Saint,” she walked toward

the closet, passing where he stood waiting for her at the front
door. His fingers raked through the coats hanging on the hook
beside him until he found her light wind jacket and handed it
to her. “What is going on?”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she answered without hesitation. “Good, I’ll call

Jack in the cab.”

***

The police station was busy. Beck hobbled beside Saint as he

gripped her arm tightly so she could lean on him and off her
feet. She was sour from the conversation that he had with Jack.
She couldn’t hear a lot but the side she could hear made her
angry again.

“Drop it, Jack,” Saint groaned. “You don’t have much of a

choice.”
 She sighed as Saint stopped at the top of the steps, a voice
calling him from behind. Saint turned and made way for a
stout blonde man to join them on the step. “Franklin Stacy,
attorney,” he extended his hand to her. “You must be Beckett
Murphy,” he smiled politely at her before leaning toward Saint
and whispering something in his ear.

“I don’t need a lawyer?” Beck asked, looking between the

two of them.

She hadn’t felt on the outside until she watched them

interact. It was like Saint and Franklin could communicate
without full sentences and thoughts. Soundboards for each
other, it was like watching a hurricane.

“No,” Franklin laughed and adjusted his bag over his

shoulder. “I was going to grab some files for other cases we
have. It was very nice to meet you, Beckett. Don’t let this guy
get you into too much trouble.” He waved himself away and
took off down the stairs at a brisk pace.

“You ready?” Saint squeezed her arm.

“Let’s get this over with,” she sighed, leading them toward
the police station doors. Inside was even busier than out, cops
and civilians bickered and fought over one another as officers
booked criminals. Beckett’s heart raced as two men wrestled
with a large woman covered in tattoos screaming about the end
of the world.

“Maddox,” Banks’s voice floated over the chaos, standing

in the corner he waved them over. He crossed his arms over
his chest, the fabric of his green sweater tucked neatly down
over his arms and dark jeans paired with heavy boots. “This
better be good, he’s being a terrorist because of your phone
call.”

“He has a setting that’s grumpier than usual?” Beckett

grumbled.

Banks laughed and looked back at her as he narrowly

avoided a woman carrying a tray of coffees, he guided them
toward a back office that had all the blinds closed and its door
closed. “You have no idea. How are your feet?” he asked.

“Sore, thank you for coming yesterday.” She added, resting

her hand on his bicep.

“That’s my job,” he sighed, knocking on the door. There

were words left unsaid between them but she understood
where he was coming from and would give him the space to
figure it out.

“Fuck off Romero,” he hollered from inside.

Banks turned the doorknob and let her and Saint inside.
“Shit,” he swore under his breath when he saw her and pushed
back from his table to stand as they filtered inside.

Beckett reminded herself to stay angry as her eyes raked

him over. Jack was wearing a tight white shirt that gripped
under his pecs and hugged his rib cage. His dark blue jeans
were tucked into a pair of high black army boots. She avoided
his eyes, looking toward the window uncomfortably.

“What was so important that you dragged her all the way
down here? She should be sleeping and resting. She’s going to
open those wounds by walking around.” He barked.

“How thoughtful of you,” she sneered. Saint looked in her

direction, “oh hell no, this was your theory.” She shifted away
from him and hobbled toward a chair, her feet screaming in
pain from all the walking. “If I’m in trouble, you’re in trouble.
Besides Jack’s all bark,” Beck snapped.

“You wanna see my bite, tough guy?” Jack looked up at

her, anger barely masking the disappointment and guilt in his
eyes.

Banks moved faster than her and pulled a chair out,

bringing it to where she stopped. Watching him as he set it
down for her and took her hand to help her into the chair.
“Quit poking the bear,” he whispered, his mouth brushing over
her ear.

Jack turned away from her gaze, his jaw tense as he

focused on Saint. “Spit it out.”

“She’s been having nightmares,” Saint explained.

His eyes shifted to her momentarily, “for how long?” He

asked, his voice husky and low.

“Long enough,” she responded curtly.

“She had one this morning, woke up clawing at me like

she was locked in a coffin, buried alive.” Saint pulled the
collar of his dress shirt over, unbuttoning the top three to show
Jack and Banks the scratches she had left. She nearly hissed,
seeing how red and irritated they were. As if she didn’t feel
bad enough already.
 “Tell him what you said to me about them,” Saint
instructed.

Banks looked down at her, but Jack looked down at his

table avoiding eye contact. “In the nightmares, I wake up in
the darkness, pitch black. Usually, I hear the noise, the
whistle,” she looked at Saint, who was listening to her words
while he buttoned his shirt back up. “Then the hands come,
they hurt, it…” she stopped, the pause garnered a worried
flicker of attention from Jack. “It feels real.”

“So why does this warrant a trip to the police station,

Maddox?” Banks prompted. “We could have talked about this
tonight, instead she’s parading around, bleeding in her
slippers.”

“She wakes up covered in bruises,” Saint spoke to Jack

and no one else this time.

Beckett watched as the pen Jack was playing with snapped

in two.

“I thought you were clumsy?” Banks looked at her, the

darkness in his eyes seeping out as he knelt down next to her.
“You never have to lie to us Angel, we’re on your side.”

Jack groaned, tossing the pen in the garbage. Something

silent passed between the three of them that Beckett couldn’t
quite put her finger on.

Banks stood, “I’ll get the camera.” Jack nodded with a huff
from his lips and leaned over his desk.
 “Do you want something to eat, or drink?” Her golden
retriever turned to her, brushing her face with his hand. She
shook her head. Her stomach was too upset to eat anything
right now.

Banks disappeared, the door clicking shut behind him.

“If you’re defending yourself from the hands in your

nightmare, why do you wake up covered in bruises, Murphy?”
Jack finally spoke to her.

“Are sure you two aren’t related?” She bit swallowing hard
and shoving the scared little girl to the back of her mind.
“Why don’t you ask Saint, he dragged me all the way down
here for this.”

“She’s been taking sleeping pills. They knock her out cold,
what if…” Saint stopped. “What if she’s not giving herself the
bruises?”

“The nightmares aren’t nightmares.” She whispered in

shock.

“They’re memories,” Jack swore, moving around his desk.

“Lock that door.” He barked at Saint who hesitated, “he has a
key.”

Beckett stared him down as he moved toward her, “I know

you’re pissed off at me, you reek of anger but this is about
keeping you safe.” He knelt before her, bringing his tired, sad
brown eyes into focus.

She fought back the tears, he hadn’t slept a wink last night.
She could see it all over his face, “Safe from what? My stalker,
or you?” she snapped. She swallowed the image of him lifting
Banks off the ground, the sound of his voice when he started
to throw accusations around.

“If I say both, where does that leave us, Murphy?” He

argued. “Still angry, still…” he stopped.

“Alone.” She finished.

He looked away from her, his tongue licking his bottom lip
as he composed himself again. When he looked back the
emotion drained from his face and it was nothing but cold,
calculated Jack staring back at her.

“What do you need from me?” She asked him, sick of

staring at the cement wall he was so easily able to become.

A loaded question, Saint’s eyebrows raised as if he was

thinking the same thing she was. “I’m going to go get coffee,
you don’t need me for this.”

She rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see it

and whispered traitor, under her breath. He smirked and tilted
his head slightly away from her. He was masking his fear for
her just as badly as Jack was, shoulders pinned back tightly as
he left the room.

“I need to take photos of the bruises if Saint is right. This

son of bitch has been touching you while you sleep.” He
growled with a clenched jaw.

Her stomach rolled over, “I’m going to be sick,” she

announced.
 Jack was fast pulling the bin next to his desk to her face as
she vomited all the coffee she had drank back up. Her skin felt
dirty and used all of a sudden, she had just assumed it was her
inflicting the bruises and scratches. It never crossed her mind
that maybe someone else had been causing them.

“You really didn’t see any of them…” She swallowed

tightly, thinking back to the night in the truck, his hands all
over her.

“Can you show me one of them canary?” Jack asked,

ignoring her question he fished a water bottle from the desk
behind him and undid the cap for her. “Drink.” he pressed the
bottom to her lips and cupped her chin with his hand. Beckett
forced a few sips down before pulling back from the bottle.

She stood and he moved backward giving her the space to

do so, she slowly lifted her shirt at her hip and exposed a faded
bruise that looked like fingertips. Jack scowled, flexing his
fingers before extending his hand and pressing it to her skin.
“You couldn’t have done this.” Jack huffed. “How did I not…”
he groaned under his breath.

There was no way she could have given herself the bruises,
not the way they were facing.

Her stomach rolled again. He pulled his hand away, “how

many more are there?” He asked, taking a soft step forward.

“Three, maybe?” She shrugged as the scent of leather and

spice filled her nose again. “You left this morning.” She
blurted.
 “I told you I would,” he grumbled.

“When? Between your fits of anger or pensive stares.” She

pushed against his chest with her hands. “You snuck out in the
middle of the night thinking I wouldn’t notice, but I did.” She
shoved him again.

He let her.

Beck shoved him again and again, “Talk to me!” She

bellowed into the office.

“I can’t do this with you, Beck.” He licked his lip, shaking

his head back and forth.

“You won’t, there’s a difference.” She pushed him again

but he caught her arms this time and pushed her back into the
chair. Sinking to his knees and pressing his palm into hers,
before covering her hand with his other one. “You don’t get to
say when it’s enough, you don’t get to run away,” she
mumbled.

“I didn’t run away,” he huffed. “I-,” he looked up at her,

his sad eyes staring back at her with the weight of a thousand
men. “I failed you yesterday, as a cop, as a man. As-,” he
pinned his shoulders back. “I got scared. Is that what you want
to hear?”

His head dropped slightly to the side and he leaned closer

to her on the balls of his boots. “I couldn’t protect her, I
couldn’t protect my kids. I can’t protect you,” he confessed, a
single tear streaming down his face.
 It was the first time he had said it to her, the first time he
had really talked about it even so vaguely. She opened her
mouth to speak, “I don’t need you to protect me.” She pushed
off the chair, sinking to her knees before him ignoring the
sting of pain that shot through them from the cuts. “I need you
to protect us. You and me. I need you to protect this,” she
pressed her hand to his heart and brushed her nose against his.

“This might be new but it’s strong,” she lifted his hand and
rested it against her heart. “Our hearts beat at the same pace
but when they beat together, it’s powerful. Give it a chance,
Jack.”

“How?” He choked out, snaking his hand around her back

and tugging her into his lap. Both of them fell back against the
desk as she straddled his thighs.

“Talk to me, tell me when you’re afraid, worried,

nervous,” she laughed. “Just don’t run away.”

He stared at her for a moment before stealing a hungry

kiss, his lips tangled in hers and his hand digging against the
skin of her hip. “Okay tough guy,” he mumbled against her
lips. “No more running.”
 23

twenty three

They thought that they could keep him away from her. He had
tasted her skin with that insufferable Maddox in the bed, he
had shown them just how smart he was over and over and yet
still they doubted him. It was an insult to his craft.

He sat back on the picnic bench outside the prescient,

slumped against the wooden slats with his ball cap tugged
down over his eyes. He could wait, he had waited this long. He
just needed to keep himself busy until she found herself alone.
It wouldn’t be easy, but it was do-able. He shifted on the
bench, adjusting himself as he strained against his jeans. He
couldn’t help himself as his mind wandered to the image of her
sleeping on her belly, her ass barely covered by the silky
sheets of her bed. He groaned, impatient with his own
disgusting desires

It wouldn’t be long now.

 24

twenty four

Jack took photos of her skin and the bruises that were left
behind. His hands trailed her calf, checking the bandages on
her feet and knees as he searched for anything else out of
place. He studied her skin in detail, locked away in the office,
just the two of them. She missed Banks and Saint but was
grateful for the privacy. She wasn’t really in the mood to be on
show.

“You don’t remember anything but the nightmares?” He

pressed the palm of his hand against her toes and angled her
foot so he could inspect the wounds. Some of them had
reopened from the moving around but they didn’t hurt as bad
when Jack blew on them with his cool breath, his lips pursed
as he relieved her sore skin.

“I’ve been taking sleeping pills,” Beck noted, his dark eyes
lifted to meet hers.

“Why?” he asked, concern flickering beneath the calm.

 “I couldn’t sleep, that’s pretty obvious,” an exhausted
laugh fell from her lips.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He corrected himself. Saint

returned with two water bottles, he chucked one through the
air, Jack’s hand mindlessly reaching out for it. He set it on the
floor next to him without breaking a second of eye contact.
Banks followed him through the door, closing it behind him,
and leaned against one of the filing cabinets.

“Insomnia,” she shrugged. “Or at least it started that way,”

she paused. Talk to them, her heart pleaded. “The breakup with
Dorian… it was bad. I was a mess; it was hard sleeping by
myself. We were together for so long that I didn’t know how
to be alone. I switched shifts so I wasn’t sitting in the darkness
anymore, but it was hard to sleep during the day.”

“Heartbreak doesn’t follow the construct of time,” Saint

said lightly, shucking out of his jacket he laid it on the desk
beside him.

He felt his way around the room until his hand found the
back of the chair. Jack reached out, wrapping his hand around
the leg, and tugged Saint along with it until they were both
sitting in front of Beck.

“No,” she admitted. “I started taking the pills because I

was a walking zombie.”

“You got them from a doctor?” Banks asked, moving to

lean over the table.
 “No, I got them from the crackhead down the street, yes
Banks. I got them from the doctor,” she laughed, pulling a
smile from them. He scoffed at her, but a small smile crept on
his face.

“You haven’t been taking them the last week,” Jack raised
his eyebrow.

“Yeah, captain observant. My bed hasn’t been empty,” she

raised her eyebrow back in defiance.

Jack shook his head, the smile on his face growing as he

licked his bottom lip. “Alright, smart ass,” he slapped her
thigh playfully and stood to his feet. “No more taking them.”

Beck was just happy to hear the lightness in his tone, she
had missed the playful banter that existed between them.

“I have to sleep and work, Jack, I can’t just stop taking

them.” Beck shook her head and made to stand but he glared at
her and she settled back into her chair as he turned to Saint
trying to think.

“Shifts,” he turned back to her quickly, she stared at him

confused. “What are your shifts this week Murphy,” he asked.

“Monday through Thursday are day shifts, I’m off Friday.”

She said, watching the gear turn in their heads. She stood
realizing what he was getting at and hissed as the pain shot
through her feet. “I don’t need babysitters.”

“Mmm,” Saint hummed from the chair he lounged in. “Tell

your feet that.”
 Beck sighed, turning her back on his sassy remark and
pretty face, hobbling on her sore feet. Jack leaned over his
desk, looking for something. “You can’t be around all the time,
you’ll run yourselves into the ground.” She looked back at
him, his eyes turned to the space above her shoulder.

“Spending time with you isn’t a chore, Beck,” Banks

added. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach
threatening to break her scowl.

“It is if you’re staying up to watch me sleep,” she snapped,

regaining her control.

“Still not a chore,” Jack grumbled without looking up at

her, pushing papers around on his desk. She hated that they
were teaming up on her. “I’ll pick you up Monday, Tuesday.”

“I can rearrange some things to spend Wednesday and

Thursday with her,” Saint spoke to Jack who nodded without
stopping his shuffling.

“I’ll take the weekend; do you need me at work?” Banks

asked casually, she really had no choice in the matter.

The sound of sliding paper against the grainy desk was

enough to drive her mad.

“What are you looking for?!” She yelled, making him tilt
his head up at her.

“This,” he slammed the desk drawer shut and extended a

small black box to her.

“A taser?” she shook her head. “No.”

 “Would you prefer a gun?” Jack asked, she almost laughed
but his face was serious, his lips pressed into a hard line as he
waited for an answer. “Take the taser,” he thrust it toward her.

“Two days ago you were scolding me for having a knife,”

she turned with the heavy taser weighing in her palm. “But
you’re okay with this?” She asked Saint.

“Two days ago neither of us trusted you with a knife,”

Saint offered. “Two days ago we were guarding a secret,
unsure what you would do with that information.”

“There’s still time,” she scowled. “If you keep treating me

like I’m made of glass, who knows maybe I’ll use the taser on
you.”

“You can try,” Saint smirked.

“I’m not flirting with you,” she shook her head.

“Your heartbeat says otherwise,” he laughed, cocking his

head to the side and tapping his fingers against the armchair.

“Listen spiderman, stop doing that six-sense thing.” she

sighed.

She could feel her anxiety spiraling, either they were just
being safe or they were more scared than they let on about
what was happening. Unable to stop the impending doom.

“Spiderman isn’t nearly as good as I am,” he sounded

offended.

Banks laughed behind her, warranting a quick glare as she

hobbled back toward Saint.
 “Just for a moment, stop telling me how I feel and let me
pretend like I am in control of this situation,” her voice started
strong but cracked as she came to the end of the sentence.

Saint’s smile faded, and feeling the drop, he reached into

the void for her. His fingers brushed her arm, sending
goosebumps over her skin as his palm flattened to her wrist
and tugged her across the gap. He gently shifted, pulling her
into his lap, and waited until she took a long deep breath
before raking his hand across her thigh with a tender squeeze.

“I can’t see you,” he said quietly to her, the moment

feeling too intimate for all four of them in such a tiny office,
but Saint didn’t seem to care.

“I know that,” she scowled.

He shook his head and lifted a hand to her face, cupping

the side of it so she could rest inside of his warmth for a
moment until she calmed down.

“I listen because I don’t get to see your eyebrows scrunch

up in question, or the way your lips part when you get mad at
something I say. I don’t get to know the color of your eyes or
the freckles on your face. The scars, the expressions, or the
beauty. But I do get to hear the way your heart races when you
see me and slow as you fall asleep against me. You should
have heard the day you burst into the gym, I couldn’t tell if
you wanted to kill us or,” he stopped, rubbing his thumb
against her face.

“Definitely not kill,” Banks chuckled.

 She laughed against his touch and pressed her hand to his
chest to feel him underneath his shirt. Her heart felt heavy, and
getting mad at him for something he couldn’t control was
cruel even when she couldn’t stop her emotions from lashing
out.

“I’ll stop,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

She watched him look around her through the tint of his
glasses and sighed, “No. Just ease up,” she said, unable to
control herself as she pressed her lips to his. “I’m sorry,” she
breathed against his lips as she pulled back.

“Everything we’re doing, we’re doing it to keep you safe,”

Jack said from behind her. She turned to him, leaning up
against his desk with his arms folded over his thick chest.
“You have to stop fighting us.”

“It’s hard,” she admitted, she could feel Saint’s fingers

gently brushing her thigh, up and down as she spoke to Jack.
“I feel out of control.”

“So take it back,” Jack said. “Us being here, helping. Isn’t
controlling you, it’s not meant to be but something is holding
you up against a wall. What is it? Anger, sadness. Or is it
fear?”

“If it’s fear,” Saint said, pushing her hair off her shoulder,
he lowered his voice. “Use it.”

Banks picked up the taser and held it out to her, “take

this.”
 She slipped from Saint’s grasp and stood, Banks reached
out to offer his arm for support, but she was okay. She
balanced herself on her sore feet and squared her shoulders.
She watched Jack, watching her try to steady herself, his jaw
ticked as she stepped forward and into his space. She pulled it
from his hand and clicked the power on, the electricity
cracking between them.

“Murphy,” he warned a small smirk on his lips. “Only use

that on people that deserve it.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

He stood, closing the gap between them, unafraid of the

taser, and looked down at her. “Baby, you better hope that
drops me if you’re going to use it.” He looked from her eyes to
her lips and then down to the taser still clicking between them.

His hand wrapped around it and flicked it off.

“Next time don’t hesitate,” Banks groaned, running his

hand through his hair.

Beck played with the hem of Jack’s sleeve mindlessly. She

could feel him staring at the side of her face, hot and tempting,
but she pulled back without looking up at him. “Take her
home,” he chucked the dead taser through the air and Saint
caught it without hesitation.

He gently tugged her back by her shirt, her back crashing

into his chest and he nuzzled his face into her neck. “I’ll see
you tonight,” he groaned, she could feel his hesitation over
letting her go. His fingers pressed against her bare stomach
under her shirt and his breathing was uneven in her ear. “Don’t
let her out of your sight.” He barked at Saint.

***

“Here,” Saint handed her a cup of tea and settled on the couch
next to her. Setting his mug on the table he pulled the blanket
around her and helped her get comfortable. “Are you going to
be okay to work tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fine, once I get to work I don’t move very often,”

she sighed, flexing her feet to relieve some of the soreness.

“I don’t mean your feet Beck,” he laughed, tossing his

head back and exposing the long, glorious curves of his strong
neck to her.

She stared at him and wondered how anyone in the world

walked by him without gasping. The tangled mess of his
scruffy beard, the beautiful lines of his eyes as he smiled. The
cocky way the left side of his lip lifted first when he smirked.
She was in awe of him under the dim light of her living room.

Lifting her hand she gently ran her finger over his throat,
running it up and under his chin, taking her time. He
swallowed under her touch and rolled his head toward her.

“They’re brown,” she whispered, tilting her head up to

look at him.
 She twisted a little in his hold and set her coffee mug down
on the long table that ran behind the couch. His eyebrows
furrowed, confused by her statement and she lifted her hands
pulling his glass from his face to set them by her mug. “My
eyes.”

He smiled softly, lifting his hand and resting it on her thigh

as she tucked her knees against her chest next to him. His
fingers rubbed gently at the skin exposed just below her shorts
and he leaned in, propping his head onto his elbow on the back
of the couch.

“Give me your hand,” she said and he listened, not

removing the one from her thigh but inside the one holding his
head up. “Here,” she rubbed his finger over her wrist, “I got
that in grade three, I accidentally tripped with a pair of
scissors.”

Beck moved his hand slowly up her arm to her shoulder,

where a larger scar tangled and twisted into her armpit. “I got
tangled in a fence when I was thirteen,” she let him explore the
scar with his thumb before moving it again. Twisting it
through her hair to the back of her ear, “I fell off my bike in
the tenth grade and had a concussion for a week.”

She brought his hand to her face, “there are three freckles
here,” she brushed this finger against the cluster, “a few here,”
over the bridge of her nose. “And one here,” his thumb rubbed
against the top of her lip.

He laughed, “why are you doing this?”

 “Because you can see me,” she said, “you do. Just
differently.”

Beckett watched him swallow tightly, felt his hand twitch

against her face. “Thank you,” he whispered so softly that she
nearly missed the words. “I came to terms with the frustration
that came with being blind a long time ago. Always being one
step behind everyone else, never…” he stopped, pondering his
next words. “Never being able to see the sun or appreciate the
beauty around me. When Jack came into my life he didn’t treat
me different, he helped me understand that even though I
couldn’t see, it didn’t mean I couldn’t live. And I use that, he
fought with me, showed me how strong I am every single day.
But you…” he stopped again. “You Beckett Murphy, gave me
the sun back.”

Saint licked his bottom lip, dipped his head, and brought
his lips closer to hers. Waiting for her to close the gap as
patiently as ever. She took one last look at him before taking
his lips against hers feverishly. Her hand came to tangle into
the hair at the nape of his neck as his hand pressed against the
swell of her ass under her shorts.

In a swift shift, Saint snaked his arm around her, lifting her
by the ass and side until she was straddled on top of him, chest
to chest as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Heavy
breathing filled the small apartment as he traced her body with
his hands, everything moving in unison with each other as he
went.
 She cupped his neck, lifting his jaw with her hands so she
had a better angle on his soft lips as she leaned in more against
him. Moaning as he squeezed her ass in both hands,
whimpering when he retreated and moved them to her hips. He
wasn’t finished though, his fingers hooked into the hem of her
shirt and smoothly lifted it from her body, breaking their kiss
and tossing it to the floor beside them.

He ran his hands against her bare back, taking his time
exploring the skin beneath his hands as she pressed their lips
back together. Her naked chest rubbed against the soft cotton
shirt he had changed into and she moaned as he hooked his
arm around her hip bringing the other to her breast. Gently
kneading it under his palm, teasing the nipple with his fingers
as his tongue dipped into her mouth.

Saint flipped them, Beck’s back landing against the couch,

her legs still straddling his sides she let him fall as he
positioned himself above her. His kisses became lazy as he
dragged his lips against hers. He moaned into the kiss, making
Beck buck into him, fingers tangled into the ends of his hair.
His arm was pressed just above her head on the rest of the
couch, holding himself above her. His other hand finally left
her thigh to the back of her neck so he could deepen the kiss as
he rolled his hips gently into hers.

His thumb brushed her cheek, soft and comforting as she

skated across his back, and around to his stomach with her
fingers until she reached the hem of his shirt. Pushing her
hands beneath, palms flat to his abdomen. Beck felt him tense,
the strain in his jeans rocking against her as she pulled away
from his lips and spoke breathlessly, “take it off, Maddox.”

“So bossy,” he laughed.

Saint shifted on his knees, between her legs, and raised his
arms tugging the gray shirt over his head and discarding it
with hers on the floor. Her head tipped back, a breathy sigh
rolling from her lips as Saint dropped his face into her neck.
Sucking against the skin at the base of her throat. Her stomach
tightened, her clit throbbing. Beck was almost embarrassed by
how wet and needy she was for him. His thumb swiped
beneath the band of her underwear, as Beckett gripped his
bicep, her nerves on fire as he paused to make sure she was
still okay.

“Are you sure Beck?” he asked suddenly, his voice husky

and deep as he hovered against her lips. “We don’t have to do
anything, we can make out like horny teenagers and watch a
movie?”

“Be quiet and come here,” she said.

Saint made a soft moaning sound at her words, eyes falling

closed as he drew in a deep breath. His nose bumped against
hers lightly before he was kissing her again, all-consuming
and toe-curling. His knuckle rubbed at her arm, her heart
thrumming as her stomach wound tighter from his touch.

His mouth found her jaw, and then her throat, grazing her
collarbone with his tongue as he pressed into the swell of her
breasts. His hands worked against her skin, sliding up her
thigh and over the dip of her waist, fingers brushing every path
of Beck’s body. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and
her whole body was a light with heat as she was reduced to a
whimpering mess.

Saint’s mouth latched to her nipple, his other hand still

positioned against her stomach.

“Let me make you feel better,” he growled against her skin

and she could feel herself losing control of the situation.

A common theme around Saint Maddox.

She propped herself up and watched as he shifted back

onto his knees. Pulling her shorts free of her body and placing
a kiss on the inner side of her knee, gently and so slow.

Beckett watched as his lips brushed over her inner thigh.

His beard tickled against her sensitive skin and her thighs
tensed around him as he pressed a feathery kiss to her clit. He
pressed a hand back to the flat of her stomach and waited for
the moan to fall from her mouth as his bottom lip caught on
the sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue flicked out over her
as she fell back onto the couch. His other hand linked around
her thigh, his thumb rubbing against her skin as he used it to
prop her leg open for him.

His tongue made quick work, flicking softly at her

sensitive nub, lapping at her as he savored the taste of her,
nose bumping against her clit. Beck’s body tensed, thighs
attempting to close around Saint’s head as pleasure wound in
her stomach. Her mind was numb from everything around her,
and she pressed her head back against the pillow under her.
Her free hand gripped into his hair as her moans spilled into
the apartment. Saint groaned low in his chest when she pushed
his head further between her legs and rolled her hips chasing
the orgasm that was nearly there.

“Saint,” she growled, her body wracked with pleasure. Her

clit vibrated with every suck and kiss, back arching from the
couch as he teased with his teeth. “Oh fuck,” she moaned as
his hand left her thigh and slipped two fingers into her.

Saint chuckled from the surprised moan, proud of himself.

She clenched around his long, thick, fingers. Spots had

started to dance around behind her eyelids as her eyes fell
closed. Beckett gripped his hair tighter, hips rising from the
couch as the sounds of his fingers moving in and out of her
mixed in the air with the strangled cries from her lips.

“That’s it, sunshine,” Saint rubbed his hand against her

stomach, increasing his pace and curling them to press against
her walls. “Keep quiet,” he hushed her moans, “the neighbors
will send the cops if you start screaming.”

“Maybe they’ll send Jack,” she teased and she could feel
his fingers dig into her skin.

“Behave,” Saint growled, diving back in his lips and

tongue against her clit. Fingers twisting and working her open
as her orgasm dangled before her.

“Or Banks,” she pushed him a little further.

He nipped at her warning, her thighs shaking on either side

of his head, her fingers digging into his hair as the coil
snapped.
 “Don’t stop,” she pleaded. Pleasure fluttered from her,
dripping from her as Saint pumped his fingers within her.

“Just like that,” he growled pressing a kiss to her thigh as

she bucked against his hand and let the last wave of pleasure
ripple through her. Saint pulled back to sit on his knees, taking
in his ruin with pleasure as he ran his hands down her
propped-up legs, his fingers tickling her calves.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he pulled away causing her to sit up

on her elbows.

“Next time Beck,” he said.

She opened her mouth to stop him, needing more but he

turned hearing the sound of her breathing heavily and the
squeaky sound of the old couch, “there’s not enough time for
that.” He scooped her from the couch, kicking the pile of her
shirt and shorts up into his hands with his foot and walking
them to the bathroom as the front door clicked, turning over.

Beckett caught a last-minute glance of Jack as he set two

bags of food on the counter before Saint shut the bathroom
door behind them with his foot.
 25

twenty five

Beckett hobbled from the bathtub, covering herself in a towel.

“I have to go, I’ll be back on Wednesday. Be good.” Saint
kissed her on the forehead and left her in the bathroom to
clean up.

The smell of bread and pasta floated through her

apartment. She could hear him banging cupboards and sighing
as she carefully padded down the hallway, “how do you find
anything in this house?” he groaned, standing up to look back
at her.

Beck had changed into a black tank top and cotton pajama
pants, “What are you doing?”

“Scolding you for your terrible organization skills,” Jack

shook his head, his hair was getting long on top and a little
piece of hair tousled out of place, sticking to his forehead.

Beck giggled at him, moving around the counter. She

pushed the hair back off his face, trailing her finger down and
hooking it in his silver chain. “What are you doing in my
kitchen, Jack?”

“Cooking you dinner,” he looked down at her, his lips

twitching as he tried not to smile. “You barely eat,” he sighed.

He was wearing a dark blue shirt that made him look tan
and it clung to his chest and biceps like it was wet. She
wriggled her nose, taking in the smell of garlic, bacon, and
fresh bread. He leaned forward, kissed her nose, and pressed
his forehead to hers.

“Stop giggling at me and find me the strainer.”

A smirk formed on her lips, “ask nicely Jack.”

A growl vibrated from his throat as his hand finger tucked

into the band of her pants, tugging her hips forward so they
pressed into his, “please.”

“I do love when you beg,” she wriggled from his grip,

shifting away from him and pulling the strainer from a
cupboard below the island. “Here,” she smiled.

“That’s not begging, Canary,” he reached out to grab the

strainer, but she kept her grip on it, pulling him into her. Her
back up against the counter, his hand released the strainer and
skated up her forearm.

Her eyes flickered over his weathered, hard face and sunk
her teeth into her bottom lip, “it’s not?” she asked.

“I’ll teach you later,” he leaned closer. His breath was hot
on her neck, as he pressed both hands to the counter on either
side of her. “If you ask nicely,” he cocked an eyebrow at her.
 “Asking nicely never goes anywhere fun,” she pouted.

“You’re infuriating.” Jack’s lips pressed into a thin line but

his eyes raked over her.

“You love it,” she laughed but a scowl formed on his face
and he pulled back from her to the sink. She slapped her hand
against the island and sighed, realizing what she had said that
triggered him so badly. “I didn’t mean it like that and you
know it.”

Love was such a touchy word for him, she had known that
and still used it so flippantly.

“I didn’t take it that way, and you know it,” Jack said,
avoiding eye contact and grabbing the boiling pot by the
handles.

Steam climbed through the air as he dumped the pasta into

the sink.

“Says the guy abusing the pots and pans,” she laughed as
he slammed the pot back on the stove and turned to her with
dark eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she dropped her tone,
her eyebrows knitting together in worry.

Jack stared at her for a long time, the steam billowing

around him and his hand still gripped around the pot. “I
know,” he said under his breath and nodded to himself before
looking back up at her, the darkness shifting from his face.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she smiled, shifting the

mood.
 Beck shimmied backward and lifted herself onto the
counter. She noticed that the kitchen table, old and past its
prime, was set for dinner and she resisted teasing him for
being so soft. I didn’t mean it like that, her heart thumped
weirdly in her chest as she watched him. The hard tone of his
shoulders, his strong neck, and the harsh line of his haircut at
the base. The way his dog tags chain dug into the skin at the
top of his shirt and how he was sweating from the heat enough
for a small pool of sweat to stain his shirt between his shoulder
blades.

“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know, Murphy.” He

grunted, pulling the bread from the oven and kicking it closed
with his socked foot. She looked over to the front door,
spotting his heavy boots covered in mud.

“Where did you go today?” she asked, curiosity killing the

cat.

He looked back at her briefly, letting a huff of air leave his

mouth. “You notice too much,” he noted, flipping a towel to
his shoulder.

“It hasn’t rained in weeks,” she tilted her head toward him,
trying to get his attention but he didn’t look at her. He just
added the hot pasta to a pan and stirred it quickly with a few
more ingredients that she couldn’t see.

“Beck,” he sighed his shoulders pinned back as he pulled

the pan from the heat. “There are some things you are better
off not knowing about.”

“Ouch first named,” she bit her lip.

 Her time with Jack was going vastly different than she had
expected.

He set the pasta onto plates and walked past her, setting
them on the table. He turned, returning to the kitchen to grab a
few more things before helping her off the counter in silence
and pulling out her chair for her at the table.

“Jack, you can’t just give me the silent treatment all

night.”

“Stop asking stupid questions I can’t answer,” he replied as

he slid a beer to her across the table.

“What’s preventing you from answering them?” She

asked.

He shook his head, his tongue darting out over his bottom
lip with frustration, “you.”

“Cute,” she sighed. The food looked amazing but suddenly

her appetite was mute.

“Why do you have to do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Question everything, you always have to be noisy.” His

chest heaved in frustration.

“I just want to understand you, I want to know what’s

going on. You told me earlier you would try to give me that,
what happened?” She clenched her hand around her fork.

“I can be here, I can talk to you about us, about this. But if
I tell you all the shit I do, Murphy, you wouldn’t want me near
you. You wouldn’t want to have dinner or talk,” he huffed.

“You don’t get to make that decision for me.” She argued.
“It’s cruel and I’m not a child.” She reached out for him, but
he flinched away from her, she tucked her hands back into her
lap surprised by his reaction.

“I don’t,” he paused, his hands flexed against the table as

he composed himself. “I won’t give you another reason to
choose them over me,” he sighed.

Beck looked at him, past the hard edge of his jaw into the
sadness that lingered in the twitch of his lip and the darkness
of his eyes. He was scared. She pushed from her chair and
walked around the stupid old table, pulling his hand away. She
made room for herself whether he wanted it or not and pulled
herself against his neck. His heart was beating so fast she
could feel it through his thin shirt as her nose brushed against
the chain in the crook between his shoulder and neck.

Slowly she felt his arms wrap around her, his fingers
finding purchase on her sides and squeezing. He held her like
that, tangled in one another as the food cooled and his
breathing slowed to a normal pace. She pulled back carefully,
allowing him the time to hide behind his mask if he needed to
before she looked at him again. “I’m sorry I ever gave you the
impression that I was picking a favorite,” she pressed a hand
to his jaw and felt him tense under her touch. “Do you know
what keeps people moving, living, thriving in life?”

He watched her as she spoke, his hand against her leg and
the other supporting her position on his lap at the back of her
spine. “Love,” he answered, unsure of himself. The word
sounded awkward leaving his lips.

“Balance.” She corrected him, brushing her fingers against

his stubble. “Without balance you become overwhelmed. Saint
is soft, kind, and attentive. He’s that first bit of sunshine after a
thunderstorm, warmth. He’s made for lovers. Banks is a
hurricane, he’s a meteor shower, he’s loud and messy. He
comes in hot and burns bright. He’s made for the sinners.”

“You’re not making this easier,” Jack shook his head, his
mask gone, and his face seemed too soft. She was almost
scared to stare at him for too long if he kept looking at her like
that- she shook the feeling and sighed.

“Just listen for once,” Beck pressed her forehead against

his shoulder, avoiding his intense glare. “You’re always
watching, even when you pretend you aren’t. You’re honest
even when I don’t ask you to be but you know I need it. And
even though you won’t tell me, I know,” she looked back up at
him finally. “That you would do anything to protect me.”

“You’re the moon, Jack.” She whispered so confidently

she heard the pieces of his heart stitching back together in the
silence around them.

“You feel alone but there’s always a broken heart looking

up at you in the sky. Praying to feel whole again and just for a
minute, in your tender shadow they feel that peace just long
enough to fall asleep without tears in their eyes.” Her lip
twitched watching his brows furrow as he listened to her. “You
were made for the fighters.”
 Jack pulled her against him, crashing his lips into her as
his hands pressed under her shirt and into her back lifting her
so they were at eye level. Her hands wrapped around his neck,
trailing up so they were cupped against the back of his head.
Every single movement was hungry and needy as Jack pulled
her shirt up from the bottom with his hands, breaking their kiss
and tossing it to the floor. She pressed her chest against him as
she fumbled to reach his hem and strip him of his shirt.

He lifted his arms for her, a growl leaving her lips against
his as the cold settled against her back where his hands had
once been. He returned quickly, finding their place against her
shoulder blades as he brought her further into his lap. He
groaned as she rubbed against the growing hardness beneath
his jeans, his tongue slipping into her mouth as her hands
pressed against his bruised and battered chest.

Jack lifted her, pushing the plates of food away from them,
and set her against the table. A mix of heavy breathing and
dishes fell to the floor as she wrapped her legs around his
waist, holding him against her in case he dared to pull away
before she was done. Beck’s lips parted as she loosened her
hold to help him unbutton his pants, the sound of his belt
hitting the dining room floor ringing out around them. He
laughed against her mouth as she ran her tongue along his
bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth and softly biting
down.

His lips left her skin for a moment to pull off her pants,
standing back he looked at Beck before starting back on her
mouth until she leaned back against the table, her legs
dangling behind him. He kissed a delicate trail down her body,
undoing the clasp of her black, lacy bra and taking a nipple
between his mouth sending a warm jolt down her spine to her
core. Beck arched against him, her hands reaching around and
clawing at his back. Beck resisted the desire to force him to
enter her as he sucked and rolled his tongue around her breast,
working at the other with his hand, her head lulling back so
her hair cascaded down to the table behind her like a waterfall.

“Jack,” she moaned lightly, tugging at his hair to bring him

back up for a kiss. He smirked against her bare skin and kissed
lower, her breathing hitching as he passed her belly button.

“Baby,” she breathed as he ran his fingers underneath the

sides of her panties. She felt the smile grow on his face as he
pressed a soft kiss to her thigh, pulling them down without
hesitation as she lifted her hips to help him. He pushed the
chair back, kneeling, and brought her legs over his shoulders.
Closer and closer until she felt him brush against the wetness
of her core.

“Murphy,” he growled, peering up at her with hungry eyes.

“Beg for it,” He paused short of her aching need for him and
waited, his hands gripped around her thighs holding her ass
against him.

She tilted her head to the side, enjoying the tension that
built up between them as he made her wait for a reprieve.
“Jack, please.” She whined.

“You can do better than that,” his fingers pressed harder

into her thigh the longer she waited. “Try again,” he
whispered. “What do you want?” He asked.

She growled, “Fuck me, Callahan, before I get bored.”

“Lessons later,” he huffed in frustration. He squeezed her

thigh a little tighter as she let her head fall back and finally, he
ran his tongue between her folds until she gasped into the
empty apartment. She stifled another moan as her hand found
purchase deep in his hair, holding him to her. He worked her
clit as he inserted two fingers into her, she clenched around
him from the sudden penetration and inhaled sharply.

Jack curled his fingers, “don’t get quiet on me,” slowly

fucking her with them before he abruptly slid out and stood
over her.

“Don’t be cruel,” she retorted, moaning at his absence as

she sat up to kiss his wet lips.

Beck fumbled to get his pants off as he stuck his slick

fingers to her lips. She let them in sucking them as her hand
found his thick erection and started moving her hand with the
same rhythm. Jack stepped from his jeans, and his fingers fell
from her lips and onto her breast. He kissed her hungrily as
she ran her fingers over the head of his weeping cock, her free
hand finding his chest. She widened her legs and stuck the
fingers that had been working his length into herself, coating
them in her wetness.

Jack realized what she had done when her slick fingers
found their way back to his cock, he moaned against her neck
as his finger twisted around a sensitive nipple. He pulled away,
watching her stroke him with dark eyes as he licked his bottom
lip. Standing tall, strong, and naked in front of her she dropped
her hand and took him in.

His dog tags the only thing left hung lazily against the
hardened muscle of his chest which extended down past his
hips and sharp pelvis to the swell of his thighs. Bruises
married his tan skin, tangled with hundreds of nasty scars that
she hadn’t noticed before. “My baby sure is beautiful,” he
sighed, ignoring her staring for his own study of her body.

“Come back to me,” Beck’s chest heaved, his words

sinking into her heart like slivers of glass.

She braced one hand against the table and wrapped the
other around his neck, staring at him as she rubbed his skin
with her thumb. Jack braced himself on the table on her other
side and wrapped his strong arm, bicep corded with muscles
and veins around her waist. “Please.”

“Always,” he said as he slid into her as deep as he could

get.

Beck’s head fell back against his grip, his lips finding her
exposed neck with hungry open kisses that sent shivers
through her sensitive body. He pulled himself away before
pushing back in, steadily quickening his pace until the table
squeaked, and groaned beneath them. Their gasps tangled with
the steady sound of their skin slapping together until Jack
started to tense above her. She yelped, clenching around him
as he unwrapped himself from her and slipped his thumb to
her clit.
 Beck supported herself and him on the table as he let go of
it and wrapped his hand near the base of her throat. Squeezing
gently, he ravaged her body with furious thrusts. Beck’s arms
tingled as her body wracked with pleasure, wave over wave,
“keep going,” she begged.

Jack quickened his pace further, nearly lifting her off the
table as he pounded into her. Beck whimpered under his grasp
as her orgasm hit in full force, clenching around Jack as he
filled her impossibly full and thrust into her with his last bit of
effort tipping himself over the edge he pulled out as he
finished pressing himself to her as he came all over her naked
stomach. She collapsed to the table, her toes curled tightly and
her breathing uneven as she took pleasure in the sight of them.

He laid there for a moment, out of breath. Both sweaty and

covered in him, sticky and warm. He scooped her into his arms
and carried her to the bathroom. Intrusively she thought about
how high her water bill was going to be because of them.

Running the shower without words he made sure it was

warm and let her crawl into the water first, joining behind her
and placing a tender kiss on her shoulder. Beck hated the
silence, but his fingers curled into her scalp and the smell of
shampoo floated between them as he massaged her head and
cleaned her hair. He kissed her sparingly as he rubbed her
body with soap, his large, blistered hands trailing every inch of
her skin as if he hadn’t seen it just moments ago.

She could feel the feelings sinking in and whether he was

ready and willing for them. They were there. From each touch
to every look, he gave her. Jack had sunk his claws into her
heart, and she was afraid of the catastrophic hemorrhaging that
was yet to come when he removed them.

“Jack,” she turned in his grasp and looked up at him, the

water pouring over his neck and chest. Her fingers traced
slowly against the rough scar above his heart. “I meant it like
that,” she whispered, tears brimming her eyes.

“I know,” he tugged her against his chest and pressed his

lips to her wet head, his chest heaving from a heavy sigh. “I
know, baby.”
 26

twenty six

Work felt like it was never-ending when she finally managed

to slip away from her desk. The calls that night had been even
more rambunctious than normal, and she really wasn’t in the
mood to deal with people whining about their cats stuck in the
walls or racist old men yelling about teenagers playing
outside.

She pushed her dark hair off her forehead and washed her
face with the cold water from the bathroom sink. Washing
away the heat that had crept to her cheeks. The guys were out
tonight, Banks was on call in case she needed him, but they
had promised to all come home in one piece.

But there was a nauseating pit growing in her belly,

something was wrong, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She mindlessly wandered to the staff kitchen, grabbed a bottle
of water, and slid into one of the metal chairs that surrounded
the long black tables. She watched the world move around on
the other side of the large glass
 windows, everyone busy saving lives and she wondered
for a moment if any of those calls involved Jack and Saint.

She was still suffering from the trauma of finding them an

inch away from death in the back of the gym and wasn’t
prepared to find them like that any time soon. But like the
universe read her mind and felt like playing a cruel trick, the
phones erupted in a chorus and the entire building switched
into high alert.

“Hey, get out here,” she was halfway out of her chair when
Luke stuck his head into the kitchen and called to her. She
moved behind him as quickly as she could to the large, nine-
screen television that hung on the west wall of the call center.
The news was reporting a massive warehouse fire downtown.

“That’s a drug site,” Luke said, standing next to her. His

shoulder pressed to hers she could feel the tension in his body
as the scenes of the massive fire flashed across the screens.
There were more than fifteen units on the scene including
Topper. His usual button-up demeanor had fallen away and
exposed was a panicked, scared man that showed his every
fear to the hundreds of cameras that had circled like vultures to
catch the news.

“Wasn’t there a fire like this? A month ago? Almost killed

those two kids?” Beckett turned to Luke who pressed his
tongue to the inside of his mouth in thought. “Topper had them
arrested but Ashton was sure it was an accident.”

“Do you think it’s connected?” He asked her.

 “It might be, seems weird that two warehouses downtown
both burned down within four blocks of each other downtown,
in one month.” She sighed, catching sight of Ashton on the
scene, his hard jaw was covered in soot and ash as he directed
paramedics around the crowd.

She inhaled sharply, worry seeping into every crevice of

her heart.

“He’ll be okay,” Luke said, feeling her concern. “He’s the

best they have. Why don’t you take off, the phones are
covered, and you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Wow,” She sighed, “that was such a wonderful

compliment Luke, thank you.” She pushed him in the arm,
trying to hide every other fear that coursed through her. The
ones that weren’t for Ashton.

The one for Saint.

The one for Banks.

And especially the one for Jack.

“Are you sure?” She asked. Every inhale was sharp and
shallow.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t Beck, go home,” Luke

confirmed.

She hoped they were far, far away from whatever the hell
was going on with the warehouses downtown but with the
information that the warehouses were drug hideouts made her
adrenaline spike and all the blood rush to her head. The second
the fires could be linked to criminal activity a new worry set
into her bones. She had hated not knowing what was going on
with them but now the worry of knowing felt much worse.

“I’ll take that offer,” she nodded, “I could use a beer. Are
you coming to the party on Saturday?” She asked stepping out
of the way of a passing coworker that rushed back to her next.

Luke shrugged, “Maybe, if only to see the trouble you

cause by bringing them all around.”

“Who told you that I was going to bring them all.” She
laughed, collecting her purse.

“You, just now.” Luke laughed and it filled the air.

“You get me every time with that shit,” she shook her
head. “I really need to stop my fucking mouth when people are
assuming things.”

“I’ll see you later,” Luke called as he walked back toward

one of the busy T-shaped tables.

Beckett collected the rest of her things and exited through

the front of the building out into the dark. The air was thick
with the smog from the fire, the warehouse was only twenty
blocks from the call center and less than that from her house.
She covered her nose with her jacket and started down the
sidewalk. Someone would eventually give her shit for walking
home alone, but she needed to gain some independence to help
herself heal from all the trauma she had been going through.
She needed to feel brave just for a short time if anything just to
regain some of her stubborn strength. The stuff she knew was
somewhere deep down inside of her, hiding from the big bad
wolf.

Beckett wanted to be the wolf. Use the fear.

It was time.

But saying it was easier than doing it and her hand still
shook wildly as she gripped the taser that was settled in the
base of her purse and pulled it out. A walk home alone was
still a walk even if she had to protect herself from the shadows
that loomed around her.

The walk home was harder than she imagined it would be.
She was spooked by every sound and jumped at the slightest
disruption in noise. People laughing, garbage was being taken
out, and cars honking, everything seemed to burrow itself
under her paper-thin skin and eat away at her.

She was losing control of what little she had, and she could
feel it. She just had to make it home. All she needed to do. She
could crumble the moment the door was locked. She could
lose all semblance of herself on the kitchen floor and hope to
God that one of them came to find her. To collect the pieces
that she so carelessly laid out for them.

She was three blocks from home when another explosion

rang out into the air. She saw the flames go up into the
blackened sky, her eyes burning from the smoke. She looked
around to see if anyone else had stopped but the streets were
void of anyone and suddenly Beckett felt very alone. She
scurried the rest of the way home not caring about how
pathetic she looked as she unlocked the front door with shaky
hands and pushed herself into the elevator. She finally had a
chance to catch her breath, holding herself up with the bars in
the elevator to keep herself standing. Her arms trembled as she
pushed her weight down into them in a feeble attempt to
ground herself. Her legs felt like jello and her chest was so
tight.

“No,” she said to herself, growling into the empty space.

“No panic attacks until we’re inside our apartment.” She
ordered herself, begging her legs to move forward as the
elevator dinged open.

The smell of copper and ash hit her nose instantly. It

shocked her system into high alert, and she checked her
surroundings. She looked down the hall to her left, but it was
empty, the same as the hall toward her apartment but it wasn’t
until she started her walk toward her door that she noticed the
blood.

There was a large handprint dragged across the milky

white wallpaper, and it led straight to her apartment door. Her
breath caught in her throat and without even thinking the
crackle of the taser filled the air as she turned it on. The
tension seemed to snap and crackle with the short burst of
electricity that the taser gave off.

She wished for a moment that she still had her knife.

She dug her phone out of her purse, checking to see if

anyone had called her and tapping Jack’s number into the
screen. The call went straight to voicemail.
 She tried Saint and Banks, but neither picked up, each long
deep ring that went unanswered increased the panic that grew
within her chest.

Beck was going to have to be brave, she was literally

backed into a corner by her own fear. The kind of fear that left
her without a choice, she had to be the wolf she so desperately
aimed to be.

“Fuck,” she growled, reaching for the doorknob.

“Beckett!” Mr. Hasif swung his door open.

She jumped from the floor, swinging the taser in his

direction as a shrill scream left her throat, “Oh god!” She
clicked it off as soon as she saw the shock in the kind old
man’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, I’m just a little jumpy.” She
apologized quickly as she fought to control her rapid
heartbeat.

Her eyes widened when she saw the state, he was in. His
normally pristine appearance was smeared with blood and ash,
his shirt soaked in red handprints and pools of maroon. “Are
you hurt? Were you in the fire?” she asked, stepping forward.
“Let me get my first aid kit!”

“Slow down child,” he said, “it’s not me.” He raised his

hands, showing her that there was no damage to himself.
“Come,” he hurried her inside his apartment. He locked the
door behind them and took her bag. She set the taser down
beside her things and slipped off her shoes. She had always
noticed that he didn’t wear them in the house and even in such
a panic felt the need to ground herself in her basic manners.
 Two of the kitchen chairs had been knocked to the side and
the floor was stained with large drops of blood and footprints.
“Mr. Hasif,” she called to him as he silently moved through his
apartment. His was bigger than hers, it had two bedrooms and
a larger bathroom that he disappeared into before answering
her.

“Jack?” She turned the corner of the bathroom.

Jack was slumped into the tub, blood covering his face and
neck, it dripped from a massive wound above his eyebrow and
from somewhere at the back of his head. His eyes were closed
and the black shirt he wore was barely a shirt anymore. It was
singed and ripped apart around his shoulder and bicep, as well
as near the base by his hips where she could see massive burns
crawling up his skin.

“How did…” she gasped, falling to her knees beside the

tub.

“My dear, there is no time to cry.” Mr. Hasif rubbed a hand

over her head. “You said you have a first aid kit?” He asked,
kneeling beside her.

Beckett brushed her hand over Jack’s face, he was barely

breathing, and his body twitched under her touch. He was still
wearing his boots, and jeans both looked unharmed except for
a small rip in his thigh above the empty weapon holster that
was bleeding.

“Ms. Murphy,” he said, “he needs help.”

 “How did you find him?” she asked, swallowing the vomit
that climbed from her throat. “Was there anyone with him?”

The fear took over every reasonable fiber in her body and
the panic set in.

“He was alone, but he kept asking for you. He was calling
out for his canary… I don’t understand what…” He trailed off
when she finally looked at him.

“Oh,” he stopped, “I see,” he nodded, pressing his hand to

her face.

“Will you help me get him into my apartment?” she asked

him, pushing the panic away and taking control of herself and
her emotions.

“Of course,” he scurried away as fast as his old knees

would take him and returned with a wheelchair. “From when
Sita was sick, I never had the heart to get rid of it. Seems it
came in handy,” he nodded.

She groaned as she pulled Jack from the tub, “you gotta
help us,” she whispered to him, and he responded with a low
growl that came from his chest. He fell forward against the
counter but managed to hold himself upright until she could
spin him into the chair.

He huffed, his chest was moving too fast, his breathing too
shallow to be healthy. “there’s my baby,” he smiled, but the
corners of his mouth didn’t reach his eyes and she could feel
all the pain he was in just from the small motion.
 “Thank you,” she turned to Mr. Hasif and she thought that
she should shake his hand but instead she fell into his arms
and hugged him tightly.

“It’ll be okay sweet girl,” he said as he pulled back and

squeezed her shoulders, “now go!” He pushed her out the door
and walked her over to her apartment helping her carry her
things. “Please call me if you need assistance,” he instructed,
and she nodded. “Lock this behind me.” He pointed to the
door, and she inhaled deeply as she followed him back to the
door.

The second the door shut the tears poured from her, she
leaned against the hardwood and let the puddle form on the
ground beneath as she pressed her forehead against it. She
gave herself half a minute, thirty whole seconds to collect
herself before she moved back to Jack.

“Callahan!” She grabbed his chin, begging him to open his

eyes, and when he finally did, she hissed. They were
bloodshot, his pupil blown and the left one was seeping with
blood. “Are you gonna live through this?” She barked, scared
out of her mind she couldn’t afford to be soft with him.

“I’m immortal, Murphy,” he chuckled, but the sound was

strangled.

“Good, because when you can stand, I’m going to kill you
myself.” She snarled as she pressed her forehead to his.

She didn’t say anything else as she worked slowly to strip

him of the destroyed clothing. She used a pair of scissors to
split the shirt up in the middle. His chest was a mess of
bruises, gashes, and burns. She felt the tears sting her eyes,
and her heart felt like it was in her throat. She tried to focus on
Jack’s injuries and did everything in her power to keep her
mind from wandering to the possibility that he was the only
one that made it out alive.

He groaned roughly, coughing up some blood as she

worked his arms out of the shirt and tossed it to the floor. She
grimaced seeing the giant piece of metal shrapnel that was
embedded in his shoulder, “Jack,” she growled. “You need a
doctor.”

“I needed my canary,” he moaned, completely ignoring

her.

“Fuck,” she groaned, running to the bathroom she grabbed

the first aid kid along with the sewing kit that was in the hall
closet. She dropped everything to the floor, scooping her arms
up and underneath him so she could slide him to the floor. In
his half-conscious state, he was all dead weight and it felt like
he weighed a thousand pounds.

She flipped off the gun holster he wore and tossed it in a

separate pile, alongside his boots and belt. She shucked off his
pants as carefully as she could without rubbing the fabric
against the piece of metal that protruded out of his inner thigh.
Thankfully the piece was small and practically fell out just
from her touching it.

It was the burns on his right hip and lower stomach she
was concerned about. They didn’t appear to be deep but the
skin was hot and blistered. She’d have to clean it the best she
could and cover it later. She hissed at the sight of him, holding
in her sobs. She couldn’t let him die.

She needed him.

Beck stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed the only clean

cloth she had and ran back to the kitchen to fill a glass with
warm water. She came back to him sliding down on her knees
and kissing the ridge of his sweaty, dirty brow. She held her
lips against his skin, trying to chase the life that she knew was
still there. Taking a moment to ground herself before she had
to cause him more pain.

“Okay baby,” she whispered, “this is gonna hurt.”

She dumped the cloth in the warm water letting it soak up

as much as she could before she rang it out over the burn that
covered his hip and stomach. His body lifted into hers, and he
grabbed her thigh with enough force to surely leave bruises.
She pushed him back against the floor and continued to clean
the blisters until she could get a better look at them. They
weren’t as nasty and swollen once the ash was washed away
from them and she was able to cover them with a light
bandage.

“That felt great,” he choked out, pressing a bloody hand

over hers. “I’m sorry Murphy,” he huffed out, rolling over to
try to get up. “I got…” he said, collapsing back to the dining
room floor. “I gotta,” he tried again but his arms wouldn’t hold
his weight and watching him try was breaking her heart.

“Stop,” she pleaded with him through a clenched jaw. “Let

me take care of you,” she wrapped a hand around his face and
made him look at her. “Jack, please.”

The word that always seemed to mean more to them than

just a simple request. It was a declaration. A plea. A promise.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he huffed, lowering himself

back to the floor, rolling back over to his back, and trying to
slow his shallow breathing. His dark eyes were heavy from the
intense pain he was fighting to keep them open.

“Like what Jack?” She sighed, digging through the first aid
kit for more bandages to keep her hands busy.

“Like you’re…” he choked on his own blood again, rolling

to the side to spit it on the floor away from himself. “You’re
scared to lose me.”

She looked up at him, fury barreling through her, “Jack

Callahan, you’re an asshole when you’re in pain.”

She wanted to kick his ass, but it wouldn’t be rewarding

enough because he couldn’t fight back. She would wait until
he was healthy again and then remind him repeatedly how
much he meant to her in the form of a good old-fashioned
beating.

Jack laughed, it was strangled and pitiful but he laughed.

God, she hated him. She opted out of verbally abusing him and
crawled to the fridge, hands covered in ash and blood to grab a
beer. She popped it open, laying back against the cupboards,
and caught her breath. She downed the beer and slid the empty
across the floor before grabbing another and returning to him.
 “Deep breath,” she instructed, and he did his best to fill his
lungs as she pulled the hunk of metal that was roughly lodged
in his tense shoulder.

It dropped to the floor with a loud thunk and she kicked it

away from them before she started to clean the wound.
Whatever had been tore clean through his skin and into the
muscle beneath. Stitching it up without another set of hands to
hold him down was going to be impossible.

She pressed her blood-soaked hand to her thighs and tried

to come up with a better solution. There was no way she could
tie him down and there wasn’t anything in her house to do it
with. She ran her eyes over his body and pressed her ear to his
chest, listening to his breathing the best she could.

“Jack,” she pressed harder, “are your ribs okay?” she

asked, hoping he would answer.

“Yeah,” he coughed.

“Good,” she swung her leg over him, resting her weight on
his chest and trapping his arms against his side.

“Murphy if you want a ride it’s going to have to wait,” he

groaned as she settled down.

“Idiot,” she huffed, “it’s so you don’t punch me when I do

this,” she ground her teeth together and pressed the needle
through his skin and muscle.

“Shit,” he swore, his body writhing beneath her from the

pain. His hand wrapped around her ankle at his side, digging
his fingers into what felt like her bone as she continued.
 The metal waned under the pressure, but she managed to
get the first stitch through. Stitch by stitch he fought the pain,
keeping his eyes trained on her as she pushed the blood-slick
metal through his skin. Seventeen rough and uneven x’s later
the wound was closed, and Beckett could breathe.

She rolled off him, his hand reaching for her as she
collapsed from exhaustion on the floor. “We’re not done yet,”
she huffed, mostly to herself but she felt him rub a lazy circle
against her arm and she forced herself back up onto her knees.

She worked on his thigh, leaving hundreds of tiny

fingerprints in her wake as she cleaned, stitched, and cleaned
again. She did the same with his eyebrow, instructing him to
close his eyes.

She looked down over him and sighed a deep breath of

relief. His breathing had slowly returned to normal, and he
seemed to be taking longer inhales with every moment that
passed. He had lost so much blood that the floor beneath them
was nothing but puddles of maroon-soaked clothing and
bandages. Her jeans and shirt were soaked in his blood and the
strands of her dark hair that had fallen around her face were
caked and stiff.

She pushed his head away from her, inspecting the cut at
the back of his head. It wasn’t deep but it looked as if he had
been hit by something.

Beckett groaned, pushing away her need to ask him a

million questions. “Jack…” she tried not to cry, if she started
again, she might not stop.
 “They got out,” he mumbled, turning his head in her vice
grip to look at her eyes. He wrapped his hand around hers and
brought her palm to his lips. “They got out Beckett,” he
repeated, his mouth hot against her skin. The blood on her
hand left a small trace around his lips but he kissed her skin
again, showing her that he was alright, he was alive.

She felt the world loosen the strangling hold it had around
her throat and finally, she could breathe properly. She felt her
whole-body collapse into his body, exhaustion rolling through
her as her shoulders wracked against him. She sobbed into his
skin, the smell of blood and ash filling her nose as she cried
out.

“Breathe, canary,” he whispered, pulling her a little tighter.

She wrapped her hands around him and rested against his
chest, chasing the sound of his faint heartbeat beneath the
scars and bruises. “You won’t find it,” he mumbled into her
hair, reading her mind. “It’s not in there,” he said and she
looked up at him, “it’s in here.”

She screwed her eyes shut as he pressed a large warm hand

into the collar of her shirt and against her chest. “It can’t die, if
they can’t find it.”

“That’s not funny,” she snapped and let him wipe the tears
from her eyes even if it only replaced them with more of his
blood.

“It wasn’t a joke, baby,” he rolled to his side, pushing

away from her and to his knees.
 “What the hell happened Jack?” She asked.

He turned his head to look at her, his shoulders rolling

back to shake out the tension.

His dark eyes settled on hers, “someone wants us dead.”

 27

twenty seven

“I’ll find you some clothes,” she said to him, running the
warm water over her hand. The stream rinsed her skin of his
blood and the soot from the fire down the drain but she wished
it had dragged her anxiety and worry down with it.

Jack leaned on the door frame; his body battered from

head to toe. The blood on his face had become stuck and dried
in a thick red line down his stern face and into his beard. It
dripped down his arm and in the rigid curves of his strained
abdomen, drenching the hem of his boxers and continuing
down over his thick thighs. He shifted uncomfortably on his
feet, taking his weight off the sore leg that still looked swollen
and red around the wound.

He watched her as she stood, drawing the curtain for him

and extending her hand. He grumbled something about being
able to get in the shower himself but accepted the help and
leaned on her for support.
 He hissed as the water hit his burns, his face scrunching up
into a tight ball as he held his breath and worked through the
searing pain. Beckett tried to let go but his grip was cemented,
and his fingers dug into the base of her wrist. “Don’t leave
me,” he whispered, his face finally relaxing as he looked away
from her.

She hated that the barrier remained up, that he couldn’t just
ask her for help. That he could barely look at her while he did
so but she couldn’t refuse him. No matter how badly she
wanted to tell him no, to tell him to look her in the eyes when
he asked, she couldn’t do it. Instead in the quiet of her
bathroom, she stripped from her work-stained and ruined work
clothes and climbed into the shower behind him.

Her mouth fell open, grief grasping her tightly as she took
in the state of his muscular back. She had never seen it before,
not this close, not in such a well-lit space. It was littered with
more scars than his front, at least twelve bullet shaped circles
dug into his skin. She traced one that rested above his shoulder
blade and chewed on her lip in a sad attempt to hold back her
tears. She felt him tense under her feathery touch, knowing
what she was seeing he tried to hide his pain from her.

Words didn’t seem enough, nothing she could say would

erase that pain. She could never take away these scars. So she
wrapped her arms up and around him, pressing her face into
his back, avoiding what wounds and bruises she could, and
breathed him in. He linked his hand to hers and let the water
run down over them as a pair. She refused to admit it but the
shower was exactly what her body and mind needed. A
moment to reel from the last hour of panic and stress. When
she had told them no more late-night medical meetings alone
she hadn’t expected one of them to nearly drop dead on her
doorstep nearly a week later. And to bring poor Mr. Hasif into
the tangled mess that was their lives was simply unfair.

She would have to make sure he was okay and offer to

help him clean his apartment tomorrow morning. She couldn’t
leave his generosity to go without a thank you.

The sound of the water covered the soft sobs that wracked
Jack’s body, but she could feel him shake against her as he
pushed his free hand through the stream of water to the wall
behind it and braced himself. She held on as tightly as she
could and let him cry, it was all she could do.

She understood why he was crying; she just couldn’t do

anything to soothe him. If she broke the safe silence that
floated between them at that moment he would harden and
close up again. She would spend weeks trying to get any sort
of emotional response out of him again. No, she had to let him
do this. No matter how badly it hurt to hear him cry, she had to
let him get it out.

“I need you,” he whined suddenly, and Beckett had never

heard such brutal desperate despair in his husky voice.

He turned quickly, rolling his hands up her naked body

before he brushed her wet hair back off her face, and kissed
her. He pulled her mouth against his and backed her up against
the wall behind her, the cold tiles stinging her warm skin as he
tugged on her bottom lip. She ran her hands up and around his
back, running her fingers over every ridge of his tense
muscles, memorizing them with her fingers as he slid his
tongue into her mouth.

If this was what he needed to feel safe, then she was

willing to stay in the shower until the water ran cold and her
legs buckled from exhaustion beneath her. He moved his
hands through her wet hair and tugged her impossibly close to
him as he pushed his leg between her thighs relieving the
pressure that had begun to build in the pit of her stomach. She
leaned back into the rough grasp of her hair and allowed him
to trace her throat with sloppy, warm kisses. He trailed down
her body, slowly and clumsily in his state of exhaustion until
his mouth found her breasts. He admired the soft curves of the
tops, working his way around both and pulling her nipples into
his mouth one by one. He swirled his tongue around her
sensitive skin as his hands pressed down against her ass and
pulled her hips toward him.

He rocked her until she was riding his thigh, building the
pressure and driving her nuts. She would become a puddle in
his arms if he continued that way. She was pushed up on her
tiptoes, relying on him not to drop her as she slid against the
wet tile. He moved her faster, nipping at her skin as she
reached around and took his hard length between them in her
hand, wrapping her fingers around him and pumping up and
down.

She worked with him in tandem with his rocking, one of

his hands left her ass as he pulled away from her. She whined,
needing him closer she let go and tangled her fingers into his
hair just trying to be gentle in their hungry, panicked state.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slamming into her. She was lifted off
the ground again as he entered her to the hilt. “I’m sorry,” he
whispered against her skin as he pulled out and thrust inside of
her again filling her impossibly full as he worked through his
apology.

“It’s okay,” she ran her hands over his face, cleaning his
skin of the blood and soot that stained his skin. It rained down
between them, making everything a dirty shade of pink as he
fucked her relentlessly against the bathroom wall. “Everything
is alright baby,” she whispered, consoling him the best she
could.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he pulled back, his hips still

rocking into her, wracking her entire body with bundles of
butterflies that seemed to twist up into her chest. “I shouldn’t
have scared you.” He said, kissing her so she couldn’t fight
back. His hands were hot and suffocating in all the best ways
as he ran them over her face and back.

“This is exactly where you should be,” she whispered

breathlessly as the coil that had wound itself tightly inside of
her snapped. Her cunt clenched around him as she tumbled
back against the tiles and let the rush of pleasure run its course
through her already frayed nerves.

Jack wasn’t far behind, his entire body tensed and he

wrapped himself around her. He plunged as deeply as he
could, over and over each thrust sloppier than the last as he
came undone in her arms. He buried his cock in her pussy and
his face in her neck as the low rumble poured from his throat.
He held onto her, not ready to release his grip as she kissed his
neck and shoulder, avoiding the harsh stitches she had marked
his skin with.

“Can you stand?” He asked her softly, pulling back he

turned his face into her jaw and kissed it tenderly as she
nodded.

He untangled his hands from her waist and let her legs
drop to the shower floor, waiting until he knew she was stable
to slide free of her. His hair and lashes were heavy with water
as he stared down at her. She knew that look, it was Jack
stitching his resolve back together. Burying his feelings back
inside of his soul, collecting the hand he hadn’t meant to show
her but had dropped at her feet in a moment of weakness.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered barely louder than the

shower, “don’t retreat back into that cold, barren headspace
unless you’re willing to take me with you, Jack Callahan.”

The muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes flickered down
over her body, his grip on her leg had left forming soft purple
bruises and she watched the guilt dance across his expression
before he turned away from her.

“Canary,” he whispered, turning back after he had shut off

the water.

“You don’t get to call me that,” she climbed from the

shower, ignoring his extended hand. “Out,” she instructed and
much to her surprise he listened, letting her dry his hair and
wrap a clean towel around him.

“Sit,” she barked, and he listened again. Her legs were

wobbly from the sex but she padded to the kitchen as he rested
against the side of the tub with the towel tucked around his
hips.

She scowled at the state of her floor, this apartment had

seen so much violence in the last month that she wasn’t sure
how she would ever wash it from the walls. It felt haunted.

Beckett chewed on her lip, her mind getting lost in the

shiny pool of blood that was left from the deep wound in
Jack’s shoulder. Her reflection stared back at her and she was
angry with the girl she saw. Pathetic and pushed around. She
huffed, kicking Jack’s ruined shirt into it to help sop up the
mess before she grabbed clean bandages and walked back to
him.

“Are you ready to be nice?” she asked rounding the

doorway to find him teary-eyed again. He swallowed whatever
emotion he was fighting against and nodded, leaning back so
she could cover the big wounds that needed dressing.

When she was finished, she left him sitting there, padding
into her room and tugging a shirt that Saint had left in the
laundry basket over her head. It smelled like him, the tangled
toxic mix of sweat and mint filling her nose and replacing the
hard metal tang of Jack’s blood as it rested against her sore
thighs. She pulled on a clean pair of underwear and ran a brush
through her wet hair.
 Jack entered her room silently, moving around her to his
duffle bag in the corner and roughly kneeling over it, pulling
out clean clothes for him and shucking them on with more
grunts and groans. Beck couldn’t look at him, not without
letting the anger take a back seat to the intense guilt and grief
she felt so she left him alone again and started to clean the
mess they had made in the kitchen.

“Beckett,” she heard him call to her as she dropped his

boots and jeans into the sink with a thud. “Come to bed,” he
begged her.

She hunched over the sink, her hands gripping the counter
so tightly the edges cut into her skin and her knuckles washed
over white. She knew if she looked at him, she would break
and right now if she did that, she may never be able to fight
him again. This would be the fight that broke her, like an
abused dog she would always return to him with the tail
between her legs because no matter the fight in her heart she
loved him too much to stay away.

Could she survive that? The endless pain of his silence in

exchange for his touch? The torture that was served to her cold
on a gold platter. The worry that came with loving Jack
Callahan would kill her.

“Beck,” he said again as if she hadn’t heard him.

She knew that she had told him that this is what she
wanted, that she needed to be in on everything to feel
comfortable with them. That she didn’t want to be lied to
anymore, but her emotions were strangled by fear. She
couldn’t think straight, she expected bruises and cuts. “You
almost died Jack.” She blurted out. “You almost died and
if….” She tried to breathe through the panic attack that she
could feel building in her chest.

“I know,” he tried to hide the limp in his step as he walked

around the island toward her stopping a foot away from her,
unsure if she was okay with him touching her. He leaned
against the counter, trying to catch her eye line. But when she
wouldn’t look at him, he turned his gaze to the other side of
the apartment. “Banks called us, there was a group of women
being held in a new warehouse, said that they had been
shuttled in that morning. Looking rough. We couldn’t waste
time, we had to get them out.”

“So you went in unprepared, no clue what you were

walking into?” She stared at the puddle of blood on the floor,
the puddle that had come from his lifeless body. He moved to
block her eye line, sinking to his knees so she could look into
his eyes.

They were so dark and sad.

He looked exhausted.

“It was stupid, but we got them out Beck, every single one
of them.” He explained, “Everything was on fire.” He
swallowed thickly, “Saint got turned around and it was so
damn hot.”

She ran a thumb over his lips, realizing how selfish she
was being. He had been through hell and here she was making
him relive it. “You know the drill,” she sighed, “into bed.”
 28

twenty eight

THREE DAYS LATER

“Morning sleepy head,” Saint’s voice pulled her from the

lazy sleep she had fallen into on the bed. Tangled in his arms
and her face pressed against her chest as soft music played
through her familiar apartment. “Not a single nightmare,” he
smiled and brushed his knuckle against her jawline.

“There’s no time for them, I’m never alone,” she stretched

her body so she could tilt her chin and reach his lips. He
cupped her jaw with his fingers so feathery and light that the
touch was barely there at all. “You’re ridiculous, doing this.
You’re all exhausted from the explosions but the three of you
insist on sitting up all night staring at me like I might break if
you blink.”

Beckett had come to find out that this wasn’t the first time
the fires had been targeted. In fact, the warehouse fire that
Ashton had been called to the month before had been a drug
warehouse too. The fires were a pattern and it seemed like
everyone close to her had somehow gotten tangled up in them.
It had been laid at their feet. Banks suffered no wounds,
seemingly fine other than a snappy remark here and there. He
seemed to handle things differently than Jack. Everything that
had been going on messed with his mind rather than his body.
The injuries that Saint and Jack suffered made him feel
responsible, at fault somehow and he had spent the week tip
toeing around them. Saint fared better than Jack, a few bruised
ribs and minor blisters to his hands where he had touched the
walls to find his way out of the inferno. Jack worried her, he
made himself busy with stupid tasks and avoided speaking to
her alone.She was frustrated, worried and sad. She understood
that was how it went. That they did what they did, and she just
had to go with it but it frustrated her nonetheless.

She pulled from him and stretched properly so her muscles

woke up from their sleep. “No work today,” she turns back to
him, his gaze focused over her shoulder, a soft smile curved on
his lips. “We could go back to bed.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth and ran her finger
under his chin, bringing that cheeky smile to hers in a soft
kiss. “We have to get up,” Saint spoke against her mouth with
his soft lips. “We have to go to that dinner, at Bailey’s.”

She rolled her eyes, throwing herself back against the

couch. “Do we have to?”

It had been easy to forget about the dinner when she was
engulfed in her bubble, tiptoeing around the world, ignoring
everything on the outside except for her men. Jack had fixed
the faucet in her bathroom and both the legs on the kitchen
table. He had laid in bed with her reading Hitchhikers and
devouring her once they got bored. If he hadn’t left when he
did she might have made him move in for the attention alone.

Saint, on the other hand, had come over ready to move in,
his duffle bag was unpacked and in the closet. His work files
were strewn across her dining table before she even had a
moment to process the switch and that she was dating three
men. Three men that were oddly comfortable with the idea of
sharing. Not that she minded, she adored the attention they
gave her.

Banks especially spoiled her. He brought treats and food

every time he appeared for his shift and all they did was fuck
and laugh with one another. She had gotten used to seeing the
soft image of his tousled morning hair and lazy, sex-drunk
smirk every morning. She just wasn’t ready to share that with
the world. Any time James asked she avoided telling him who
she was dating. Ashton had shown up on Tuesday with coffee.
She hadn’t thought twice about it as she slid into Jack’s lap at
the island while she listened to Ashton talk about his calls
from the night before.

The look he had given her was burned into her memory.
She was nervous that everyone would be in the same room and
secretly hoped Luke would be there to act as a buffer. She
knew he was listening to her panic, waiting for her to confess
it to him. He had been giving her the space to tell him, and she
appreciated it. She knew it was killing him to wait for her to
tell him she was upset or scared. She saw it every time his
hand clenched against his thigh, or his jaw ticked when her
heartbeat sped up.

“You know we do, besides you already told Jack and he’s
looking forward to torturing Bailey with his presence alone.”
Saint chucked, his head tilted as he listened to her try and
steady her breathing. “And Banks well…” he was referring to
the golden retriever man-child like he wasn’t in the apartment,
singing loudly in the shower to what sounded like Lady Gaga.
They had crossed over days, Saint not needing to be at work
and Banks not minding sharing the bed on his night.

“That was my first mistake, they’re going to be

insufferable.” Beck slinked off the bed knowing full well if
she stayed curled up in Saint’s lap she would end up crying or
sleeping. Again.

“You want coffee?” She asked, turning to see that Saint

had followed her, his steps so quiet sometimes he scared her
how silent he was. He nodded and leaned against the island
with the palms of his hands on the countertop behind him.

“I don’t know why they hate each other so much, James

gave Jack my case.” She spilled grinds across the counter as
she pulled the bag from the counter and swore under her
breath. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she
started to clean the counter, she swept the grinds into the sink
and ran the water.

His arms came around her, starting with her shoulders he

gently ran his fingers down to her wrists, pulling back and
wrapping around her stomach. He pulled her against her,
balancing her with his own body and letting her sink into his
support. His chin brushed against the side of her head as he
spoke, “I know I’m not supposed to,” he paused, placing a soft
kiss on her temple that was tender enough to pull a tear from
her eye. “But it’s breaking me apart to feel you so scattered, so
anxious. I’m here, let me help.”

“I don’t think there’s any simple solution for this,” Beck

sighed brushing the tear away with the back of her hand.

“I can’t promise tonight is going to go how you want it to

but I can promise that I’ll be there, to help you,” he sighed, his
chest moving against her back. “To help curb Jack and the
man-child.”

She took a solid breath of air and settled her anxiety into
her trust for Saint.

“Good,” he whispered as her shoulders relaxed. “Now out

of the way, sunshine,” he gave her another kiss on the head
and pulled away from her. “You make horrible coffee,” he
slapped her ass with a devilish grin on his face.

“Cheeky,” she shook her head at him. “It’s not that bad,”
she stopped before the hallway, his head turning in her
direction, laughter falling from his beautiful lips. “Saint
Maddox! You guys have been drinking it for weeks!”

She heard Banks cackle from the bedroom, the angelic

sound filling the apartment.

“You hum The Police, Roxanne, I think… when you make

it. It’s cute,” he licked his bottom lip. “I drink the coffee
because it’s a moment during the day when you’re unplagued
by the world around you. A moment when I can hear your
content happiness.”

“But not this morning?” she asked, watching him drag his
hand across the counter closer to her voice.

“Not this morning, love.” He extended a hand, searching

for her, and she obliged him, stepping back toward him and
pressing her face into his hand. “So, if you’re going to be sad,
at least we can drink decent coffee.”

“You’re such a shit,” Beck laughed kissing his wrist before

she pulled away from him and padded down the hall to her
room, passing Banks who smelled like clean laundry and
cinnamon hearts. He kissed her slowly, wrapping his arm
around her waist.

“Morning angel,” he kissed her neck and collarbone before

letting her go. “I have to run into the station, I’ll be back to
pick you all up later. Be good,” he winked. “Or don’t, God
only knows Saint could use a good fucking. Maybe then he’ll
loosen up,” he yelled from the front door before he closed it
behind him.

She heard Saint groan before she entered her room.

Beck closed the door behind her, finally alone for a

moment every emotion flooded into her like a tidal wave. She
turned on the radio and sank to the floor in her closet.

She knew that the noise did nothing to drown out the
sound of her furious heartbeat, or the soft sobs that wracked
her. She also knew that even if they did, Saint understood
perfectly well why she turned it on. And still, he didn’t push,
he let her cry alone in the comforts of her closet.

It was the only way she could get through the day,
whoever was stalking her was still out there and every night
she slept without a nightmare, only furthering her fear.
Whoever it was had been in her house, repeatedly. Hurting her,
watching her while she slept, and she had never known. The
ghost feeling of bruises on her thighs haunted her. It wasn’t a
feeling that Saint, Banks, or Jack could cuddle, or fuck away.
She just needed to cry without them touching her or trying to
make it better sometimes.

When the tears finally stopped falling, she stood,

collecting an arm full of clean clothing. A fresh dark blue shirt
and a pair of jeans that she rolled up around her ankle. She
pulled on a pair of clean sneakers and a plaid shirt, before
pulling up her hair and returning to the kitchen to find a hot
cup of coffee and a bowl of scrambled eggs.

“I didn’t even know I had eggs,” she laughed, sliding next

to him on the island.

“Jack,” Saint noted, eating his own food. Beck ate her
food, devouring the eggs, not realizing how hungry she had
been. Saint was suspiciously silent but she wasn’t prepared to
bother him about what was on his mind.

Her eyes caught the sharp white glare of a piece of a

shattered coffee mug in the garbage, “what happened?” She
really looked at him this time, noticing his left hand was in his
lap, gripping a towel with white knuckles. “Saint,” she scolded
grabbing his hand. “What happened?”

The palm of his hand was bleeding from a nasty gash

along the skin near his thumb. Beck shook her head, scolding
him silently for sitting beside her and eating while he was
bleeding. She ran water in the sink and cleaned the cloth
before bringing it back to his hand and cleaning it properly.

All the while Saint kept his head turned from her, even
without sight he was somehow proficient at avoiding
confrontation. “How did the glass break?”

“I’ll replace it,” he said curtly.

“I don’t care about the mug,” she scoffed, pulling the cloth
back to inspect the cut. “You’re lucky you don’t need more
stitches. What the hell is wrong with you?” She was losing her
patience.

“I’ve sat in this house for three days, listening to you cry in
that closet every morning.” He lifted his head, his gaze falling
on her collarbone. She froze her hand in his and felt his whole-
body tense as the words left his lips. “You cry in the shower;
you cry in your sleep. I can hear your fear, the pain, and I,” he
sighed. “You asked me to wait, wait until you needed me, but
it’s agonizing Beckett.”

She stared at him, trying to find words that might comfort

him. It wasn’t that she didn’t need him, she did. More than
anything she had realized over this week that she needed him,
needed them. It was the fact that she felt dependent on them
now, and what happened when they walked away. What
happened when she was left in the dark to deal with her own
thoughts again? What happened when the chill set into her
bones when he wasn’t there to warm as she slept? She was
scared of more than just the threat to her life, she was scared
that when this was all over it would be her heart that would be
broken.

She could handle pain, handle fear but she was starting to
understand that she couldn’t handle being away from them.
She needed them to breathe all of a sudden and it was
terrifying.

She hated it.

But she hated that there was an eerie comfort in it,

knowing that if the other shoe did drop, she was sure it would
eventually. That at least she would stop breathing and the pain,
the fear, and the anger would go with her into that darkness. It
would be easy, she would feel numb because it would be over.

She brushed a stray lock of his soft hair back off his face,
trailing her fingers gently against his cheekbone as she brought
her hand back. “I didn’t,” she took a careful breath, “I didn’t
mean to make you feel like that. I hate crying in front of you
because,” she huffed, shaking her head and turning away from
his face. The soft, sad down slope of his lips was enough to
make her lose her mind.

“Because there’s nothing any of you can do. No matter

how much comfort you give, or protection you have to offer
Saint. He was still here, he was…” she stopped again, feeling
the tears erupt through her. “He was here watching us,” she
ground her teeth together. “He’s been here, touching me for
months, torturing me and I didn’t know.” She resisted the urge
to cry out. “I wasn’t strong enough, or brave enough to stop it
and now it’s consuming me.”

“I know,” he whispered turning so their knees brushed

together, “I understand how it feels to be dragged under the
water, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t kick your
legs fast enough to get to the surface.” He placed a hand to the
base of her throat, wrapping his fingers tenderly around the
side as he pulled her close to him resting their foreheads
together. “Will you let me sit with you?”

She didn’t say a word, letting his fingers apply just enough
pressure to remind her that he was real, and she was alive. “We
never need to talk about it but I won’t continue to restrain
myself from coming to you. It’s killing me. I just want to hold
you; I don’t care for how long. “We can sit in the closet if
that’s the place you feel safe but,” he pushed his lips towards
hers and stole one slow, tugging kiss from her bottom lip.
“Stop holding me at arm’s length like you’re doing us a favor.”

“And if you leave?” She asked against his touch, she felt
his eyebrows furrow against her forehead as his lips kissed the
tip of her nose.

“This isn’t temporary, Beckett. Do you-” he stopped,

thinking carefully about his next words. “Do you think we’re
only around because you’re in danger? And when you’re
finally safe, when this is all over, we’ll just leave?” He asked.
“Do you think we would risk your life for a fling?”
 “Two adrenaline junkies and a wide-eyed lover boy with
savior complexes falling in love with the hopeless girl,” she
opened her eyes, pulling back from him, “or the dangerous
case?”

He stared over her shoulder, his tongue pressed to the

inside of his lip in frustration. “I’m going to pretend you aren’t
that dumb,” he sighed. “You know the answer to your
question,” he stood from his chair and hovered over her for a
moment, running his knuckle over her jaw before cupping her
chin between his fingers. “Figure it out, Beckett before you
hurt more than just your own heart.”

He wandered away, closing the bathroom door behind him

and she watched his every movement as he did. The harsh way
his shoulders were pinned back, the vein in his neck, and the
tight tension of his jaw. She was waiting for the shower to run
before she broke into heavy sobs for the second time that
morning.
 29

twenty nine

Jack groaned in her ear as they stepped up to the door, her

fingers tangled into Saint’s. Banks trailed the three of them in
his own little world, he had changed from that morning and
was wearing a long-sleeved dark sweater and jeans.

She hadn’t figured anything out but even when Saint

returned from his shower his demeanor had changed, he had
relaxed and greeted her with a soft kiss. She knew he was
stuffing his anger down for the sake of her feelings, tonight
would be stressful enough without having to worry about the
tension that wrapped them like a blanket.

“Don’t be a grump, Ashton is a great cook.” She turned to

look back at Jack, he had worn a navy button-down shirt that
was rolled to his elbows and he had cleaned up his hair back to
the strict military style she loved so much. Saint was in a dark
suit with a grey dress shirt, all three of them looked
particularly handsome but it still didn’t seem to calm her
nerves.
 The door swung open and Beckett almost groaned herself,
barely stopping the noise from escaping her lips, Jack pinched
her waistline and raised his eyebrow at her. “Hush,” she said
putting on a smile for James.

“Benji,” she cooed at him, letting go of Saint’s hand to

embrace him in a warm hug. James’s hair was pulled back into
a loose bun behind his ears and he wore a simple black shirt
that complimented his stern blue eyes. “Be nice,” she warned
with a whisper in his ear as she pulled back from him.

“You give him that pep talk too?” James stared at her, his
eyes flickering to where Jack stood with a bottle of wine
gripped between his fingers. “Maddox,” he extended a hand to
Saint. “Romero,” he nodded with a tight smile to Banks who
seemed to charm anyone he met.

Beckett lifted his hand to meet James’s and let them

wander inside leaving her on the step with Jack. “If you don’t
want to be here, you don’t have to come inside Jack, I won’t
blame you.” She looked up at him through her heavy lashes
and waited for him to agree, she was willing to give him the
out. Of course, she wanted him here, it’s all she wanted but she
wouldn’t force him.

He laughed, turning to look down the street with a smile

on his face. “How am I supposed to say no to those eyes,
canary?” He laughed at her, tucking his hand around her neck.
The way he said it made her warm inside and his touch made
her flush on contact. He checked his surroundings before he
gave her a soft and slow kiss.
 “Jack Callahan, you’re making me not want to go inside,”
she pulled back breathlessly and shook her head at him
pushing him away with the palm of her hand on his chest.

“Well let’s go home, he doesn’t want me here anyway,” he

grumbled and she took him by the hand leading him into the
house.

“But I do,” she closed the door behind them, giving him a
wink before wandering through the house toward the sound of
laughter.

Alpine mewled from the stairwell, the cat’s head tilting as

Jack passed.

“I wouldn’t,” Beck rolled her eyes, “that cat is the anti-

Christ.”

He reached through the dark brown banister and rubbed

between her ears. “At least someone likes me,” he shook his
head and Beckett laughed.

The kitchen was full of people, Luke and his girlfriend

huddled in the corner talking to Ashton as they lazily drank
their glasses of wine.

Jenn sat on the counter, blonde hair twisted in tight braids

at the back of her head and wearing a purple tank top. Her legs
kicked over the edge as Natalie worked around her to finish
the salad she was tossing. She looked up from her bowl, a
bright smile on her face at their arrival.

“Hey B,” she said to Beck, pushing a few of her red curls
back from her face. “Looks like you have your hands full.”
She chirped playfully.

“You have no idea,” Beck laughed.

Banks seemed comfortable enough. He was leaning over

on his elbows talking to Jenn, a boyish, playful grin plastered
on his face. James, to Beck’s surprise, was pouring Saint a
glass of beer. Natalie turned to look Jack up and down, her
face giving away the sheer shock she was in.

“Robinson,” Jack nodded at her clearly already acquainted.

“This must be Jenn, your sister. It’s nice to meet you.”

Jenn eyed him down for a moment as if his hand would

bite but shook it eventually and handed him a beer from the
sink filled with ice. “We worked the trafficking case together,”
Jack swallowed hard, his hand nervously pressing into the
shallow of her back.

Beck turned her head, speaking quietly into his shoulder,

“Jack, are you nervous?”

“Never, Murphy.” He responded with a tight smile but she

could feel the shake in his hand as he pressed more firmly
against her.

“Callahan and Romero got a promotion from it and Nat got

a nice pat on the back and a really cool pen with her name on
it,” Jenn rolled her eyes when Banks leaned back to give her a
sad, sympathetic smile. She squeezed his cheeks between one
of her hands, shaking his head side to side, “Banks and I dated
for a while, did you know that?” she looked over at Beckett.
 “I didn’t,” she smiled, “maybe later you can give me tips
on how to make him shut up when he’s rambling at the crack
of dawn about hockey.”

“Basketball,” Banks groaned, “it was basketball…” he

sipped on his beer.

“That’s a good pup,” Jenn joked. “The list of tips for this
one is long,” she laughed, showing her teeth.

“It’s nice to see you so happy,” Natalie noted, handing the

bowl to her sister as she slid off the counter and walked by.
She came to stand in front of Beck, with a glass of wine
between her fingers and her warm smile still on her face.
“James is a huff over this,” she looked over at Jack again who
stayed pinned to Beckett’s side. “And that,” she nodded to
Saint, “and that…” she laughed as Banks started to help Jen
set the table. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

She felt Jack tense at her side, notably worried that he

shouldn’t be privy to this conversation, but she only linked her
fingers around her back and into his. “No,” she laughed, “but I
know that I feel safe and right now that’s something.”

Nat nodded, scrunching her nose up in response. “Good,”

she said. “I think James is just jealous you snagged the three
hottest men in New York meanwhile his husband is trying to
grow out the mullet that makes him look like Kid Rock.”

“Hey,” Ashton scoffed playfully as he wandered by them,

leaning in and kissing Beckett’s temple gently despite Jack’s
proximity. “Let’s eat before said husband has a meltdown
because Saint is smarter than him, or Banks is better at
charades…”

The night went smoothly, sitting around the living room

Beckett settled at Jack’s feet on the floor as they played a
game. Saint tucked around the table, their knees touching,
Banks’ hand tangled into her crossed lap. All night they had
been trading touches and James had been exchanging glances
with her. She was just waiting for the fallout.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked as she got up to get herself

another drink. She nodded, knowing what was coming, and
followed him to the kitchen. He slammed his empty bottle into
the garbage and turned his scolding gaze on her. “What is that
and why am I always the last to know?”

“What?” Beckett leaned over the counter, the hair from her
ponytail falling over her shoulder and she peered up at James
and shoved a chip in her mouth.

“You’re sleeping with both of them, aren’t you?” He

asked.

When she didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed.

“Holy shit Beckett, are you insane?” His voice dropped an

octave. “All three?”

“James Benjamin Bailey,” she scoffed. “Watch your tone,”

she snapped. “And if I was?”

“You are,” he huffed, throwing his head back. “You would

go out and find the three most unhinged men in New York. I
had my suspicions the other day, with Dorian. They all looked
like rabid dogs but Jesus.”

“You found Saint, you brought Jack to my doorstep.” Beck

rolled her eyes. “Banks just happens to follow Jack around like
a puppy.”

“I didn’t tell you to fuck them, Beckett.” He growled in a

hushed voice leaning over the counter and coming face to face
with her.

She laughed, seeing the fear in his eyes. His concern was
showing, he was lashing out because he was out of control but
she wasn’t in the mood for his mind games tonight. What she
really wanted was to go home and crawl into bed, curled into
her favorite people without a care in the world.

“Bailey,” Jack stood in the doorway.

Beck sighed, she also knew that look too well.

She turned her body to face him, “down boy. James is just
voicing his concerns.”

His brow furrowed at her, his dark eyes gauging the level
of teasing in her voice as he walked further into the kitchen
and set his beer on the island. “It sounds like he’s being an
asshole.”

“Jack,” Beck warned, only once and his shoulders relaxed

a little.

“You and I both know the dangers of her being linked to

you, why would you risk that?” James looked over her
shoulder at Jack behind her, his hand had come to her back
again. He was steadying her as she fielded unwarranted
questions from her best friend.

“She’s in plenty of danger without my presence, at least

when I’m around she’s safe,” Jack countered. “You gave me
the file, you asked me to do this.”

“I asked you to put her stalker in jail,” James gripped the

counter.

“You asked me to put her stalker in the ground,” Jack

growled.

“You did what?” Beck looked between the two of them,

slowly growing closer together she didn’t stop Jack as he
circled the island.

“He came to me because I was willing to do what he

wasn’t, I was willing to cross the line,” he said his hands
balled into fists at his side. “Seems Bailey is willing to cross
some lines and not others. I don’t give a damn what you mean
to her if you ever talk to her like that again,” he warned.

“You’ll what Callahan?” James snapped. “Put me in the

ground?”

“At least.” Jack towered over James, ready to fight.

Saint appeared in the doorway, his jaw tense as he listened

to the conversation, Banks trailing in behind him. “Beck,” he
said feeling the wall and wandering toward her, she reached
out to him as he got close. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy, these two were about to-” she started but was cut
off by the ringing of her phone. She dug it from her back
pocket and turned her nose up at the number.

“What?” Saint inched closer, his chest pressed to her

shoulder.

She picked it up, raising it to her ear, “Hello?”

Static crackled in her ear, followed by a loud popping

sound, “little bird, listen to me.” The voice was deep and
chilling, it rattled her spine, and it wasn’t until Banks touched
her arm that she realized she wasn’t alone. Everything had
gone dark just from the sound of his voice, “you can’t run
from me. They can’t protect you. No matter where you go.”

Her eyes flickered from James only to land on Jack’s,

every bit of anger toward each other was lost, the phone
crackled once more, and all four men turned to listen as the
voice spoke again.

“I’ll find you. Our time is coming to an end.”

 30

thirty

He had gotten jealous.

And in turn, he had gotten bored.

He couldn’t help himself, he wanted his little bird and he

wanted her now.
 31

thirty one

“Beck,” Saint’s hand reached out for the phone, “give me the
phone.”

She was frozen in place, the voice still there, and the line
still live. Her fingers gripped tightly around the phone, but
Saint stepped into her space, his hand rubbing against her
spine as he did. “Beckett,” he pressed his chest to her shoulder
and let her feel the calm, rhythmic breaths he took as he pulled
the phone from her hand.

Banks came to stand next to her, slipping his hand into

hers and giving her a gentle squeeze. He pressed a firm kiss to
her temple as everyone gathered in the kitchen.

Saint put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter in

front of them, both Jack and James leaning in to hear it better.
Saint stayed glued to Beckett, his fingers digging purposefully
into her lower back. The phone clicked and for a moment it
sounded as if the line had gone dead but that wasn’t the case,
the words floated into the air, echoing off the kitchen walls.
Little Bird.

“It’s a recording,” Saint said, his grip loosened on her

back, and she realized he was holding on to her for support
just as much as she needed him.

He made to slip from her reach, but she grabbed his hand
before he could do so, wrapping her fingers into his and
pulling him back against her. “It’s just a recording,” he
repeated as if he needed to hear it out loud for himself to calm
down.

She turned away from the phone pressing her ear into
Banks’ shoulder and his hand came up to cover the other
tightly so she could only hear the muffled noise as they
listened to the recording again. His thumb rubbed against the
side of her head as he did. Whoever this was didn’t care
anymore that she was with people when he taunted her. The
game had elevated from simple torture, mind games. To
outright brazen behavior. Beck’s heart thumped in her chest;
she had seen the escalation a thousand times in her calls. It
always started with simple things that turned more and more
violent.

An abusive ex, a stalker, an aggressive suitor. It was all the

same. The calls would be recorded, and nothing was ever done
because the cops legally couldn’t do anything. Until it was too
late. Was it too late for her? Was the next step for her stalker to
become violent with her.
 Banks pulled back, allowing Saint to slide against her as he
moved to speak with Jack.

“Stop,” Saint leaned his head against her and spoke to her
quietly. “I can feel you spiraling, nothing will ever happen to
you. We won’t let it,” he hushed her soft sob.

“Turn it off,” Jack snapped as James went to listen to it

again.

“There might be something we missed-,” James started but

Jack ordered again.

“Turn it off, Bailey.” He growled and the recording was

cut short in the middle. “We can deal with that later,” he
showed his own phone blinking red. He had recorded the
entire call on his own phone.

Saint let go of her so she could properly turn back to

everyone, pushing her hair off her shoulders and waited until
Jack spoke. “If it’s recording it means he’s smart enough to
doctor his voice. Is this what you’ve been hearing over the
calls?”

“It’s what I heard the day I-” she swallowed. “The day
Saint ran into me in the street. That voice was chasing me,”
she nodded. “I sound crazy, but I swear it was that voice.”

She shook her head softly, brushing the tears from her
cheeks with the back of her hand and pinning her shoulders
back tensely. She wouldn’t cry anymore, not standing in a
kitchen with five of the meanest men she knew. Jack brushed
his hand against her arm in a soft gesture to comfort her but
his eyes were filled with murder. His jaw was clenched tighter
than she had ever seen as he worked himself off whatever cliff
he had climbed on to emotionally.

She took a long deep breath and turned to James who was
in the same state, his face angry and tense. Ashton stood in the
archway of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his large chest
and his soft, concerned eyes trained on Beckett.

The room was suddenly so small. She felt suffocated with

all the eyes on her. She was prone to panic attacks but it had
been so long since the last one that she wasn’t able to stop it
before it started and she could feel her chest closing over
itself. She felt like she was stuck in a collapsing tunnel with no
way out. Her chest tightened, her lungs closed, and her throat
felt swollen.

“Come here,” Ashton said gently, knowing what she

needed.

Ashton always did, she sunk into his soft chest and large
arms. They had been doing this for as long as she could
remember. The first time a panic attack had happened Ashton
had explained that sometimes the body just needed pressure to
release all the tension and he had been right.

A hug from Ashton had always helped her ground her feet
and breathe again.

He rubbed her head with his hand and waited until her
breathing came back to normal, “Let’s go outside, they don’t
need us for this conversation.”
 A silent agreement had passed through them as she had her
back turned, she was tempted to turn around and look at them
all but she kept her head pressed into Ashton’s chest. She
allowed him to guide her into the backyard and onto the porch
swing that sat beneath their two trees. She leaned against her
friend and sighed as he took her hand into his and gave it a
squeeze.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly after a while.

She watched as they argued in the kitchen with each other.

Unsure how comfortable she was being left out of whatever
conversation had been happening in there where she couldn’t
hear.

“No,” she sighed looking up through the trees to the

darkened sky. “I hate this, I hate not feeling like I’m in control
of my own life. I feel trapped and small. I want to scream,
Ashton.”

“They’ll handle it, you have three of the best cops in the
city on your side.” He said rubbing his thumb over her hand.

“If they can stop trying to rip out each other’s throats long
enough to figure it out, maybe.” She sighed.

“It’s because they love you,” Ashton said, and the words
hung in the air like impending doom.

If she closed, her eyes she could see the dagger hanging
point down toward her chest just waiting to drop at even the
thought of Jack Callahan loving her. He was intense enough
already, love was exhausting and suffocating.
 Saint, she could picture without panic, she knew
somewhere deep-down loving Saint Maddox wouldn’t be easy
but it wouldn’t kill her trying. She could sink into him like a
cloud and allow herself to be consumed by him knowing that
he would always be there waiting for her. She could picture
waking up to his goofy smile, sunkissed and sleepy. Every
single morning. She could live forever in the dream of an
oddly mundane life Saint, and it didn’t scare her, it comforted
her. Banks loved everything, he was that pure sunlight even on
the rainiest of days, and even if she was sure that he was
capable of real love it only seemed natural.

“Jack doesn’t love anything,” She hissed.

“He’s not capable of it” she rolled her shoulders back, “at
least I don’t think he is.”

Ashton laughed and the sound startled Beck enough for her
to sit up and stare at him. “It baffles me how little you pay
attention to the people around you sometimes B,” He shook
his head and nodded toward the kitchen window. “I was wrong
when I said he wasn’t the kind of man you fall in love with.
That is a man who only knows love for one thing.”

She turned her gaze to the window to see Jack standing in

it, staring back at her, and even from the distance he was at she
could see the pained expression on his face as he stared at her.
“I have no room to judge but the idea of you dating three men
made me uncomfortable at first. It was unconventional but
seeing you with them tonight, there’s a reason you need them.
I get it now.”
 She swallowed hard, her eyes still trained on Jack’s. I love
you, she thought staring at him and she could feel her heart
shattering in her chest from the sheer thought of saying it out
loud. Scared to death that he would never be able to say it
back to her but her fears dissolved into nothing as he gave her
one short nod. A nod that to anyone else would mean nothing,
but to her, to Jack. It meant everything. She wondered just
how long the peace between them would last, the
understanding that they were a team.

It was a while longer before they joined her and Ashton in

the backyard. Ashton slipped from the bench, pulling James
against him by the waist and placing a small kiss on his
furrowed, angry brow. James melted against his husband, his
worries disappearing in Ashton’s grip. He nodded at Ashton,
silently apologizing to both of them for his behavior
simultaneously.

She admired the quiet understanding that floated between

her best friends, effortlessly encompassing each other in love
even when it felt hard to do so. She envied it.

Banks guided Saint to the swing beside her and let him
take the space before kneeling in front of her on his heels.
“Hey,” He said rubbing her thigh with his hand as she sunk
into the curves of Saint’s body. “How are you doing?” He
whispered to her like no one else was there. Jack watched
from behind him like he was working up the courage to speak
to her. Planning out his words slowly, taking his time so he
didn’t make it worse.
 She gave him a weak smile, “scared.” she admitted.

“Yeah,” he licked his lip, “still beautiful as ever though.

We got you, angel.”

Saint tucked his hand into her hair and rubbed the nape of
her neck with his thumb as she spoke with Banks. She told
herself she wouldn’t cry again but they overwhelmed every
part of her when they did this. They were so close, working
together to remind her that she was safe from everything and
everyone because they were there.

Banks stood, moving out of the way after he was sure she
was okay and let Jack take his place. He slotted himself
between her knees and wrapped a hand around her ankle and
the other rested on her thigh as he stared at her. A beat of
silence passed between the two of them, she wished she knew
what he was thinking but she had a feeling even if she asked
he wouldn’t tell her.

Jack’s hand squeezed her thigh, looking up at her with his

beautiful brown eyes he gave her a painfully soft smile.

“You alright?” he asked and she nodded. She was now.

“Saint wants to try something, it might help us figure out what
happened the night on the street. You think you can do that for
me, baby?”

She nodded, and wanted to say “Anything for you” but the
words were caught in her throat. She swallowed thickly and
waited for him to explain what he needed from her.
 “I want you to close your eyes,” Jack asked her, and she
shook her head, taking a shaky breath. “We’re right here,
nothing can touch you.”

“Close your eyes for me, Murphy.” His hand rose from her
thigh, and one by one he gently brushed the pad of his thumb
over her face, closing her eyes delicately.

She looped her hand into the fabric of his shirt sleeve and
grabbed Saint by the thigh, and could feel Banks hand cup the
back of her neck through her hair. Steadying her from all
angles as Jack spoke again.

“Where were you the night of the first attack?” his voice
was quiet and ran through her like a shock of electricity.

“Penny’s,” she sighed, “with Ashton, James, and Luke.”

She heard him growl, tempted to open her eyes knowing

that it was directed at James. They hadn’t known at the time
the seriousness of the situation. It hadn’t been his fault that she
walked home alone. She had been downplaying everything so
they wouldn’t worry.

“I left and was walking home,” she continued pulling his

attention back to her.

“How often do you walk home from Penny’s?” Saint asked

quietly.

“Once a week,” she nodded, she could see the bricks of the
buildings on her route home: the cracked sidewalks and dark
alleys. The flickering lamp lights of the street above her and
she could almost smell the faint smell of chemicals from the
plant that operated on her road.

“What was the first thing you heard?” Banks asked.

The whistle blew through her like a hurricane. Sending an

odd chill down her spine that made her skin crawl. “Someone
was whistling at me,” she said, swallowing thickly. “I could
hear them, but I couldn’t see them. I got scared so I started to
walk faster, I pulled my phone out of my pocket just in case I
needed to call someone when the whistle happened again.”

Beck forced down the bile in her throat and did her best to
squeeze her eyes shut as tightly as she could. “But it wasn’t a
whistle, it was him. It was his voice; he was calling out to me
from the darkness somewhere and I couldn’t figure out where.
But I could hear him more clearly now,” she stopped herself
from sobbing.

“He was saying little bird,” her brows furrowed together,

and she could feel the tear roll from her eye, but Jack caught it
with the pad of his thumb.

“Beck, I need you to look around,” he said, “really look

around. Where did the sound come from?”

She concentrated on turning herself around on the street,

her heart pounding in her chest as she dared to stop running
and look behind her. She peered into the darkness, the
streetlamp above her out, and waited with bated breath to be
caught. She watched as his form crept from the shadows,
towering over her still bathed in inky black unable to see his
face.
 “Stay there Beck,” Banks whispered into her ear, “you can
do this. What do you see?” he asked, and goosebumps ran
down her neck and over her arms.

One hand reached through the darkness like her

nightmares and wrapped around her throat, whispering to her,
“What a pretty neck, would be a shame to find it snapped.”

She screamed, slamming her hands out in front of her to

get his hands away from her this time. Her eyes flew open, and
her chest heaved unable to get enough air into her lungs. Jack
sat back against the grass, toppled over from the force of her
pushing him away.

He rubbed his hand against a harsh scratch that maimed his

cheek and Beckett inhaled sharply.

“Jack-,” she started but he shook his head and came back
to kneel between her legs.

“Hey,” he cupped her face and her eyes focused on the

nasty scratch she had given him. “Hey,” he dropped his tone
an octave and she finally settled back to his dark gaze. “What
was it?” He steadied his tone before he asked her, Saint’s grip
shifted to her forearm and squeezed tightly as she told them.
“You couldn’t see his face?”

Beck shook her head, “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t hurt me, Canary,” Jack interrupted her and

stood, pressing his hand firmly to her cheek as he turned to
James and Ashton. “Keep her here tonight.”
 “Jack,” she shot from her seat, her knees wobbly and her
body feeling like lead. Banks reached out to her, but she
shoved him off. This wasn’t about him. She should have seen
it coming, he knew something she didn’t, and he was hiding it
from her.

“Banks, do you think you can get us a warrant for some

cameras in the area? We couldn’t get in before but,” he talked
over her pulling at his arm.

“Jack!” She yelled when he didn’t look back at her but

continued to talk to James in a hushed voice. “Everyone leave
now,” she growled, sick of his childlike behavior. “Not you,”
she growled at Saint as she heard the creak of the swing
behind her.

“Beck,” Banks tried to settle her with the touch of his

hand, but she pushed him away again.

“Don’t Beck me, you only ever use my name when you’re
handling me with little kid gloves Banks. Cut it out.” She
rolled her eyes.

Saint moved toward her, looking downward as he listened

to her heavy breathing, “I’m pissed off now,” she said out loud
as James and Ashton excused themselves. “You don’t need to
listen to my heartbeat Saint, I’ll tell you exactly how I feel.
Was this the plan all along, what you were arguing about
inside? How best to do this, without me?”

His jaw ticked and he tilted his chin up so she could see
the expression on his face, worry and frustration painted
across his stern features. Beckett understood why but she
wasn’t going to be treated like a child just because the four of
them decided she was better off not knowing what they were
doing.

“Do you remember the rules?” She snapped at Jack’s back.

“Jack Callahan, don’t be a coward.”

She watched his head drop, “No secrets.”

“You said you wanted to know where we were, not what

we were doing, Murphy.” He turned his eyes on her, his jaw
tense. “Unless you’re changing the rules.”

“I am, you nearly died on my floor a week ago. I’m

changing the fucking rules,” She hissed. Beckett let the anger
drown out her fear because it felt good. “When I said that I
wasn’t,” she huffed, hesitating because she was terrified of
how they would take the next part. “I wasn’t in love.”

The silence that filled the backyard was deafening.

“I figured it out,” she looked back at Saint who was

reaching out to her, his hand suspended between them just
begging for her to take it. He stepped closer to the sound of
her voice.

“There was a time that I thought there wasn’t enough of

me to even love one person but now I understand that it wasn’t
about me splitting my love between you. It was about you
sharing your love with me. It wasn’t about me making you
whole, it was about you making me whole.” She shook out her
hands and turned walking away from them so she didn’t
scream because that’s all she wanted to do.
 She wanted to scream.

“I don’t want you running off with some half-cocked plan

and getting hurt because you feel like you have to save me. It
doesn’t matter if we never catch him, that’s unimportant if I
lose one of you in the process.” She stopped, the suffocating
weight of her anxiety crashing down on her. She can’t lose
them. She knew that now.

“If you stop talking to me again then the chances of that

are high.” She looked between them, Saint’s body following
the sound of her voice, his head tilted to listen to her and her
heart. Banks kept his eyes trained on her, giving her the space,
she needed to breathe but she could see his chest inhale
deeply. Weighing his options, listening to her words carefully.

Jack’s back was still to her, his shoulders were pinched

back and rigid with emotions.

“This is not just your job anymore Jack,” she spoke

directly to him, trying to ignore the pull of Saint who begged
silently to touch her, to feel her. “It hasn’t been for a while,”
she needed the space, if she allowed him close she would
crumble and Jack would win again.

They worked together like that, in tandem. Knowing that

they could avoid conversations if they passed her off, dealt
with her emotions the way each of them could but she had
caught on.

“This is our life. Together.” Her words came out a

suffocated whine but it worked, he looked at her finally his
dark brown eyes pitch black under the blanket of stars. “I need
you to breathe,” she hissed. “If you leave me here tonight
without telling me what the hell is going on, I’ll never forgive
you.”

“Please, Jack,” she begged.

Saint didn’t ask a second time, he moved to her side

without a word. She opened her arm to him and tucked herself
into his chest. Jack watched them with a dark expression as
she let Saint apologize the way he knew how to. “I love you,”
he whispered against her hair and she nodded against his chest.
“I do,” he kissed her hair and repeated himself.

She uncurled from his hold slowly.

“She’s family Jack,” Banks said, “you had that figured out
the moment you saw her.”

“Always an advocate,” she smiled at him. She let him

come stand next to Saint, the two of them backing her as she
reached out to Jack.

“Are you going to say anything?” Beck asked him.

“I don’t need your forgiveness Murphy,” he clenched his

jaw and turned his face away from her glare. “Not if it means
you’re safe.”

When he looked back at her, his jaw ticked and he

scrunched up his nose at her. “What happened to not running
away?”

“I’m not running away, I’m trying to keep you safe,” he

growled. “You’re delivering an ultimatum.”
 Beck laughed, she laughed at him. Unable to stop the
emotions that bubbled to the surface in such a way. “Is that
how you see this Jack?”

“That’s exactly what it is,” he shook his head and stepped

back from her.

She huffed, understanding him more than he wanted her to.

What he was doing, she had just done to Saint. Stepping back
because it was all he could do from giving in.

“You want to be safe, you want to be unafraid? We can do

that for you, but we can’t tell you how, because if we did you
wouldn’t love us.”

“You aren’t giving me the choice,” she snarled, Saint

pulled on her hand trying to calm her but she ripped from his
grasp this time. Not even Banks stopped her this time, both of
them just let her and Jack work out the anger in the only way
they knew how. Explosive.

Unable to catch her before she marched into Jack’s space

and shoved him hard against the chest. His dog tags shook
against his chest as he took a step back under her force,
“you’re making the decision for me. Why Jack? Do you not
love me? If that’s it, tell me so I stop hoping that one day you
might. It’s torture.”

He said nothing, his jaw ticking as he stared passed her.

“We need to go.” He ordered them and she wanted to scream
in his face.
 Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly it might as well
have been in her throat. “Jack,” she hissed through clenched
teeth. “If you walk away from me right now, don’t come
back.”

He looked at her, and for a split second the way his lips
parted she thought maybe he would say it back. Tell her that
he loved her but he had to do this. Even just hearing it back
would have made it hurt less when he shook his head and he
walked away from her.

Saint pressed his hand to her arm but she shook it off, still
angry.

“Beck,” he spoke softly coming to stand in front of her, he

pressed his hand to her heart slowly and with the utmost
patience as she tried to push him away in protest. “Breathe,”
he instructed.

Banks walked around them, pressing his chest tightly to

her shoulder, blocking her view of Jack as Saint worked to
calm her down. “We can’t leave until you breathe for us,” he
whispered.

She took one long inhale and closed her eyes feeling the
tears building beneath the surface. When she opened her eyes
again Saint was still there, hand pressed to her skin and his
face close to hers waiting for her to return to him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he brushed a hand

through her hair and brought her close. His hand snaking
around her back he pulled her hips against his body, lifting her
ever so carefully until their lips met.

“Be safe,” she said, her heart bitter that she had no
information, but she wouldn’t let Saint walk away without
knowing she still cared. “Saint,” she opened her mouth, but he
kissed her again, carefully and taking his time.

“I know,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead.

He pulled away and the chill of the night washed over her.
She wanted to tell him to keep Jack safe, but the omission of
her fear would show her hand. Even in her anger, she couldn’t
lose him. She’d rather have a billion fights than have this be
their last.

“Listen to me, if you want to go home tonight go. You’re

capable of protecting yourself, you have the taser?” Banks
asked, and she rested her hand against his chest, tangling into
the fabric of his sweater.

“Use it if you have to, keep your phone on, and lock the
windows. I fixed the one in your bedroom, it closes properly.
Make sure it clicks,” a sad curve formed on Saint’s lips as he
forced a goofy smile for her. Always knowing what she
needed without asking. “Hey,” he flicked a finger under her
chin. “I love you, sunshine.” He stole another kiss from her
parted mouth and pulled away from her.

Banks kissed her temple ready to pull away, but she

tightened her hold on the front of his shirt, “everyone comes
home.” she demanded.
 “Everyone,” he offered her a soft smile so unlike him, it
barely lifted at the corners and his eyes seemed to brim with
tears as he wrapped a hand around her hips and twisted her
against him. His lips collided with hers and even though it
wasn’t a verbal confession of their feelings both of them knew
what it meant. “Be careful.” He whispered breathlessly as he
pulled back. “If I don’t go, they’ll leave me here.”

“Would that be the worst thing?” she sighed as he kissed

her again.

“If you want them to come home then I need to go keep

them safe.” He nodded. “I’ll keep them, safe Angel,” he
promised.

She followed him to the front of the house, Jack sitting in

the front seat of his truck waiting. Saint was leaning over the
window clearly trying to talk to him. His eyes turned to her but
she had nothing left to say to him. Banks climbed in last and
shut the door behind Saint as the engine rumbled to life.

Jack peeled from the curb leaving her standing alone in the
darkness.

Just like she had been afraid of.

 32

thirty two

“Phone on,” James warned as they dropped her off outside of

the apartment, “I don’t like this, but I can help if I’m at the
station.” He said, walking her to the door. “Hockey stick by
the island, knife in the bathroom, taser under your pillow.” He
listed off the weapons.

He had gone over the list a thousand times with her as they
drove through the quiet streets. It was the best he could do, she
had shut down without meaning to. Unable to carry a
conversation and the second he had tried to bring them up she
snapped at him.

“They’ll be okay,” he said standing in the doorway of her

apartment. “Get some sleep, and keep-”

“My phone on, I know.” She said, she stepped forward

taking what she needed from him in the form of a tight hug.
She could feel his shock from the sudden contact because it
took him a moment to return it. He nodded gently as she
pulled back, his hand on her face. “I love you, Benji,” she
smiled, trying to offer him some kind of comfort.

“I’ll call you later B,” he said. “I love you too.”

Beck closed the door to her apartment, locking the door

tightly behind her as she turned on the small taser and started
her walk-through of her home. Her heart was thumping as she
was determined to prove herself tough as she opened each
door and checked every corner, making sure the windows were
locked. Twice just to be sure.

She turned on all the lights as she went and when the
apartment was finally clear she set her stuff on the island and
closed her eyes to think.

She was met with the hollow stare of Jack and nothing
more.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, and tried again only to see
him time and time again, each time she closed her eyes he was
staring back at her. Confusion, anger, and concern swirled
around her like a tornado. She knew that Jack wanted to
answer her, she could feel it in the way his jaw tensed, and
fingers twitched at his side.

He was being stubborn because he thought he was

protecting her from whatever monster he believed lurked
beneath his composed expressions. She rolled her shoulders
out and stretched her neck side to side trying to shake the
frustrations. If she sat here worrying all night, she would drive
herself mad.
 She slipped into her pajamas and found herself cuddled
into the couch with a blanket and her copy of Hitchhikers, she
stared at it flipping the pages open to where she and Jack had
stopped. The page had been dog-eared and crumbled from him
reading it over and over and the last line on the page came
after a transcript on love. Avoid, if at all possible.

She sighed, throwing the book across the room as if

looking at the dumb inanimate object was the real reason her
emotions were scattered and frayed.

Beck lay staring at the ceiling, waiting for her phone to

ring for so long by the time she noticed the clock it was almost
one in the morning and she still hadn’t slept. She grabbed her
purse from the counter, rummaging through it until she found
the small bottle of sleeping pills. She shook the bottle, “this
feels like a stupid idea.”

She set the bottle on the counter and moved to the kettle,
hoping that tea would help her sleep. But even after two cups
she still felt wired. She stared at the pills again. They were out,
chasing the stalker, then he wouldn’t be coming after her. A
good night’s sleep would pass the time and help settle her
nerves…

Popping it open, with Saint’s voice in the back of her head

telling her not to take one, she slipped one into her mouth. She
carefully made sure every lock was locked, and again as she
came back through the house.

She made her way back to the couch, shuffling her feet as
she went and lifted the blanket to get comfy when a knock at
the door made her jump. She turned, waiting to see if the
knock was slipping a figure of her imagination.

Another knock, she sighed.

Scooping the taser from the coffee table she crept toward
the door and listened to the sounds on the other side.

“Angel,” A voice filtered in from the other side.

Her heart dropped in her chest. If Banks was here this late
it could only mean one thing. She kicked the lock on the door
and swung it open to his face. His hair was wet, messy, and
pushed back off his face roughly. He stared at her for a long
moment with his dark eyes and shook his head. Unable to
form words, he took his bottom lip between his teeth and
swallowed thickly.

Somewhere deep inside she knew why he was here.

“Banks…” her brows kissed together in worry.

A bead of sweat dripped down her neck as she swallowed

hard, watching his mind think through the information and the
best way to tell her the bad news.

“What happened?” She managed to get out, tears

threatening to form as she watched him move past her and into
the apartment.

“Turn it off before I tell you,” he pointed to her hand.

She forgot she was holding the taser until his eyes grew
wide, and the electricity crackled in the air between them.
 “I wouldn’t,” the words drifted into silence. She turned it
off and tossed it to the counter and waited for him to tell her
what was going on.

“You might,” he said, his jaw tense.

“We found it about three hours ago, I told them not to go.
To just wait until we could get some eyes on the apartment.”
his teeth clenched together as he spoke.

They found it, his stash. She was going to be sick.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat as he spoke.

Even if they had fought before he left, they would come

home to her she knew that in her bones.

Saint without question, Jack begrudgingly.

“They went in without me, I was fifteen minutes away…”

he huffed. “It was covered in personal photos of you,
recordings, tapes. Clothing, personal items,” he said shifting
uncomfortably in his shoes. He still hadn’t said whether or not
they were safe, she didn’t care what the stalker had of hers as
long as it wasn’t them. “By the time I got there… they were
gone, Beck.”

“What do you mean they were gone?” She hissed, trying to

sound indifferent without luck. She pushed her fingers through
her brown hair, raising her eyebrows at him. “Banks,” she
snapped when he didn’t speak. “Now’s not the time to be
quiet,” she urged.

“There was blood everywhere,” Banks stumbled over his

words. “I have a team testing it,” he said.
 “A team? Do you trust them?” She panicked.

“They’re good and discreet.” He told her, playing

nervously with his lip between his teeth and he turned away
from her, unable to hold the intense stare.

“We don’t know how much of it was theirs or his. There

was no way of knowing,” he looked over at her with tears in
his eyes.

Beckett had begun to shake, she didn’t know when or how

but her entire body was trembling. She couldn’t feel her legs
as she crumbled to the floor in pain.

Banks dropped to his knees, he reached for her, and she

choked out a sob seeing them stained red. He pressed them to
the floor, scared of his own touch as she screamed.

“Where is Jack?” she asked as his chest heaved, “Saint?

You gotta…” She screamed at him, and he looked up at her,
his shoulders shaking as tears ripped from him. She crawled
toward him, putting her hands over his.

“I don’t know,” he sobbed. “I can’t find them… I was

supposed-” The words became nothing more than sobs.

“I told him not to come back…” She whispered and Banks

looked at her with heartbreak in his pitch-black eyes.

“You know he’d never listen; something is wrong.” he said

as he tried to collect himself.

Beckett closed her eyes.

If you walk away from me right now, don’t come back.

 If you walk away from me right now, don’t come back.

If you walk away from me right now, don’t come back.

She had said that to him instead of reminding him that she
loved him. She had told him not to come back. Beckett curled
into him, needing the touch. Banks allowed her, sitting back
and wrapping his arms around her to pull her into his chest.

“They have to be OK,” she said.

“They are,” he tried to reassure her. “We just…” he sighed.

“We have to wait for that phone call.” He pressed a kiss to her
head, rocking her against his chest to the rhythm of her choppy
sobs.

Her eyes were so heavy.

And her bones felt like lead all of a sudden.

“Banks,” she whispered, tangling her hands in his collar.

“Are you okay?” He asked leaning forward; he pressed his

hand to her face and angled it up to him. Within seconds the
grief and guilt in his features slid to the back, his training took
over the instant he realized something was wrong with her.

“Did you take something, hey?! Did you take those pills?”
He pressed his hand against her shoulder to keep her upright as
she tried to figure out how to answer him, but her lips were
sluggish and tired. Everything felt so heavy.

“Beck! I need you to answer me,” he searched her face as

her eyes continued to blink slower and slower. “Shit,” she
heard him swear.
 She had always been in bed and already begging for sleep
when the pills kicked in. She had never felt like this before. He
frantically patted his jeans and jacket on the floor in front of
her. “Angel, listen. My phone is in the car. I’m going to put
you in bed and run down and get it.”

“Banks,” she groaned as he lifted them from the floor and

walked her through the apartment to her bed. “Stay,” she
begged, her hand still tangled in his shirt.

“Always,” he kissed her temple, tucking her in.

He pulled back, twisting away from her hold and running

down the hall before she could say anything that might stop
him.

The door slammed closed behind him and he was gone.

She rolled from the bed in a pathetic attempt to chase after

him.

Beckett couldn’t remember where he was going, or why he

left her.

Her brain was a mess of every emotion she was feeling and
then some. It felt like someone had cracked open the back and
shoved everything into her already painfully full mind.

“Banks,” she cried out to him.

She couldn’t lose all of them she wouldn’t.

Her head hit the floor hard, the thump loud enough to force
her eyes open one last time as a shadowed face towered over
her. “Banks?” she cried out, but her voice was silent, nothing
happened.

She screamed again but nothing came from her lips.

“Little bird,” the voice was deep.

He gripped the back of her head, the hold was too tight.
She tried to fight against the attack but whoever he was, he
was too strong.

“It’s time to go.” He said, slamming her head into the floor
hard enough for her vision to black out.
 II

Now and at the hour of our

death. Amen.
 33

thirty three

She was so tiny in his arms.

Like a wounded bird, she had cried out to him, trying to

stop him.

But their time together had come and he would take what
he was owed.

She would sing for him until he strangled the song from
her pretty little throat.
 34

thirty four

JACK CALLAHAN

Jack rolled to his stomach and vomited.

The contents of his stomach forced their way out and onto
the cold, hard ground below him. His head was screaming at
him and when he opened his eyes the darkness around him
seemed to swirl with tiny spots of white. He could feel the
blood stuck and dried to his temple and into his beard. The
burns at his hip and stomach screamed at him, seeping through
the bandage Beck had covered them with that morning.

Beck…

“Fuck,” he swore.

He remembered the apartment, remembered the loud bang

of a flash cannon.

Jack felt the rage boil up inside of him. Someone had

gotten the best of them. Again.
 He slammed a fist into the darkness colliding in screaming
pain with a wall. He shook out the blinding pain in his
knuckles and felt the area around him. His hand came in
contact with another body, “Saint,” he mumbled, Feeling
around for his collar. “Hey!” he said a little louder.

“My ears are ringing,” Saint finally responded. Jack could

hear him shuffling around in the dark.

“We gotta move,” he growled.

Someone had cut the power the second they had stepped
inside the kill box.

Jack hadn’t realized it was one until the door slammed shut
behind him.

“Do you hear anything?” He asked, feeling around in the

darkness.

He reached out for him again, wrapping his arms around

his body and lifting. “Hey Maddox,” he yanked. “Can you
hear?” he tapped a hand to his bicep.

“Yeah,” Saint responded after a long pause. “Is it dark for

you?” He asked.

“Pitch,” he said.

“There’s no hum,” Saint felt around, and when Jack didn’t

ask, he continued. “There’s a hum to the lights when they’re
on. But this, whatever it is. It’s quiet.”

Jack slammed another fist into the nearby wall. “Other

than the obvious lack of lights, can you hear anything?”
 “I could if you’d stop slamming your hands around,” Saint
huffed, clearly uncomfortable.

Jack pulled back from laying his fist into another wall,
dropping it to his side so that Saint could do what he needed.
He listened, hoping his eyes would adjust to the lack of light
as Saint shuffled around.

“We’re in a shipping container,” he said, “the whole thing

is metal.”

“And outside?” Jack asked, tugging his glove off to run his
fingers over the walls, they were rigid and cold under his
fingers.

Jack hated that she had been right.

He hated it even more that he was trapped in a container,

miles away from her and she thought they weren’t coming
home.

“Banks?” he asked into the darkness, wondering if they

had somehow gotten to him too. He kicked around with his
shoe, hitting Saint and receiving a grunt in return.

“He’s not in here,” Saint confirmed. “Two heartbeats,” he

said. “One outside, some traffic noise and…water.” He
mumbled.

“We’re on the docks,” Jack nodded to himself. It was

better than being on the boat. He was pretty sure Saint could
swim. “You can swim right?” He asked.

“Shut up Callahan.” Saint groaned.

 “If Banks isn’t here hopefully, he did the intelligent thing
and went to Beckett.” Jack sighed, stiffening his shoulders. He
walked the perimeter of the container, dragging his hand
along.

“There,” Saint said, making him pause. “That’s the door,

there’s a draft.” He said and Jack felt him move closer to him
in the dark. Together they rattled the door with all their
strength.

“It’s just a padlock,” Saint guessed.

Jack knew he was guessing because there was a slight

pause between his words, and he shifted his weight to the left
foot. It was Saint’s only tell. He was good but Jack was better.

He patted himself down, feeling over his jacket and thighs,

he didn’t have a single weapon on his person. “They took
everything.” He growled as he lowered himself to the ground
near the door.

“It’s old,” he noted, feeling the rust beneath his fingertips.

He ran a hand along the rigid door frame, feeling for the
center before running his hand up approximately four feet to
the center of the door. “Locks there,” he grunted, tapping the
metal with his ring for Saint to locate.

He could hear him walking the length, “it’s twenty feet

max,” he said, his voice echoing from the other end of the
darkness. “It’s gonna hurt but it’ll work,” he said.

They were going to throw their weight against the door

and break the lock with the hope that the latch was flimsy.
 Jack’s favorite thing about his relationship with Saint was
the absence of talking. They didn’t need it. They could work in
tandem with one another as if they were reading each other’s
minds and they just got shit done. It’s why they left Banks out
of the action. He was better behind a computer or a phone.
Some place he could be useful and not get them killed because
he opened his fucking mouth.

“Everything hurts,” Jack pushed to his feet and walked

himself to where Saint stood against the wall. His mind
flickered for a quick moment to Beckett’s smile, sun-kissed
and sleepy in their bed. Her hair was a mess of brown and
black as she turned to look at him with admiration in her big
brown eyes. The light flared across his vision and she was
gone.

“She’ll forgive you,” Saint said quietly as if he could hear

his thoughts.

“I know,” was all he said when really what he wanted to

tell him was that it wasn’t about Murphy forgiving him, he
knew she would. She didn’t have a bone in her body that could
hate him, he could feel it every time she looked at him, every
time she touched him. No. It was the man inside of him that
had to do the forgiving. It was whether or not he could forgive
himself for leaving her on the front lawn that night. Leaving
her looking at him like she had already forgiven him.

He wanted to swallow that feeling, erase that sad, hopeful,

look from his memory.

“I’m getting claustrophobic,” Jack said, ready to get home.

 Saint counted them down, not wasting any more time.
They lined their steps up and in perfect timing with one
another they sprinted to the other end.

Both hit the door with a massive thud, and pain vibrated
through Jack’s shoulder like every bone inside had been
relocated to his wrist. He rolled them out as Saint collected
himself.

“It’s loose,” Saint said giving the door a push.

A small crack of light peered through the doorway.

“Shit,” Jack swore, seeing the sunlight. How long had they
been in this fucking box?

“One more,” Saint tugged on his arm and then walked the
length of the container again, heavy boots echoing off the
metal. “Put your shoulder into it this time,” he added.

“If I had my gun I’d shoot you,” Jack groaned.

“Too bad,” Saint said before counting them down.

They moved quickly, Jack pushing off his feet and into the
door.

It crashed open, sending them flying through the air and

thudding against the hard, cracked, and cold cement of the
New York docks.

Jack rolled onto his back, groaning loudly and staring into
the bright summer sky. The blue burned his eyes. “It makes me
uncomfortable how lucky we just got,” Banks stepped into
view, blocking out the sun. “I’ve been looking for you.”
 James came around the corner with a set of metal bolt
cutters to cut the lock they had exploded. He helped Saint to
his feet and Banks extended a hand to Jack. He stared at him
for a long time before grasping it and taking the help for once.
Banks pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around
him and inhaling deeply.

“Banks,” Jack pushed him back, not because he hadn’t

missed him. Oddly enough he had, the kid’s stupid cheeky
smile was usually one of the best parts of his day but
something was wrong.

He knew it the second he pulled back and saw the look in

his eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jack asked.

Saint went rigid beside him.

“I-” Banks rolled his tongue over his lips, “I thought

maybe she would be with you.”

“What?” Saint asked, his head tipping to the side. In the

harsh light of the morning, Jack could inspect all his injuries,
but Saint seemed relatively unharmed except for a large gash
at the base of his left ear. Blood dripped and pooled around his
neck, but it seemed to have stopped long before they had
broken out of the container.

“There’s a medical team on standby,” James said, his blue

eyes flickering over Jack.

“We’re fine,” he snapped, not turning his attention to

James but still listening.
 “You’ve been missing a week, we’ve been searching
but…” Banks sighed, “And then today.” He handed him an
envelope.

Jack pulled the picture from the musty yellow paper.

It was a photo of the shipping dock.

“Flip it over,” Banks said with a clipped tone. He tucked

into his jacket and inhaled deeply as Jack explained to Saint
what he had.

“Caught in a cage.”

“A Cage?” Saint asked after Jack had said it.

“Like a bird…” Jack growled, turning on Banks so fast he

didn’t have time to scramble away. “What the hell happened?
Where did you go?”

Banks pushed back against his hold, struggling against the

strength of Jack as he slammed him up against the wall of
another shipping container. “I lost you!” He yelled, pushing
back, “You were there one minute and gone the next!”

He fought against Jack harder. James stood close, ready to

tear them apart if Jack went too far. Jack looked over at James,
demanding answers. Beckett’s best friend looked exhausted
like he hadn’t slept in days. They all did, but he was showing
every ounce of fear across his hardened face.

“What the hell does that mean!” Jack slammed Banks

against the container again.
 “I was washing blood from under my fingernails for a
week!” He pushed hard enough to throw Jack back. “Your
blood!” He argued. “Saint’s blood!”

Jack dropped his hands; Banks fixed the collar of his

jacket and ran his fingers through his hair.

His hands trembling, “I thought she was with you.”

He repeated it like if he said it enough times they would

understand what he was trying to say. He closed his dark eyes
over and didn’t open them, “I showed up, at the location and it
was covered in blood. You were both gone, so I went back to
Beckett’s. She was there, she was talking…” he said.

“Banks,” Saint whispered, the worry in his voice evident.

“She took those stupid fucking pills,” Banks said, his eyes
opening and flickering to Saint. “She fell asleep so I…” he
inhaled sharply. “I put her to bed, and I went to get my
phone-” he said.

“You left her?” Jack snarled.

“You left her first,” Banks snapped. “I needed it, in case

they found you. When I came back… she was gone. Someone
mailed that to James today.”

“She’s been missing a fucking week and you were looking

for us?” Every muscle in Jack’s body felt like it was ready to
explode from him, they stretched tensely over him ready to
snap.

“We were looking for both of you, this was just dropped in
our laps,” James noted. “That’s enough from both of you.
Maddox, you’re awfully quiet.”

“There are pieces to the puzzle that are missing. Why take
Jack and I?” Saint asked, “if this was about removing us from
the picture to keep Beck…all to himself. Why not take us all?”

The four of them looked around at each other, mulling

over the question in silence. Jack swallowed the nausea that
built in his throat and fought to think through the blinding pain
that vibrated through his head.
 35

thirty five

SAINT MADDOX

James insisted that they get cleaned up before coming

down to the station. Jack fought against the suggestion like it
was his job to do so and it had taken more than convincing to
get him to listen.

Saint dragged him kicking and screaming back to their

apartment, throwing him in the shower fully clothed and
shocked him with a stream of freezing water.

“Stop it,” he shoved Jack, hearing him bounce off the tile
wall behind him. “You think throwing a tantrum, and hurting
your friends will find her? Get your head right.” He warned.
“They were smart. They followed the clues, now we can help
get her back.”

He heard the soft huff that dropped from Jack’s lips

tangled with the raging pace of his heart beneath his chest.
 “Saint,” he said so quietly that if it weren’t for his
heightened senses Saint would have missed it altogether.
Muffled deep beneath the breathing and falling water. “I have
to turn it off.”

He understood what Callahan was saying, he had seen him

do it before but this was different. Saint was cautious with his
next words, “you can’t.”

“I have to.” Jack’s voice was barely a whine.

“Not this time,” Saint reached out into the stream of water
and searched for the sound of his heartbeat behind it. He
pressed his hand to Jack’s chest, a boundary they rarely
crossed unless it was necessary. “You need it to find her.”

He pressed his fingers deeper and waited for Jack to argue

but he just rested his hand around Saint’s wrist. Holding it
there for a moment longer before shooing him from the
bathroom so he could shower in peace.

He listened as the sobs wracked through Jack’s body, he

listened as Jack talked himself back into a dark place and he
listened as Jack convinced himself that Beck was still alive.

Saint didn’t need convincing, he could feel her. The soft

residual sound of her heartbeat thumped in his chest and he
knew that if she was dead there would be no steady music.
That the world would feel a little more silent in her absence.

He ran his hands over the dresser in his room and carefully
collected a pile of clothes before returning to the shower to
find it empty.
 Jack was gone.

Saint stripped from his dirty clothes, dropped them to the

floor in a puddle, and climbed into the shower without
bothering to check the temperature. It didn’t matter. He was
numb.

They were going to have to scour every inch of their

information. Hours and hours of research needed combing and
Saint could only help with half of it. Banks had been making
the effort to switch some of it to braille but it would take too
long and it was time they didn’t have just for Saint to come
back with the same conclusion.

It had to be someone she knew.

He let the water run over him, trying to shake loose the
low ringing hum that vibrated through his ears. He scrubbed at
his skin as if it would help him feel something even if it was
pain that flooded in he would welcome it. Anything but the
sinking empty feeling that was suffocating him.

The steam that rose in the bathroom made the heat

unbearable and his mind was pushed back into the darkness of
the night the warehouse exploded. He remembered Jack
screaming for him but he had gotten distracted by the sound of
another loud, strong heartbeat that he couldn’t place.

The clothing he had worn that night took the brunt of the
destruction that night alongside Jack. Saint had climbed from
the fire practically untouched. Jack disappeared into the night
without so much as a whimper leaving Banks and Saint to only
assume he had crawled back to Beck.
 If he could find her in death.

He would find her now.

He climbed from the shower after every inch of his skin

was scrubbed and raw. He washed his hair until he could no
longer smell the scent of copper lingering in his hair and until
all the dirt and grime were out from under his fingernails. The
wound on the back of his head was sore, but it wasn’t deep.
Just painful enough to have knocked him out when it
happened.

He wondered to himself as he shucked on a clean pair of

dress pants over his hips how they had been kept unconscious.
But if Banks had been telling the truth and there was no
evidence he wasn’t, then they had been in that container a
week and asleep for the majority of it.

When they woke Saint had assumed that it was mere hours
later, not seven days. Jack had been under the same
impression. They had been woken up in time with James
receiving the picture, telling them where to go. It was another
tiny puzzle piece left for them to obsess over until their minds
went loopy.

He pulled into his shirt, buttoning up the collar around his

neck but leaving the top two undone, he wasn’t in the mood to
fuss with one of his ties, and the thought of having it wrapped
around his neck felt suffocating.

Saint was used to living in darkness, it had become his life

at such a young age that he didn’t know what the sun looked
like anymore. But he knew how it felt, how it sounded and
tasted. The warmth that Beckett had brought into his life

“Hey Siri,” he called out into the apartment and the

familiar chime of his cell phone echoed off the concrete walls.
He followed the noise to the kitchen counter and wrapped his
hand around it, he brought up the contacts and dialed Jack.

“Meet me at her apartment,” he snapped when Jack sent

him to voicemail.

***

Jack was standing outside her door when Saint stepped off the
elevator. He could hear the anger rolling off of him in small
huffs as he shifted on his feet and his heavy boots crunched
into the carpet below him. Banks was with him, his heartbeat
was steady and Saint could hear it over the slow grinding noise
of the elevator as it sunk back to the main floor.

“Why are we here?” Jack asked, “this is pointless. Banks

scoured this apartment.”

“We aren’t here for that,” Saint ran his hand against the
wall of the hallway, turning away from Beckett’s door toward
her neighbors. “We’re here to speak to Mr. Hasif.”

“The neighbour?” Banks’ voice was laced with curiosity.

 “Beckett talked about him all the time, said he rarely slept
since his wife died,” Saint explained, and he heard the shift in
stance from Jack. The touchiest subject. It had been years, but
it was still like walking on glass without shoes.

They didn’t speak of them unless Jack brought them up,

they didn’t mourn them until Jack mourned them. They didn’t
even celebrate his kid’s birthdays. Saint knew it was
unhealthy, he had felt Jack spiral into a depressive, angry husk
without a way to slow his descent.

Down into the rabbit hole until Beckett turned on the light,
exposing the raw nerve endings of his emotions that Jack
fought so hard to ignore.

“Did you speak to him that night?” Saint called out to

Banks as he knocked on the door. “The night she came home
to the break-in.”

“No,” Banks was hovering over his right shoulder, a pace

away from Jack. It always surprised Saint how quiet he was,
light on his feet compared to the heavy, frustrated footsteps of
Callahan. “It was late, and Beck was all over the place, I didn’t
think to come over here. I didn’t wanna leave her.” He said
quietly, curling into himself.

“It’s fine. If he heard or saw anything he’ll likely

remember and maybe, he saw something the night she was
taken.” Saint said raising his hand to knock on the door.

“You really think so?” Banks sounded hopeful but his tone
was laced with anxiety.
 Saint could level with that. Anxious wasn’t something he
got very often but the thought of Beckett being in danger made
his blood pressure spike higher than normal.

The door swung open before Saint could even knock.

“You’re alive,” he said, his voice was calming, and his

heartbeat was steady.

Saint would have answered the man if the statement had

been aimed in his direction but the words floated over his
shoulder at Jack.

“I am,” he huffed, “thank you for that. I apologize for the

mess,” Jack said and Banks chuckled beside them. Neither of
them had ever heard much gratitude from Callahan so it was
always a treat when he was backed into a corner.

“Beckett thanked me enough, I’m just glad you are alive to

see the sunrise another day.” He said, “Come in.”

Saint heard the soft footsteps shift backward, and Jack

guided him through the doorway. “The layout is the same,”
Jack whispered to him, “just mirrored.”

The layout of the apartment may have been similar, but the
smell was overwhelming to his senses. The warm nutty smells
of cinnamon and turmeric filled his nose, it was delicious and
dizzying. It made it hard to focus on anything else.

“Ms. Beckett hasn’t been home in over a week,” Mr. Hasif

explained. “After the commotion the other night. I was getting
ready to call her friend.”
 “Detective Bailey?” Banks asked, his voice distant, closer
to the door while Jack paced behind Saint. His heartbeat wild.

“Yes,” he said. “He gave me this number the first time she
encountered the stalker. Asked me to watch for anything
strange.”

“And?” Jack asked, more gruffly than Saint would have

approached it.

“And the only thing strange coming in and out of that

apartment for the last three months has been you three.” Mr.
Hasif laughed, it was tightly wound and nervous, but the
laughter wasn’t suspicious. He was just worried, thought
Saint.

“There’s been no disturbances other than us?” Jack said.

“Whoever is terrorizing Ms. Murphy is skilled, there has

been no peep. I remember hearing the commotion of-” he
paused.

“Banks… Banks Romero,” he said introducing himself.

“Of Mr. Romero showing up a few nights ago, he panicked

but he waited for Ms. Murphy to open the door. And she
seemed happy to see him,” Mr. Hasif explained. “He left about
fifteen minutes later in a huff.”

“Did he return?” Jack asked the tension building in the

room around them.

Callahan had been known to toss all his trust out the
window in times like these, flippant with it almost to the point
of pissing Saint off on more than one occasion. But what could
he do? It was Jack, it seemed these days the only blind trust he
had was for Beckett and even then, he still hid things from her.
Dark parts of himself that Saint had heard him work through in
the form of men screaming, please stop, no more, don’t kill
me.

Jack didn’t care. He enjoyed it, he pretended that every life

he took somehow washed him clean of the guilt he carried
over his family dying but Saint knew it didn’t work like that.
The only person that could absolve him of that dirty feeling
was Jack Callahan, but the man was too afraid to look at
himself in a mirror, let alone speak the words that flooded his
consciousness.

“He did,” Mr. Hasif said after a short pause. “Followed by

a lot of noise and a moment later there were sirens and more
police.”

Saint heard Banks inhale sharply, taking his first breath in

minutes.

“And no one has been in there since that night?” Jack

asked, his voice loud in Saint’s ear as he stepped up to meet
his shoulder. “Not a soul?”

“No one,” Mr. Hasif said, “I wandered over yesterday to

check on her with a tin of her favorite treats, but she never
answered. And that girl has a nose for jalebi, I was more
worried when she didn’t show up asking.” He gave another
soft, sad laugh.

“You call Detective Bailey if you hear anything from her,

or if anyone other than us four enters that apartment?” Banks
asked.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation.

“Thank you for your help Mr. Hasif,” Saint said, extending
his hand out in front of him. The older man took it in his own
and shook it, wrapping his other hand over the top. “We’ll find
her,” he encouraged.

“I will pray for her,” he said.

They exited the apartment in the opposite order they had

entered and stood in the hallway after he closed the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Banks snapped at Jack, “did he

return?” He mocked Jack’s hard tone and Saint felt the air shift
as he stepped into his personal space.

“It was a valid question Banks,” Saint interjected.

“Yeah maybe if it was someone outside our circle,” Banks

hissed in a lone tone. “But it’s us, of course, I came back.
What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’ve been unconscious in a shipping container for a week

while you’ve been pissing around with your dick tucked
between your legs,” Jack growled, his chest pressed against
Saint’s shoulder. “You should have brought her home by
now!”

“This guy isn’t just smarter than me!” Banks’ voice was
louder now, louder than Saint had ever experienced from him.
“He’s smarter than all of us,” he huffed. “I needed you, to find
her! Do you think this is easy for me? Just because I wasn’t in
that damn container with you?”
 “Banks,” Saint tried to calm him down as he raised his
hand to Banks’ shoulder, but he was just shoved away.

“You know the guilt,” he stepped forward and Saint could

feel him brush against his chest with his shoulder. He and Jack
were face to face. “The kind that even though you were
there…” he inhaled. “You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help.”

Saint waited for Jack to lose his mind, to yell or fight but
he just pushed past them both toward the elevator. Saint
dropped his head between his shoulders and sighed, they
needed to find her, and they needed to do it before Jack took
matters into his own hands.
 36

thirty six

Beckett’s head was spinning when she finally woke up again.

She was tucked into bed, the sheets pulled up and around her
shoulders. She cuddled down within them, pulling them close
to her body and inhaling the warm cinnamon sent off them.
She was still so sleepy, her mind hazy and foggy from the
sleeping pills.

She moaned when she felt his arms wrap around her,
tucking his lips against her neck and peppering her skin with
tiny kisses. She could close her eyes and fall asleep again
without a worry in her mind, as long as he stayed here with
her. She rolled her hips back against him, needy even half
asleep, begging for his touch.

He tucked her against his warm, bare chest and continued

to praise her with sleepy mumbles she could barely understand
but that made her flushed and happy.

His warm hand slipped down, raking the expanse of her

stomach and tucked under the cotton shirt she wore until it
carefully palmed her breast. Kneading her skin as his kisses
became hot and needy against her shoulder. She arched back
into his touch, exposing her neck and lips to him as she took
his mouth against hers. His fingers brushed over her nipple,
twisting it gently before leaving her breast and moving toward
the dull throb between her legs.

His fingers dipped beneath her underwear and into her

soaked cunt, ready and willing for him as he worked in mind-
tingling circles. He worked between her folds, dragging a
long, breathless moan from her lips as his tongue swiped into
her mouth.

“That’s it,” he encouraged between kisses as he slipped

two fingers deep between her thighs, rubbing against the spot
inside of her warm cunt that sent her spiraling. “Squeeze,
baby.” He demanded and she listened, clenching tightly as he
worked his fingers in and out. “You’re dripping for me,” he
teased, pulling away, and he angled above her.

He sunk his teeth into the fabric of her shirt and lifted it
just high enough to expose her breasts to him. He wrapped his
mouth around a pebbled nipple and lapped at it hungrily,
pulling back only to blow cool air over it.

“Finish,” he whispered.

He brushed her skin with the hair that coated his jaw and
switched to relentlessly tease the other nipple with the same
enthusiasm. His fingers worked her over the edge as his thumb
rubbed circles into her drenched cunt, rotating until she was
nothing but a whimpering mess between the sheets.
 “There’s that sound I crave,” he nipped painfully at her
skin, leaving little marks that were sure to bruise as he
slammed his fingers through her. She whimpered under his
touch and buckled against him as she came. “That’s my girl,”
he kissed the sweaty spot behind her ear.

She wrapped herself around him as his hand slipped from

her underwear and cupped her ass as if he owned it. “Hi,” she
mumbled against the warm skin between his neck and
shoulder.

“Angel.” Banks tugged her bottom lip between his teeth

and kissed her some more, properly pulling her from the
sleepy haze she had been in. “I think I like the sleepy version
of you the best.”

“It’s your favorite time to get your hands on me,” she

cooed at him.

“You’re always a bundle of heat this early, it’s addicting,”

he kissed her again.

She could lay here all day and let Banks kiss every square
inch of her body, but her stomach rumbled between them.

“I’m hungry,” she whined.

“I can get you some breakfast,” he offered. “You worked

up an appetite,” he teased.

She shook the sleep from her body, rolling her shoulders
back tightly, “are you still sore?” he asked, looking down at
her with worry.
 She was covered in bruises and scratches, having woken
up in Banks bed nearly four days ago tucked away safely from
the world. He had found her in some dingy, destroyed
apartment downtown on a dirty mattress chained to the
radiator. She was still reeling from the pain she had endured,
but the sleeping pills at least helped her sleep.

The worst part wasn’t even the recurring nightmares she

had been suffering.

Jack and Saint were still missing and the pain from her
psychical injuries was nothing in comparison to the agony in
her heart.

“Have you found them yet?” She asked him, brushing his
hair back off his face as he stole another soft kiss from her
lips.

“No,” he huffed, “it’s like one second they were there and
the next…” he dropped his gaze from hers, hiding the guilt he
carried for losing them.

“If anyone can find them it’s you,” she ran her hand down
from his hair to his jaw. She drank in his tattoos, admiring
them in the light sun that pushed through the heavy curtains in
his bedroom. “I just miss them,” she whispered, feeling him
flinch under her touch.

“I know angel,” he mumbled against her skin. “I’ll bring

them home for you,” he smiled down at her, “I promise. Stay
here.”
 He climbed from the bed, searching the ground for a clean
pair of boxers all while giving her a show. “You could just stay
here with me,” she shucked off her shirt, throwing it at him to
get his attention.

“You need to eat,” he groaned, giving her a side-eye.

She laid back in bed, propped up by her elbows on display

for her golden retriever. “You wouldn’t wanna leave a girl
unsatisfied?” she teased, tossing her head back and letting her
hair cascade toward the bed as she bent her knees, letting them
fall apart for him. “Come on lover boy, don’t tease me,” she
whined.

The sound broke him, and his hands were all over her in
seconds. Tearing away the underwear that prevented him from
getting to her already primed and dripping cunt. He tossed
them to the floor in shreds and dove between her legs with his
tongue. She bucked against his face, riding against the long
slope of his nose and reaping the benefits as the sparks fired
off beneath her skin like fireworks.

“Banks,” she whined, needing more of him.

He scooted her back on the bed, kissing her cunt softly

before leaving it to smother her mouth with wet, warm kisses.
His hands raked up her body admiring every inch of her skin
beneath his fingertips as he went. “Unsatisfied,” he whined,
“can’t have that.”

Before she could argue, the tip of his cock pressed through
her folds and into her entrance without hesitation ripping a
gasp from her lips. “There’s that noise again,” he growled and
greedily nipped at her skin.

He rolled his hips into her, quickening his pace until he

fucked the hunger from her and replaced it with need. The
rubber band stretched taut within her stomach and pulled
tighter with every slap that rang through the air.

Banks wrapped his hand around her throat, squeezing

gently, causing her vision to blink in hot white flashes. Beckett
raked her hands down his back, digging her nails in ever so
gently to drag a low grumble from his throat as he kissed her.
His cock pumped inside of her at an unbearable pace as he
brought them both to the edge. One hand gripped her ass,
pulling her hips toward him as the other remained wrapped
delicately around her neck.

Beckett was bound to black out before she came but Banks
was ready, whispering sweet praises in her ear as he worked
her through a sharp wave of delicious nerve-firing orgasm.

Banks poured over and into her, finding his own release as
she breathed through the hurricane that raged inside of her.
“And now?” Banks breathed against her skin, shallow and fast
as he tried to catch it. “Is my angel satisfied?” He asked.

“Yes,” Beckett giggled, “but still very much hungry.”

“Never fulfilled,” he pulled out slowly, kissing her

tenderly as he went. “Take a shower, I’ll find you something to
eat.”
 “Can I call James, I want to know if he’s found anything?”
She asked.

“It’s a safe house for a reason. We have to keep you hidden

Beckett, we don’t know how he found you the first time, if
you call out or leave here it’s putting your life in danger. For
all, we know he’s got Saint and Jack to lure you out.” Banks
pressed his hand to her face. “I’ll go down to the station later
when the relief patrol arrives.” He promised.

She sighed, being locked up all day was starting to grate

on her nerves. She just wanted to be helpful and hiding
away…seemed pointless. Beckett would have rather wandered
out and lured him to her than sit here chewing her fingernails
sad.

She was more than capable of being bait if it meant getting

her men back.

Beck padded gingerly to the bathroom, down the long dark

hallway of Banks loft, and flicked on the light. It was
gorgeous, tiled halfway up from the floor with dark subway
tiles and paired with dark wallpaper. The shower was the size
of Beckett’s bathroom and had no tub, but a giant glass door.
She had been enjoying the long, endless showers that seemed
to wash the exhaustion from her skin. She stepped into the
steaming water and let it run over her body, shutting her eyes
for a moment of weakness as the tears streamed down her
face.

“Teach me then!” Beck said.

 “Yeah,” Jack held the gun out in front of him with a
determined look on his face. “You can have it if you can take it
from me.”

“Bad idea,” Saint mumbled under his breath from the sofa.

“Why?” Beck asked, her question pointed.

“Take the gun from me,” he challenged, dropping the clip

to the table and clearing the chamber before he let her really
try.

Beck rolled her shoulders and shifted on her feet. The

fabric of her gym leggings was already sticking to her thighs
from the training session she had been forced through with
Saint that morning. When they had arrived home from it Jack
was sitting at the dinner table cleaning his weapons and
suddenly Beckett’s taser felt pitiful.

He was wearing that dark gray sweater that she loved so

much because it hung off his chest tightly and showed off the
muscles hiding beneath. Maybe if she was lucky she could get
him working hard enough to sweat, and just maybe he would
take it off for her as a reward after.

“You’re stalling,” Jack shook his head, serious as always.

“I’m daydreaming,” Becket cooed, running her eyes down

to the tight pair of dark denim jeans he wore.

“Focus, Murphy. This is serious.” Jack warned and she

rolled her eyes at him but kicked off her feet and charged
toward him as quickly as she could.
 She expected him to take the blow from her shoulder but
instead, he sidestepped, letting her crash to the floor with a
painful hiss from her teeth.

“Don’t hurt her,” Saint warned, but it was quiet and less of
an order and more out of concern for Beckett.

“Again?” Jack looked her up and down, the corner of his

lip curling up just a little.

“You enjoying this Callahan?” She asked him as she

pushed from the ground.

“Very much so, canary,” he chuckled softly, “come on

then, tough guy,” he encouraged.

Beckett steadied herself, ready to charge again, this time

she was able to wrap her hand around the gun. But Jack was
faster, spinning her and roughly wrapping his arm around her
throat and pulling her back against his chest.

“Cute,” he kissed her jaw. “Now sit,” he kicked his socked

foot against her calf below her shaky knee and dropped her to
the ground with the barrel to the back of her head.

Saint pushed off the couch, but Jack growled, “she’s not a
child Maddox, let her learn.”

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, and settled

against the arm of the couch to let them finish what they were
doing.

“Show me,” she said finally, sick of the games.

 “On your feet,” he grumbled, holding the gun out again.
“Keep your distance, not too close,” he instructed, pushing
back on her stomach with his fingers when she began to crowd
him. “Make space,” he took her hand wrapping it around the
barrel of the gun, and directed her, and it passed her head.
Away from her body.

“Target the soft spots, joints. Joints are weak,” Jack said,
flicking her wrist and drawing a tiny hiss from her lips.

She wrapped a hand around his wrist and yanked but he

didn’t go anywhere, he was too strong for her, and it deflated
most of her quick-triggered confidence.

“Use your weight?” Saint offered his support, his eyes

drifted to the left of her body as he searched for her heartbeat
and rehashed lessons, he had previously taught her. “Pull
toward your body, sunshine. Not away.”

She nearly laughed as Jack’s eyebrow raised, waiting for

her move. She gripped the gun again, harder this time as she
swiped her arm around the outside of his wrist. “Plant your
feet,” Jack warned, and she was one step ahead of him.

She kicked her foot out, planting down as hard as she

could, so loud the thump brought a smirk to Saint’s face. She
twisted her body, ripping the gun from Jack’s hand and turning
it in her hand so the barrel was pointed at his head. He
watched her for a moment and for that split second something
ticked under her skin, something changed deep inside of her
chest. Blossomed and twisted into what she needed to be. She
squeezed the trigger and the chamber clicked empty. She
watched Saint flinch from the corner of her eye, arm still
extended, Jack’s dark eyes watching her carefully.

“Atta girl,” his whisper was a mix of pride and defeat.

“Angel,” Banks called, snapping her from the daydream,

the water had run cold, and her body felt like stone. “Your
food is getting cold.”

She partially covered herself and looked over at him with a

pitiful smile.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, leaning against the door

frame. His hair was brushed back in slick dark waves that
curled around his nape and his tattoos were stretched tightly
over his slim, hardened muscles.

“Just thinking about Jack and Saint, worried.” She reached

over, shutting off the shower and when she turned back, he
was there waiting with a dark towel.

He wrapped it tightly around her and snuggled her against

his chest, his hand coming down over her wet hair. “We’ll all
be together soon enough, angel.”
 37

thirty seven

JACK CALLAHAN

“Are you done?” Saint asked, leaning against the office

desk as Jack threw anything he could get his hands on.

“It was in here,” Jack growled, looking up at his friend.

Saint focused on the wall, his expression pensive in his
pressed black suit and white dress shirt. Even during the worst
three weeks of their lives, Saint seemed to show up every day
dressed like he was attending a fucking gala.

It pissed Jack off, who stood in a dirty black t-shirt and a

pair of jeans that smelled like last week’s whiskey. He ran his
hands down his jaw in frustration, the beard he usually kept
trimmed and short had grown long and unruly in Beckett’s
absence.

He just didn’t care; his mind was focused on finding his

canary and the world seemed to fade into a gentle roar in the
background of his scrambled thoughts.
 “Are you sure?” Saint asked.

“Yes.” Jack’s tone was clipped, impatient, and rude.

Saint sighed, his head dropping between his shoulders as

he exhaled. “I’m going to ask you a question, you’re going to
answer it and not throw a hissy fit,” he said.

Jack resented the tone in his voice.

“How’s your head?” Saint asked.

His head? He thought.

“Fine,” he said, pushing more folders around on his desk.

“Jack.”

Saint stood and walked toward the desk, “you took a hard
blow to the head, twenty-seven stitches isn’t…”

“You did too,” Jack quipped, looking up at him.

Saint’s eyes focused to his left, closer to his wrist, listening

to the rapid way Jack’s heart thudded beneath his chest.

“Cut it out,” Jack barked the second realized the idiot was
trying to read his heartbeat and catch him in a lie.

“Quit lying,” Saint responded just as fast.

“It hurts,” he mumbled, looking toward the office door.

“But if you think for a second that it’s affecting my ability to
find her, rethink whatever bullshit accusation that’s about to
come out of your mouth. I’m doing my best here, navigating
everything. You and Banks have a luxury I don’t, if you lose
her. You move on eventually, it fucking hurts Saint, it does but
you do what you have to do and you move on.”
 Jack pressed his hands to the table and inhaled deeply, “but
I can’t do that again. I barely survived the first time and if you
think I’m just gonna be okay, you’re deluded. So yeah, I’m a
little less put together than you two are used to but it doesn’t
mean I can’t do my fucking job so back the fuck off before I
kick your blind ass.”

Saint nodded to himself, a small curve to his sad mouth,

“you’d never win that fight.”

“Shut the fuck up Maddox, quit analyzing me and be

helpful.” Jack shook his head but he felt the smile that crept
upon his lips, a true one, shared between friends.

A knock on the door interrupted them, “come in,” Jack

said loudly enough for whoever was waiting.

James slid into the room and much to Jack’s surprise his
husband followed him. Closing the door behind them as James
dropped the envelope on his desk, “that was just delivered to
Ashton at the firehouse.”

Jack looked down at it, his poor suffocated heart expecting

the worst as he opened it. There was a small photo inside,
hesitant to touch it he stopped.

“It’s been checked for prints, there’s nothing.”

“You didn’t come straight here?” Jack tilted his head at

him.

“You’re insufferable, look.” James rolled his blue eyes at

him and pointed to the photo.
 It was one from the night she had found them in the gym,
beat up and cut open from one of their fights. She was cuddled
between them and fast asleep. Jack hissed under his breath,
grinding his teeth together uncomfortably. “It’s a photo we’ve
seen before,” Jack explained to Saint who was waiting for
either of them to speak.

“How are you even a cop?” James sighed, “flip it over

genius.”

The back was scribbled on in dark ink, come find us.

“That’s it?” Jack laughed, “a taunt?” Anger bubbled up

into his throat and he tossed the envelope to the desk.

“Why send it to Ashton?” Saint asked, clearly managing

his frustration better than Jack.

“The envelope was marked ‘the silent’ . I only knew it was

for me because the writing was the same as the envelope that
was dropped off for James at the house,” Ashton explained.

James raised an eyebrow at Jack and shucked his hand into

the pocket of his navy dress suit.

“The envelope that told you where we were?” Saint asked.

“Exactly three weeks ago I got that, to the day and time,”
James explained. “It’s more than a taunt,” he said.

“It’s a clue.” Jack growled.

“More games,” Ashton’s jaw clenched tightly. “I’m going

to be sick.” He crossed his arms, the fabric of his maroon
long-sleeve stretching tightly as he leaned back against the
filing cabinet in his navy fire pants. James reached out to him,
turning into his side to whisper something in his ear that made
Ashton’s body relax a touch.

Jack couldn’t scold them too much, clearly, they were

taking the issue seriously if Ashton hadn’t changed from work.
They had come straight here with the information. He could
feel Saint telling him to take a beat, to think about his words
and actions. Even without actually saying it, Saint’s slow
methodical breathing beside him spoke for him.

“Well, we’ve seen this photo already,” Jack scowled,

crossing his own arms and looking between the three of them.

“The stalker has been profiled as a narcissist with an

extreme savior complex. He believes he’s rescuing Beckett
from the world, from us. If it’s a photo we’ve seen perhaps it’s
not about finding someplace new… It’s about revisiting old
places. It’s psychologically pleasing for them. Like an artist
admiring their work.” Saint tried to explain to them, his voice
tighter than usual.

Banks walked in without knocking, only stopping when he

saw them all standing around uncomfortably, “what the hell
happened?” He asked. “Why wasn’t I invited to the pizza
party?”

“There’s another clue,” Jack groaned. “Have you been

back to the apartment since she was taken?” He asked him,
flipping the photo in his direction.

Banks looked at it, flipping it over in his hands, and

shrugged. He was wearing a long sleeve black shirt and a pair
of jeans, his usual dark leather holster was slung over his
shoulders, and safely carried his gun. He shifted in his boots, a
strand of his dark hair falling out of its perfect placement as he
looked back up at Jack.

“I was there the two days after, scouring the place,” he

said, his dark eyes flickered behind him to look at the other
two for support. “James was lead on it, we never found
anything.”

“He’s right,” James nodded, his hand slipping into

Ashton’s to comfort him. “Her apartment was pristine, it didn’t
even look like she fought him.”

“She would have fought,” Jack growled, “she always

fights. Even in her goddamn sleep,” he sighed trying not to
smile at the delicate memories he kept stored away for hard
days.

“When she sleeps with us,” Saint added and paused for a
moment, “when she takes those pills she’s dead to the world,
even her heartbeat sounds funny on them.”

“The human lie detector is right,” Banks nodded, “that

night I could have sworn she stopped breathing… It was
terrifying.”

“Okay, so how did he know she was going to take them?”

Ashton asked. “We don’t, all we know is that he was there
watching her and I don’t think that he planned on Banks being
around but he acted outside of his plan,” Jack said.
 “That’s what I can’t wrap my head around,” Saint said,
stopping them all, “he’s been meticulous up to this point,
everything he’s done has had an order, a plan.”

“So what, he sees her sleeping, takes his chances? It’s

reckless, why would he risk everything? He could have taken
her any day of the week with us locked up, why chance it in
the five minutes Banks had his back turned?” Jack grumbled.

“I still don’t know how he got her out of that apartment

without you seeing anything,” James shot the words at Banks
along with a hard look.

“Her apartment has a fire escape asshole,” Banks growled,

stepping toward James. “If you wanna say something, say it.
Quit being a pussy.”

“It’s just all very convenient that those two were attacked,
taken and you seemed to walk away from everything
unscathed. Every perfect hair on your golden boy head in
place.” James let go of Ashton to get in Banks’ face. “You
were the last one to see her, a top-tier cop in the department
and you didn’t see a fucking thing? You didn’t hear anything?”

Saint sighed under his breath and Jack rolled his shoulders
back tensely as the two went for each other’s throats.

“You came to us in the first place when you weren’t good

enough to keep her safe, now you think you have the right to
act all high and mighty?” Banks laughed but it was haunting
and hollow. “Fuck off Bailey.”
 “Banks,” Jack growled from his throat. “That’s enough,”
he warned. “I want you to go search her desk at the call
center.”

“The call center?” He turned toward Jack, closing the

space between them and leaning on the desk. “Are you
sending me away?” He whispered as if no one else could hear
him.

“No,” Jack scowled, “I’m splitting up our forces, I want to

know if any clues have been delivered anywhere else.”

Banks studied him for a long moment, his pitch-black eyes

searching Jack’s brown. It wasn’t a challenge but Banks was
waiting for him to give him something more, anything else to
prove that Jack wasn’t just banishing him to stop the fight. “I
don’t need you starting wars with her family.”

“We are her family,” he snapped, his lip curling back over
his perfectly white teeth.

“Go,” Jack said, not disagreeing with him but he needed to

create space between the two of them before they resorted to
actual violence in his office.

“Fine,” Banks licked his tongue over his bottom lip and
gave him one last cold look of disapproval. “Make sure he
doesn’t do anything stupid Maddox,” he chirped before going
to leave.

“James will you check that bar,” Jack looked up at him

through his lashes as he tried to steady his own breathing.
 “Penny’s?” Ashton interrupted, “I’ll stop in on the way
back to work and check on Pen. I’ll give Luke a call and see if
he has anything.”

Ashton wasted no time, kissing James on the temple and

disappearing out the door with nothing more than a hand
squeeze and a nod.

“I’ll call Natalie and Jenn. Is there anyone else on the

list?” James asked, checking her closest friends was the first
priority. If the stalker was leaving clues with her family,
someone might have something.

“We should check in on Dorian,” Saint suggested.

“You two stay away from him,” James interjected. “Far

away,” he warned, “he filed assault charges on three men in a
park the week you went missing. The only reason it died is
that the case landed on my desk and not some eager rookie
looking for a big payout.”

“Wasn’t us,” Jack said but couldn’t keep a straight face.

You’re a shit liar,” he rolled his blue eyes at him, hand on

the doorknob and the other resting on his gun at his hip.

“He fucked with our girl Bailey, I wasn’t going to let that
go,” Jack said.

“I’m just warning you, next time don’t make it so obvious

that it’s you,” he shook his head. “I’ll check in on Dorian, you
two go to her apartment. See what you can find.”

“I want to find Beckett,” Jack hissed through his teeth.

“Keep your phone on.”
 James gave him a curt nod letting the door click shut
behind him and leaving Jack and Saint alone again, “we’ll find
her Jack,” he said quietly.

“You keep saying that Maddox I might start to believe it,”

Jack groaned running his hand over his face fighting the
exhaustion and dull ache in his head…

The ride over to her apartment was quiet. The tension

sparked between them, not toward each other but neither man
could get a handle on their feelings, on the situation and they
were both starting to feel helpless.

They had done this a thousand times, found people they

weren’t supposed to, and saved lives. Why the fuck couldn’t
they find her? Jack thought to himself as he cut the engine to
the truck.

Saint folded his walking stick into his palm and let the
sound of Jack’s footsteps guide him across the street and into
the building. They were silent in the elevator, greeted by an
old woman and her yapping dog before they slid out into the
hallway.

Jack could tell that Maddox didn’t want to go in there, it

was pouring off him in thick waves of frustration as he clicked
the lock free and swung her door open.

The apartment was spotless, no one had been in it for

almost three weeks and yet it still felt like her. The stupid dark
green couch that belonged at the dump still had her favorite
plush blanket thrown across it. There was a thin layer of dust
on the kitchen counter that blanketed the key bowl and
newspaper she had left.

Jack inhaled through his clenched jaw and stepped

forward. He turned and made to kick off his boots, stopping
himself when he didn’t hear her voice. “No boots in my house
Callahan, did your mama raise you in a barn?” she’d coo at
him.

But she’d reward him with soft kisses against his jaw and
behind his ear when he listened, which he only did because he
loved her. “Fuck,” he huffed, he felt that familiar sting in his
chest shook it loose and wandered through the apartment
refusing to think about it any longer.

He needed to focus.

Jack’s phone rang in his back pocket and Banks’ number

flashed across it in bright white letters as he stepped into her
closet. “Callahan,” he answered.

“There’s nothing here, the desk is empty. Talked to a few

of her coworkers but no one has seen anyone weird in the
building or around it.” He said, “I’m going to go check the
gym and then I don’t know.”

“Banks,” Jack said leaning against the door frame, “take a

beat,” he said. “We aren’t going to find her like this, not if
we’re all tugging and pulling at the same scrap of fabric.”

“Did you find anything at the apartment?” He asked,

ignoring the suggestion like a professional.
 “Not yet,” he said as Saint wandered through the bedroom
door.

“Hang up,” Saint mouthed.

Jack’s brows furrowed together; he knew who was on the

other end of the call. Saint knew it was Banks. He’d be able to
hear their conversation from the next room. So what was it
that Saint was afraid to say in front of him? He pressed his
tongue against the inside of his bottom lip and stared at Saint.
“Jack, now.” Saint waited, listening for him to do it. Whatever
it was, Jack trusted him, so he did as instructed.

“Get back to me after you check the gym.” He barked

before ending the call, he pushed his cell into his back pocket
and stepped toward Saint.

“The whole house smells like cinnamon hearts,” he said,

throwing a pillow from the couch at him. “It reeks like
Banks.”

“He was here Saint, what do you expect?” Jack nearly

laughed throwing the pillow to the nearby bed.

Saint clicked his tongue against his teeth, “I mean it’s

fresh, there’s a difference in the smells. When it’s old it
lingers, it’s there but it’s not strong.”

“What are you saying, Maddox?” Jack asked.

“The scent is fresh like yesterday or this morning fresh,”

Saint emphasized his panic.

“No,” Jack shook his head, “not Banks, there’s gotta be an

explanation.”
 “He fits the profile, Jack.” Saint licked his bottom lip,
“perfectly.”

“You’ve known the kid almost as long as I have, he

couldn’t do this. He loves her.” Jack argued.

“Exactly,” he sighed, “what if Banks is trying to save her

from us.”

He refused to believe it was Banks. Sunshine in a bottle,

the flirtatious kid didn’t have a mean bone in his body. At least
not one he would use to hurt Beckett. Jack had been sure of it,
but something about the serious tone of Saint’s voice led him
to believe that it might be a real possibility he should be
considering.

“No,” Jack said again with an uneven bitterness in his

tone, “look for something else. He wouldn’t do that…
couldn’t.”

Saint dropped his faraway gaze to the floor, inhaling

slowly as Jack started to move around the bedroom. He pushed
around the photos on the dresser, looking through them again.
They were mostly all the same size, fitting between his palms
easily as he shuffled them into a neat pile. All except one.

“Shit,” he sighed as a square Polaroid fell into his hand

from the center of the pile. “It’s a new one,” he said,
swallowing tightly. He looked at it, studying the angle of her
face, the way her hair fanned out over the pillow.

“What does it say?” Saint asked, “talk to me, Jack.”

He turned it over, she’s too good for you.

 “She’s not in her bed in this,” Jack said looking closer, he
held it up to the sun, studying the dark gray sheets. The bed
was framed by a large set of windows that overlooked most of
New York.

“Jack,” Saint whispered, stepping closer to him. He could

hear the way Jack’s heart picked up speed, his stomach curling
over in nausea. The stalker stood in the camera’s view; his tall,
lanky body angled toward Beckett. The sleeves of his shirt
exposed the smallest display of tattoos that wrapped around
his forearms.

“It’s him,” Jack whispered. “He’s in the fucking reflection

Saint. It’s Banks.”
 38

thirty eight

“Angel?” Banks called into his apartment and Beck found her
way to his voice. He looked worried and scrambled. His hair
was messy and he had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up around
his forearms. “We need to move you.”

“What happened?” She pulled her hair back into a ponytail

and met him halfway, wrapping her arms around him and
pulling the cinnamon scent from his chest into her nose.

“The stalker has been leaving clues,” he said quietly, his

hands creeping around her back and pulling her tightly against
him. “I missed you,” he whispered.

“You were gone like four hours Banks,” she laughed

through her fear, “what do you mean clues?”

“He mailed a photo to Ashton-” he started.

“Is he okay? Is James okay?” She pulled back to look at

him.
 He nodded, his eyes softly flickering over her concerned
features. He kissed the space between her eyebrows gently.
“Of course,” he said.

“And Jack? Saint…” she asked, knowing deep inside her

heart that the update would be no different. If they had found
them, Banks would have brought them to her. He wouldn’t
keep them away; they were a family now.

“No sign,” Banks sighed. “With them being gone and the
stalker ramping up his activity the best thing I can do, to keep
you safe is to move you. There’s a safe house across town, it’s
small and not quite as nice as my apartment but it’ll do.”

She chewed on her lip, running her finger underneath one

of the holster straps that cut into his shoulder. “Safety first,”
she nodded sadly.

“Hey,” he lifted her chin with a finger, “I know you’re

hurting; I miss them too.” He kissed her gently, dragging her
bottom lip between his. “I won’t stop until they’re home, but
right now you’re my first priority. Go pack your bag.”

She lingered for a moment longer, kissing him again.

Chasing the taste and trying to distract her mind from the
suffocating worry that seeped in when she wasn’t careful to
keep the walls up around her.

When she was ready he drove them across town to a

smaller safe house. It was tiny, but it’s own living quarters
which was nice. The small house was painted a soft yellow
and the white shutters made it feel like the house from that
movie with the widowed grandpa and the talking dog.
 She hopped from the car as Banks opened the door for her
and followed him up the tiny sidewalk to the tiny, adorable
front door. “It’s kind of like playing house,” she mused quietly
as he looked around and unlocked the door.

“Don’t tempt me,” he teased, “if I could lock you away,

make you mine forever. I’ll put a baby in you right fucking
now just to see you barefoot and pregnant.”

“Banks your mommy issues are slipping out,” she kissed

his shoulder as he swung the door open.

“I’m serious Beck,” He looked down at her, his eyes

tracing over her face and neck. “I’m never letting you go.”

His words had the heat licking at her nape and flushing
over her cheeks, the only thing that would make this moment
better is if she had all three of them. The sadness crept in
silently and wrapped around her like a blanket.

He touched her face, seeing it the moment it arrived,

“don’t be sad, angel.”

“I’m trying Banks, I am…” she whispered.

“Let me make it better?” He asked and she nodded.

He linked his hand to hers tightly and pulled her into the
safe house, locking the door behind him and dropping her bag
to the floor. Banks scooped her from the floor without a word,
wrapping her legs around his waist and carrying her through
the house. She raked her hands down his back and snaked
them between his shirt, lifting it up his back and dragging her
nails through his skin. His mouth crashed into hers, his tongue
swiping between her lips. His kisses were frantic and needy as
he tried to kiss away every sad thought that plagued her mind.

A loud bang came from the second room they walked by

causing her to pull away from his lips, “what was that?” she
asked breathlessly, looking over his shoulder.

“The wind,” he hummed, kissing a line down her neck as

he kicked open the last door on the left. She melted into his
touch, the distraction working as all she wanted and needed
was him.

He laid her gently into the sheets, standing up straight and

dropping his shirt to the floor. It left his hair messy and his
skin bared to her. She never got over the incredible art that
painted his body and as he lowered himself to her mouth she
ran her hands over his biceps.

Another loud thud echoed through the small house over the
sound of Banks kisses.

“Banks,” she pressed her hands to his chest, “there’s

someone in the house.” She stilled beneath him, her fingers
trembling against his skin.

He stopped, looking over his shoulder, and groaned. “What

a fucking nuisance.”

“Stay here baby,” he kissed her.

Beckett lay confused on the bed as Banks pushed himself

up and walked through the door toward the source of the
sound. She rolled to her feet, padding across the hallway to
where he had left the door open.
 “Banks?” she called out to him without receiving an
answer and continued to move toward the door.

“Beckett?” Dorian’s terrified face was staring up at her,

blood trailing down his from the nasty split in his eyebrow and
from the corners of his bruised swollen lips. His usually
blonde hair was messy and looked as though it had chunks
ripped from his scalp. He was tied to a chair, the skin on his
wrists and ankles rubbed raw from trying to escape.

His head cocked to the side lazily as he tried to gauge

whether or not she had been part of the reason he was
currently tied to the chair.

“What the fuck is going on?” She hissed, stepping into the
room to see that Banks was nowhere to be found. “Did he
come in here?”

Dorian nodded.

“Where the hell did, he go, did he bring you here?” She
asked, her mind moving a million miles an hour.

“Two days ago,” he coughed again, more blood bubbling

to the surface. “He attacked me when I was leaving my house
and when I woke up, I was here. Tied to a chair and he was
pacing around the living room.”

“Just him?” She asked, the question seemed odd to Dorian

as his face scrunched up in confusion.

“He’s been alone the entire time we’ve been here.”

She moved to untie the strangling ropes that wrapped

around his wrists when the door squeaked open, and Banks
stepped inside. His chin was high, and his arms crossed over
his chest as he shifted in his tight black cargo pants and army
boots. He had put his shirt back on and slipped back into the
familiar leather of his gun holster. Both guns were hanging at
his side. He stared at her like he was disappointed as she knelt
behind the chair of her ex-boyfriend trying to free him.

“You couldn’t just stay in bed could you Little Bird?”

Banks hissed. “All you had to do was what you were told, and
everything would have been fine.”

Little Bird. Nausea rolled over her as the realization hit her
like a freight train.

He walked toward them, pushing her away from Dorian

and checking the restraints. “Don’t look at me like that,”
Banks said to her, “I did this for us. So, we could be happy.”

Her face dropped, and he read her like an open book.

“They’re fine,” he looked at the black watch around his wrist
and laughed, “or at least they will be for another twenty
minutes or so.”

“What did you do?” She snarled, pressed against the wall
as he circled Dorian and wrapped his hand against his throat.
He tugged Dorian’s chin toward the sky and made him look at
Beck. “You’re hurting him.” She said, wanting to reach out.
Wanting to help him but frozen in place.

Banks reached behind him and pulled a hunting knife from

the back of his pants, teasing Dorian’s neck with the serrated
blade. “Good,” he said. “He hurt you. He deserves to die
Angel.”
 “Don’t,” she snapped but it was too late.

Dorian blinked slowly, tears pouring from his glossy blue

eyes as Banks dragged the teeth of the blade through the soft
skin of his throat. Blood poured from his neck, coating the
front of Dorian’s shirt and pants, pooling on the floor at his
feet.

“Why…” she babbled, the word coming out a strangled

sob.

Banks waved the knife at her, “any man that hurts you,
deserves this.”

“I have a present for you,” he smiled, but it wasn’t the

smile that she had fallen for. It was twisted now, turned dark
and horrid in a matter of moments. “Come,” he held out his
hand, soaked in Dorian’s blood, and watched her closely.
“Come!” he yelled, making her flinch as she pushed her hand
into his and let him lead her toward another door.

“Down you go,” he said, opening it to expose a dark set of

stairs.

She started the descent on a shaky foot, moving deeper

into the basement. It smelled strongly of mold and gasoline as
she got closer and eventually, Banks flicked on the small
fluorescent light that hung above the basement was really
more of a cellar.

The walls were covered in her face. Photos of her from the
last three years were plastered to the stone and dirt like some
sort of terrifying wallpaper that he was proud of.
 Local 911 operator saves the life of a brave cop.

The newspaper clippings from the day she talked- she

stopped mid-thought, turning toward him.

“You were on the phone that day, caught in the fire. I

pulled up the floor plan and talked you out of it before…” She
looked up at him.

He was perched on the stairs, watching her with his coal

eyes and a sick smile on his face. He pressed his face into his
hand, smearing blood across his jaw, “the entire building
collapsed. Killed my entire squad. We had been called in for a
drug bust, but you saved me.”

“No,” she shook her head, his delusion was tangled and
exaggerated. “Yes, but Banks I was just doing my job?”

“No, you were sent to save me, Beckett. My angel.”

“So, what is this then?” Beckett found the rage she had
buried deep down in her soul and dug it up piece by piece as
she stared around at the photos. “You’ve just been stalking me
since, waiting? Why the hell didn’t you just come to thank
me?” She fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Well, you were with that piece of shit and obviously I had
to wait for you,” he explained. “And then of course Bailey had
to give Jack your folder of all people.”

“Is that what you wanted?” She asked, confused.

“I never wanted to share you.” He grit, pushing off his

thighs and coming to stand. “You were always supposed to be
mine.”
 She shook her head, confused and quiet.

“Bailey was supposed to give the case to me,” he said, “I

was going to save you.”

“From what?” Beckett growled, “you?”

Banks’ dark hair fell in his face as he fought to control

himself, the knife he carried shook violently in his hand and
his face was marked with Dorian’s blood.

“It was so easy to frame that little ex-boyfriend of yours,

walk him into the police station. It should have been easy but
then Jack got involved, and that idiot Maddox.” Banks
growled, “The sinners.” His voice turned cold, “They aren’t
good enough for you Angel, they’re demented, sick, and
tormented by their pasts. You deserve someone who was
reborn.”

“Stop,” she pushed him back away from her as he

encroached on her space.

“I walked through fire for you.” He hissed.

“Banks just…” She put her hand out again, circling him
and angling her back toward the stairs. If she could get up
them, maybe… just maybe she could get outside. She hadn’t
gotten a good look at the layout when they came in. She
wracked her busy mind for memories of what the upstairs
looked like.

“Just wait,” she pushed him back again, keeping her eye
on the knife in his hand. “What did you think was going to
happen when I found out?”
 “You were never supposed to find out!” Banks scolded,
running his hand through his hair. Beck gagged as the blood
from Dorian’s throat coated the strands and kept it back off his
face. “Jack and Saint could never protect you as I could,
they’re weak, pathetic, broken men. I am who you need. I am
who you want.”

Her mind wandered, heart constricting as she thought of

them. Weeks being in that apartment, kissing and fucking
Banks like he was protecting her. Her stomach rolled violently,
and she was forced to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.
She could only pray he wasn’t lying, pray that they were alive.

“I swear to god Banks,” she hissed, “if you hurt them!”

“What, little bird, what will you do?” His tone dropped an
octave into something that she had never heard from him. He
was taunting her now.

She stepped back against the stairs, his eyes boring into her
as she moved completely distracted by their conversation. “I’ll
fucking kill you myself.” She said, stepping up onto the first
one, the squeak made him snap back into focus and Beck took
off running up them.
 39

thirty nine

Beckett pushed through the doorway and into the hall,

skidding and slamming into the wall adjacent to the stairs. She
cried out and grabbed her shoulder as pain vibrated down her
body. The sun had set in the sky and the tiny house was
suddenly pitch black, the only light guiding her way was the
one that swung lazily over the head of her dead ex-boyfriend.

She ran toward the kitchen, scrambling to her feet as she

crashed into the furniture.

Her legs were weak and her hands shook as she ripped
through every kitchen drawer her fingers found in the dark.
Hearing the door open and shut as he came around the corner,
flicking the lights on in the kitchen with a smile ingrained on
his terrifying face.

“Oh baby,” he cooed, “you can’t run from me.”

With the lights bright and her eyes adjusting she was able
to find the drawer she needed, whipping her hand around
inside until she found the biggest knife she could wield and
turned it on him. “Stay the fuck away from me Banks.”

“You’re too shaky to hold that properly,” He pointed out

her trembling hold on the knife.

He stepped closer, setting his own knife down on the

counter in some sort of sick truce that she wasn’t going to fall
for.

“You aren’t brave enough to hurt me with it, because even

now, so angry with me. Some part of you still loves me.”

“You aren’t the man I fell in love with,” she snapped.

“Back the fuck up Banks.”

“You aren’t strong enough to hurt me badly enough to get

away.” He taunted.

“There’s where you’re wrong,” she hissed as he stepped

forward, she swept the knife viciously across the air narrowly
missing his stomach. “I don’t need anyone to protect me,” she
snapped, swinging it again as he extended his arm to take the
knife from her. “Especially not you,” she said as the knife bit
into his forearm.

He didn’t back down, if anything the addition of violence

made him happier. He licked his lips and lurched toward her
with his bloody hands. “I’m not going to protect you little
bird,” he snapped. “I’m going to make sure no one else ever
hears how pretty you sound when you sing. I’m going to wrap
my hands around your throat as I’ve done so many times
before and I’m going to strangle the light from your eyes.”
 Her stomach churned, “do it then,” she challenged, “at
least I can die knowing that they’ll make you pay for it.
They’ll never fucking stop hunting you.”

“So much faith in them,” Banks laughed. “You had that

same faith in me.”

“That’s it,” she said, “isn’t it! This isn’t about saving me,
this is the fact that you could never share. Always grouchy and
sulking when they were around, ignored when they were
together. You were the toy that Jack set aside in favor of a real
friend.”

“Shut your mouth,” he growled.

“Thrown away like the trash.” She darted around him, but
he hooked his bloody arm around her waist slamming her back
against him violently. He laughed and buried his face into her
hair, lifting her off the ground as she slammed against him.

“Fuck you,” she spat. Kicking back against his knee she
was able to wiggle free of him just as the door to their left was
thrown open.

The lights went out just as she ripped free of Banks’s

grasp, fumbling in the dark she caught her hip on the sharp
corner of the kitchen counter and crashed to the hard floor
below her. Her head bounced against the ground, sending a
sharp shock of electricity through her neck and into her skull
like a firework of sheer agony. She heard the knife clang to the
floor, and she scrambled to her hands and knees feeling around
for it when a heavy boot crushed the flat of her right hand
beneath it.
 The bones in her hand cracked and the sound echoed
throughout the apartment as the sounds of footprints that were
separate from their shuffle sounded in the distance. She
screamed as Banks lifted his boot and she tried to flex her
hand only to find it limp and immovable.

A set of hands wrapped around her waist, and she fought

against them, kicking and screaming only to inhale the sharp,
spicy scent of Jack’s cologne. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered
through the dark, but his voice was like a beacon through the
shadows as he lifted her to her feet. “There’s my canary,” he
kissed her temple.

“Can you walk?” he asked but she was too busy making
sure he was real.

She ran her hands against his sharp features in darkness,

both cheekbones and his hard jaw. The smooth slope of his
nose and the bobbing patience of his Adam’s apple as she
checked him over. He must have been a dream, he was too
warm, too real and so vivid in her recurring nightmare. He was
here. He had found her.

“Murphy,” he snapped, the sweetness gone in an instant for

the Jack she knew. No nonsense, all business Jack. He put one
of his hands over hers, his gun pressed to her skin; she could
feel the heat from it against her skin. “Can you walk?”

She nodded against his grip but was yanked back by her
hair out of his hold and against the wall behind her. He
stumbled against her, pushing her body against the wall until
they were shuffling sideways, and she was thrown into a sharp
metal framing. The chair she had slammed into dropped to the
ground, clattering and echoing into the house. The wind blew
out of her lungs painfully and she dropped to her knees. She
tried to scramble back but Banks had her again, driving his
knee into her face as hard as he could.

She yanked from his grasp, biting down hard on his hand.
Blood poured from her nose into her mouth and tangled with
his.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jack called through

the dark.

She did her best to crawl away as Banks stalked over her,
the moon illuminating his twisted, bloody features through the
kitchen window. He reached for her, fingers practically around
her throat as Jack got a hold of him and threw him backward.
She heard the defeating sound of bone on bone as Jack laid
into his partner but even there under the sound, there was
something else.

“Saint,” she whispered, crawling across the floor. “Saint,”

she said again but it came out a whisper into the dark tangled
with the sounds of Banks and Jack ripping each other apart.

Hands reached out to her in the dark, wrapping around her

waist they pulled her back against his chest. “You’re ok,” he
whispered, his voice like a safety blanket. Her heart steadied
for a moment as she turned in his arms and pressed her
forehead to his shoulder.

His hand cradled her neck and the other checked her body
for major injuries. “Dorian’s dead,” she whispered against
him.

“I know,” he said in a hushed tone. “It’s gonna be okay,”

he assured her.

Two gunshots lit off in the night causing her ears to ring as
they flashed up like tiny flares and blinked out just as fast. Her
heart was beating so fast she was afraid it might escape her
chest if she didn’t slow it down. She hissed as Saint touched
her hand, the pain was unwelcome but seemed to orient her
direction a little as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Mm,” he growled, letting it fall against her side gently.

“Sunshine,” he whispered against her hair, his breath warm on
her face. “I need you to listen. Ten paces behind you to your
left is the door, it’s open. Get to it.”

“I’m not leaving,” she snapped, cutting him off and

ramming her face further into his chest. He squeezed her head
against him, his grip on her neck firm but safe as he took a
long deep breath.

“You fucking piece of shit,” echoed through the darkness

as Jack’s voice boomed in the hollow space. “The only way
you leave this apartment is in a body bag,” he growled, but his
voice seemed strangled and tight.

Saint’s grip tensed as the sound of footsteps came toward

them. He swung her left of his body, his hand holding her
wrist as Banks came for him. He pushed her back from him as
the flash of a gun illuminated the space around them like
lightning, barely missing Saint’s face the bullet ricocheted off
the metal garbage can behind him.
 Beckett’s eyes couldn’t adjust to the quick flashes from the
chamber of Banks’ gun fast enough as Saint brought his boot
square to his stomach throwing them both backward in
opposite directions. Banks fired two more shots. Both landed
on either side of Saint’s head at close range causing him to
double over in pain.

Saint grunted, falling over on his hands and knees. Beck

sobbed from the sound of Saint’s strangled whimpers as he
writhed on the floor. She tried to reach him as Banks turned
the barrel of his gun on Jack and fired a shot that rang true.
Ripping through Jack she watched as he buckled to the ground
but kept moving forward toward them. She screamed out
which only reminded Banks exactly where she was.

Beck sobbed “you want me, come and get me!”

She tried to scramble out of his reach, watching Jack sway

in the shadows of the house as he tried to help even with a
bullet in his stomach.

In the darkness, Banks reached out for her. A sea of

endless shadows as all the men trying to find her at once, she
was drowning on dry land. “You aren’t leaving here,” Banks
growled against her skin before wrapping his hand against her
throat.

He straddled her with his legs, his hands pressed against

her skin just like her nightmares only this time it was real. She
scratched against his skin but she couldn’t find purchase as her
legs kicked out from underneath him. She could hear Jack and
Saint but couldn’t see either of them.
 She could only feel Banks.

Beckett tried to scream out, to escape his grasp but nothing

seemed to work.

Take the gun. Jack’s demanding voice echoed through her

mind and she battled against the foggy sheet that seemed to
suffocate her. She reached up, pulling the gun from his holster,
Banks completely unaware as the pressure around her neck
increased.

She cracked the safety, knowing that the gun was loaded
from the weight of it alone, and pulled the trigger. Firing a
single shot up toward his face, she heard the bullet slice
through him. His hold around her throat faltered for a second,
giving her a gasp of burning air. Blood dripped from where
she had shot him, dripping down and splattering across her
face like a leaking faucet as she fought to keep her eyes open.

Jack crawled toward her, his grunts of pain apparent as he

tried to pull Banks from her. Her vision started to black out,
and stars filtered across her sight as Saint finally found his
footing and charged Banks. Knocking him from her body, the
gun fired again ripping a hole in her shoulder from a stray
bullet. Her ears rang and she heard a scream. Beckett was in so
much pain that she hadn’t realized it tore from her own lips as
the blood pooled around her on the hard floor.

“Hey,” Jack pressed a heavy hand to her shoulder, his

breathing shallow as he worked to contain her bleeding. “You
stay awake,” he ordered. “You hear me? You stay awake
Beckett. You don’t get to give up on us yet.”
 She could hear the muffled sounds of Saint wrestling with
Banks as the gun slid across the loft’s floor and slammed
against the wall. “Jack,” Saint growled, “talk to me,” he said.

“Come on baby,” Jack pressed his forehead to hers as he

wriggled his cell phone from his back pocket and dialed 911.
“Saint!” He cried out into the darkness just begging for help as
she fought to stay awake.

The light from the cell lit up his bloody, bruised face and
as her vision faded to black, she huffed out one final breath
and lifted her good hand to his face. “I love you, Jack.” She
choked out, her mouth filling with tangy, metallic blood.
“Even if you’re scared of it, of me. I love-” she coughed her
throat on fire. “I love you.”

“That sounds like goodbye, Murphy.” He growled, blood

caked in his beard and down his neck. It soaked his collar and
matched the painful red rim around his brown eyes, “we ain’t
saying goodbye.”

“You aren’t so tough,” she paused to catch her breath again

as the pain ripped through her body like an earthquake.

“There’s my girl,” he laughed at her, pressing a kiss to her

forehead. “Saint, where are you buddy, talk to me.”

Saint’s voice filtered through the darkness as the sounds of

strangled fighting finally ceased. He stumbled toward them,
dropping to the ground.

Jack juggled the phone between his ear and shoulder,

taking Saint’s hand and pressing it to Beckett’s wound. “Hold
that,” he said, sitting back on his feet.

Saint leaned into the wound on her shoulder, “I can’t,” he

shook his head like a dog covered in water, just trying to make
sense of the unfamiliar pain he was in. “I can’t hear anything.”
He was louder than normal, but he was alive and that’s all that
mattered to her.

She pressed a hand to his wrist, pulling him away from her
shoulder, and placed it against her throat where he could feel
her heartbeat. “It’s so weak,” he sobbed. “Jack!” He hollered,
“it’s too weak, we gotta get her out of here.”

Jack’s voice argued with someone on the other end of the

phone as Saint did his best to slow the bleeding coming from
her shoulder. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her sore
neck pressing his ear to her throat as his lashes tickled her
skin. She could feel the wet, cold tears coming from his face
against her searing hot skin.

“It’s okay, you’re here.” she hummed to him not knowing

if he could even hear her. She pressed her hand to his cheek as
her thoughts went cold and her eyes shut for good.
 40

forty

SAINT MADDOX

Saint’s ear rang as he pushed the door to her apartment open.

His hand grazed along the metal of the knob as he entered
alone into the quiet space. He hated that it smelled like her in
there, even worse than now it smelled like Banks, every piece
of furniture that held her within the fibers of the fabric was
now tarnished and spoiled. He walked through, running his
hands along the counter, tossing his glasses, and walking stick
against the marble before finding his way to the hallway and
into her room. He closed the door behind him, kicking it with
his foot, and made his way to the dresser feeling for her radio.
He clicked the knob and sound filled the space loudly enough
for it to break through the ringing in his ears.

He would heal soon but it wasn’t fast enough. It had been

three days of constant ringing and muffled conversations. He
was sick of it but mostly he was frustrated. He was kept from
Beckett because they weren’t family, he was kept from Jack
for the same reasons. All he could do was sit in the hospital
clinging to the smell of sterilization and wallowing because he
couldn’t help either of them.

So he had gone there, to their home.

He felt his way into her closet, the smell of citrus and spice
almost overwhelming as he settled down on the floor in the
darkness and shut the door tightly behind him. It was the only
place in the entire house that didn’t smell like Banks. He
didn’t need to close his eyes but it felt nice to, just for a
moment. He let his shoulders collapse, he let the music drown
out any other background noise he could barely hear right now
and he cried.

Banks had known exactly how to dismantle their strategy

and their teamwork. It had taken him mere moments to gain
control of the situation. Neither Jack nor Saint had expected
her to be free and fighting back when they broke down the
door. Saint had been completely pulled from his train of
thought hearing her heart thumping in her chest, and smelling
her blood. The moment he found her there in the dark he made
a silent vow to never let her go again but then immediately
broke it.

The two shots on either side of his ears had shattered the
drums and caused immense pain. Even then, sitting in the
closet his own cries were drowned out by the music his head
throbbed from the stinging agony that flowed through his
skull. His hearing was half of who he was.

Banks survived.
 Saint had never wanted to kill a person more but that was
Jack’s decision. It had been his partner, they had been friends
long before Saint had come around. Even if he had the
willpower and lack of morals that would allow him to do so,
Saint wouldn’t have killed Banks. It wasn’t who he was.

He was cracking, she was peeling away the parts of him

that he kept hidden from the world for a reason and she had
left him exposed to the elements.

Beckett hadn’t woken up.

He had heard the words from James but they barely

registered. He just needed to feel her, he needed to put his
hand on her chest and feel that her heart was still beating.
Surgery after surgery to control the bleeding, stop the
swelling, and fix the bones. She was in and out of the
operating room so much that Saint’s stomach churned just
thinking about them digging inside of her.

The music blared through the radio and Saint counted

himself into a lazy calm as the tears stopped flowing from his
eyes and his fingers dug into the carpet of her closet. He
understood now why she liked to sit here so much, it made
him feel secure and hidden from the outside world just long
enough to remember the important things.

She was safe, she was alive even if that meant she wasn’t
awake.

They had found her before Banks could hurt her further
and he would never touch her again. God the things he had
done, the things she was forced to do. Saint kept his eyes
closed and pulled one of her pieces of clothing from the
hangers above him. The plastic hanger snapping against the
wood he curled what felt like a sweater against his face,
breathing her in.

“Are you putting clothes in my dresser?” She laughed from

behind him.

The sound of her voice was like honey to his ears as he

shoved a few pairs of socks and boxers into the broken drawer
she hated so much. He swore every time he came into this
room it was broken again as if she was yanking on it just to get
him to fix it.

He pushed his hand beneath the drawer, feeling for the tiny
metal gear, and popped the wheel back into place before
closing it. He turned on his heels, brushing his fingers against
the bed behind him until he found her legs. Bare and exposed
to his skin he ran his hand down the long expanse of her calf,
leaning over the bed until he was forced to climb atop it. His
knees sunk into the bed as he crawled, dragging that hand up
and over her thigh until he was able to curve under her ass.

He pulled her hips against his as he positioned himself

above her. One leg straddled the outside of her thigh as the
other pushed against the inside of her knee to open her up so
he could settle down against her body.

“You think fixing my drawer every morning is a full-time

job?” She laughed again, this time he was close enough to feel
her heart flutter under his touch and feel her breath on his
neck.
 “It is when you break it on purpose to watch me fix it,” he
pressed a slow kiss to her soft lips.

She pulled against his bottom lip with her teeth and
bunched her hands into the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and
over his shoulders. They laughed as he lost his balance,
getting his head caught in the shirt. Eventually, she untangled
him from the wretched fabric and tossed it to the side, the
sound of it hitting the floor echoing around them.

“Maybe I like watching you fix my stuff,” she hummed

against his skin placing soft kisses on his collarbone as her
hand ran up his back to palm his shoulder blades.

“There’s more than just a drawer to fix, stop breaking it,”

he laughed dipping his head against her neck, nibbling on her
skin. “Maybe then I can get to the other stuff.”

“I prefer breaking things in here,” she wrapped both her

hands into his scalp and tugged at his hair playfully as he
pushed her shirt up with his hand and kissed the flat of her
stomach near her hip.

“Why is that, sunshine?” he asked, dragging his lip across

her stomach as his hand pushed her shirt up further. He loved
the feeling of her skin under his grip, under his lips.

“Because instant gratification, if you fix the squeaky

cupboard in the kitchen I have to wait to get you into bed,” she
squealed against his hold as his hand gripped her hip,
pressing her into the bed. His thumb swiped under the band of
her shorts carefully, slowly, and gently enough to tickle her
skin.
 “You think the bedroom is the only place you can receive
gratification?” He asked, flicking the button on her shorts.
“Beckett, I can deliver gratification over the kitchen counter.”

She let go of his hair long enough to help him shimmy the
shorts over her hips and down her body. She wrapped herself
around him as he came back to hover over her, his hand
traveling up to palm her naked breast under her loose shirt.

“Creature of habit,” she arched her back as he cupped her

neck with his other hand and kissed her again.

Hungry and needy he wanted all of her, needed all of her.

Her lips parted allowing his tongue to sweep into her mouth as
he rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb.

His hips pressed against hers and he silently cursed

himself for not stripping free of his own pants when he had the
chance. He rubbed his thumb against her sharp jaw and felt
his way around her body until the need to explore more
overwhelmed him and he pulled back. He shrugged from his
jeans and boxers, feeling his way up her legs with both hands
pressed smoothly to her skin he fingered the waistband of her
underwear pulling them down until they popped free over her
ankles. A small moan of need dripped from her lips as came
back to her, exploring her skin with his hands as he pressed
against her thigh, ready for more.

“What are you waiting for, Maddox?” She asked her

fingers curling around his erection, pumping lazily as he used
the palm of his hand to spread her wetness before he pushed
inside of her without another word.
 She growled against his chest, her nails digging into the
small of his back as she attempted to reach his ass. He thrust
deeper into her, she felt so damn tight around him that it drove
him nuts with every rock of his hips. She pressed into the
mattress beneath him and he followed her down, nuzzling his
lips against her neck. He worked her shirt over her breasts
and moved his mouth south down her body until he found one
of her perfectly taught nipples, tugging it between his lips.

“Mm, yes,” he growled with a mouthful of breast as she

continued to whimper beneath him.

“Don’t stop,” she begged her hand gripping his biceps as

he rocked into her harder. He used his free hand to circle his
fingers against her clit. The feeling of her was enough to send
him closer to the edge as she ground her hips against his
hand.

“Come for me, sunshine.” He whispered against her

breast, his tongue flicking at her skin as he built up to a steady
pace within her. She tightened around him, choking off his
willpower to hold on and dragging him down with her as they
rolled through the waves of their orgasms together.

He fell against her in a pile of sweat and heavy breathing,

peppering her bare skin with kisses as they both recovered
from the quick, morning activity. “Keep breaking that
drawer,” he laughed against her stomach, cradled between
her naked thighs he drew circles on her inner thigh with his
finger as he listened to her heartbeat slow to a normal pace.

“That was the plan,” she laughed.

 Saint crawled from the closet, crawled.

Feeling his way across the bedroom he ran into the dresser
with his shoulder and sat back on his feet. He pulled it from its
confines, and it slid easily on the wheel. He tried it again and
again, and each time the drawer slid free without resistance.
Each time it did his patience and willpower shredded into
smaller pieces.

He pulled too hard on the last go, ripping the drawer from
the dresser and throwing it across the room. The smell of his
laundry contaminated her bedroom, he huffed, his shoulders
heaving in pain as he toppled over onto the carpet. He hated
being here without her. It was torture.

He lifted himself from his position on the floor and stood,

turning off the radio with a click, and allowed the quiet sounds
of the empty apartment to come flooding back in around him.
The ringing in his left ear was all but gone, the right one still
stung but it was better than it had been. He walked across the
room, almost tripping on the shattered drawer to find clean
clothes. Once he was changed, he checked the locks on all the
windows, finding a sense of peace in the mundane tasks even
knowing that the threat had been dealt with he couldn’t help
but make sure her apartment was safe for her when she
returned.

He locked the door to the apartment behind himself, the

door clicking loudly as he turned the key inside.

“You need your own key,” she locked the door behind them
and took his hand into hers as they walked toward the elevator.
“If you’re going to be in and out, I don’t want to have to let
you in like you’re some guest in my home.”

“I am a guest, Beck.” He squeezed her hand; his response

was baiting. He just wanted her to say it out loud. Tell him
verbally how much he had become a permanent fixture in her
life. He knew he was; he could tell by the way her heart picked
up speed anytime he came home, anytime he mentioned long-
term plans or he made comments like that one. She had yet to
say the words yet and he was patient but needy for
confirmation like a schoolboy with his first crush.

“You’re my boyfriend,” she laughed but the words were a

whisper as the elevator dinged into the space around them. He
pulled her tightly back to him, spinning her into his arms and
he gripped her face roughly.

“Say it again,” he asked, his lips coming down to her so

he could feel her breathing on his cheek. She pressed her
hands against his and nuzzled her nose against his softly.

“Boyfriend?” she laughed against this grip, the sound of

her laughter made his heart flutter in his chest in a way he
hadn’t felt in the longest time. How had he gotten so lucky?
Someone in the world was watching over him to drop such a
beautiful soul in his lap. “Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend.”

He kissed her just to make her stop, pressing his lips

against hers so forcibly that she staggered backward into the
opening elevator. He tangled his fingers into her hair, lifting
her chin so he could have more of her before the elevator
opened again. Her hands slipped around his back and under
the flaps of his suit jacket as she pulled him against her. He
pulled back, dotting her skin with more quick kisses as the
door swung open and she hauled him out into the lobby.

“If that’s all I have to do for a kiss, I think I’ll call you my
boyfriend more often,” she giggled as he pulled her against
him for a kiss on the head.

The elevator dinged open and Saint barely found the

courage to leave it.

He let go of his death grip on the stabilizing bar and exited

the building. Before long he was back in the disgustingly clean
hospital, uncomfortably sitting in one of the lobby chairs. The
familiar sound of cops flooded the hallways just guarding
Banks’s room against intruders. Stupidly unaware that the man
that was willing to kill him was still unconscious in the room
next to him.

“Are you Saint Maddox?” a mousy female voice broke

him from his trance, and he nodded once forcing a smile to his
face. “Mr. Callahan is requesting you in room 109, I can take
you there.”

“He’s awake?” Saint’s veins turned to ice.

 41

forty one

JACK CALLAHAN

His abdomen was on fire.

The stitches that bit into his skin were itchy and irritated as
he attempted to sit up. He rolled to his side and the cuffs
around his wrist tore into the flesh of his forearm. “What the
fuck?” Jack swore.

A nurse pushed into the room, “Oh,” she stopped short.

“You’re awake.”

“Why am I handcuffed to the bed?” He barked loud

enough to make her jump. “Answer me,” he snapped when she
didn’t speak fast enough. His throat was sore and his whole
body was beaten up from the fight between him and Banks.

“You shot a man,” she stuttered backing against the door.

“I’ll go get the doctor.”

“You get me Detective Bailey and Saint Maddox while

you’re at it,” Jack groaned.
 He shifted in his bed, the scruff around his neck and jaw
was itchy and unbearable. The nurse hesitated for a moment
too long and Jack slammed the cuff against the bed frame
causing her to jump as she scurried from the room, clicking it
shut behind her and leaving him alone again.

Beck.

He had left her alone.

He tugged at the metal cuff around his wrist again

hopelessly trying to get out of it for no reason when the door
opened again.

“What the hell?” James’s voice filled the room and before
he even got all the way he left again.

Jack groaned, the stinging tug of pain in his side was on

fire as he sat up a little more. He could feel the bruises on his
skin, under his skin. He closed his eyes knowing that he
deserved it, every ounce of pain for not telling her exactly
what was going on in his mind before he left her standing
there. He should have known she’d go home; he should have
known that it was a trap. He should have known it was fucking
Banks. The text that came through his cell phone that night
was nothing more than bait to lead them away from her. If she
had just stayed with James and Ashton none of them would
have been in this mess.

He tried to remember everything that happened, but his

head was so foggy that nothing was coming to him except the
image of blood. So much blood he wasn’t sure who was losing
it faster.
 “Jack,” James’s voice violently pulled him back to the
sterile hospital room and out of the darkness that was his own
mind. “The guy who ordered your arrest is fired,” he snapped,
un-cuffing him from the bed. “Fucking idiots,” he swore under
his breath.

He groaned with a rough nod, “Where’s Saint?”

James clicked his teeth together turning to go get him, but

the door popped open as if on cue and Saint sauntered in with
the small, timid nurse on his arm. He thanked her and she
excused herself without making eye contact with Jack.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice,” Saint sighed and found

his way to the edge of Jack’s bed. “She was terrified.”

“I didn’t mean-” he tensed his jaw, turning his head toward

the window and back to Saint as he cleared his thoughts.
“Beckett,” he let her name drip from his busted lip.

Saint swallowed thickly, and James nodded from the other

side of the room, keeping his distance from them both as if
they might infect him if he got too close. Saint said nothing,
his eyes glossy and unfocused as he stared toward the two
large, dingy windows that overlooked New York.

“Maddox?” The word came out more pained than Jack had
meant it to sound.

“I don’t know,” Saint answered finally, the muscle in his

jaw ticking as he tilted his head to the ceiling. “They won’t let
me in the room.”
 “What do you mean they won’t let you in?” Jack barked,
turning his intense glare on James, he sat up in the bed and
tossed the blankets back. He was wearing a hospital gown that
barely covered his bruised and battered legs. “What the hell
Bailey?”

“It’s the procedure, Saint isn’t family.” James defended

himself with a clenched jaw and a nervous inflection in his
voice.

“Neither are you,” Jack snapped, and James stepped

forward off the wall with his shoulders pinned back roughly.

“Enough,” Saint ordered causing them both to relax a

touch. “All we’re asking for is an update,” he looked toward
the sound of Bailey’s rapid breathing and tilted his head to the
side. “Is she okay?”

“She’s breathing,” James swallowed tightly and shoved his

hands into the pockets of his black pants. “She’s not awake.”

“How long has it been?” Jack asked.

“A few days,” Maddox answered him quickly.

“She lost too much blood and took more than one blow to
the head. Doctors aren’t sure if she’ll ever wake up,” he
looked like he was going to cry.

Jack dropped his gaze from the sad blue eyes of James
Bailey and looked at the disgusting bruise that formed on his
calf in the shape of a boot.

“Banks,” he snapped finally.

 “Unfortunately also breathing,” Bailey growled. “The two
shots you gave him weren’t enough to kill him. Not even the
one that sliced clean through his neck.”

“I only gave him one,” Jack growled. “Beckett shot him.”

“Where is he?” Saint asked, a little too calmly for Jack’s

liking.

James sighed, shaking his head and running his tongue

over his bottom lip, “where the hell is he, Bailey?”

“You know I can’t,” he swallowed.

“We aren’t sitting in the office Bailey, this is you talking to

us about someone that hurt,” he stopped to compose himself.

“That hurt someone we love,” Saint finished, the muscle in

his jaw tensing. “She’s lying in a hospital bed barely alive
because of him.”

“It doesn’t mean you two can play cowboy,” James

snapped, his hands coming up into the air dramatically. “Let
me handle Romero, you two get healthy and I’ll work on
getting you in to see Beckett.”

“You do that,” Jack snapped, he was pissed off that James

was so easy to dismiss the rules before but now everything had
to be by the book.

Above the table and on the record.

He flipped the blanket completely off of him and crawled

from bed tugging the needle from his arm and throwing it to
the side.
 “Stay the fuck here,” He warned. James left the room
without another word but with a sharp inhale of disapproval
from his stern lips.

“Callahan,” Saint swore under his breath, as the door

clicked shut. He leaned against the bed and set his walking
stick on top. “Let Bailey do his job, if Banks goes to prison
that’s justice. He’ll be somewhere he can’t hurt her anymore.”

“You believe that?” Jack growled, pulling his clothes from

the tall cupboards against the back wall of the room. His body
screamed for relief but as usual, he ignored it. He needed to
see her.

Saint sighed, and he knew why. It’s because he didn’t

believe a single, God damn word he just said. Deep down the
holier-than-now-God-fearing man’s blood was boiling and it
wasn’t something he could hide from Jack. “You can hide a lot
from me, but your anger isn’t on that long list.”

“Of course I’m mad,” he said, his jaw ticking, “but what
good are we if she wakes up and we aren’t here? If we do this,
Bailey will know it’s us. There’s no way around that, we go to
prison or worse, and then she’s alone.”

“No,” Jack turned on him moving back to the bed with a

hiss. The stitches in his side pulled and he threw his clothes on
the bed. Ripping from the hospital gown and tugging his pants
on. Saint turned from him in an attempt to be polite, but it just
made him growl with frustration. “You’ll be here. I’m going to
find Banks.”
 “Give it a rest Callahan,” Saint blocked his path to the
door as he pulled on a clean shirt, the stitches pulling sharply
as he lifted his arms above his head. “If she wakes up and
you’re gone, what am I supposed to say to her?”

“She won’t care,” he growled at his friend, lying to

convince only himself.

The words sank down into his bones like lead. He could
barely stand to even imagine her laying in that hospital bed,
barely alive. Her face was battered and bruised from that
monster he had offered her up to so willingly.

Saint pushed a hand against his chest, “oh come on Jack,

you’re just assuming to know everything,” he asked.

“I know it,” Jack snapped pushing his hand away but Saint
wasn’t letting him walk away that easily.

“You walked away from her once and now look where she
is.” Saint’s jaw tensed, knowing he said something that was
going to drive home for Jack. “You’re so concerned about
bringing down the man that hurt her but you’re standing right
here.”

“Low blow, Maddox,” Jack growled, he just wanted to kill

Banks. The rage boiling beneath his skin was making him
itchy and the longer Saint prevented him from doing so the
worse the sensation became.

“All she wanted you to say was that you loved her, why is
that so hard for you?” Saint asked, his lips pressed into a stern
expression.
 “It’s not,” he took a step back from him and looked at the
messy bed that sat in the middle of the room. All he could
think about was how she was lying in one right now because
telling her that he loved her was too hard for him.

Every woman he had ever loved had wound up tangled in

his mess, hurt and abandoned, or worse dead. He knew what
he was, he knew he was mean, rough, and ruthless in nature.
Jack wasn’t made to love, he wasn’t made to be loved. He was
born from fire to protect the people he most cared about and if
he failed at that then what was he?

He was nothing more than another angry man with a gun.

“This was on the floor at the apartment,” Saint pulled

something from his back pocket and extended it to Jack. “It’s
the only thing other than her sheets that stinks like you.”

It was the ratty old copy of the Hitchhikers Guide that he

had been reading at Beckett’s house to pass the time. He took
it from his hand and flipped through the old pages, the anger
was still there but for a moment he was distracted enough to
just exist. He flipped to the back page, noticing that something
had been written into the margin of the book.

You’re the moon, Jack.

He sighed running his finger softly over the messy indents

of her handwriting and sighed, even asleep with no sure
confirmation that she would wake. Beckett spoke to him when
he needed her the most. How could he have ever thought that
his love was something else? Anything else? That his love was
just a product of his overprotective nature, that it was a cruel
trick to lure him in and make him soft. He had been in love
with Murphy the moment he laid his eyes on her and yet he
hadn’t found the courage within him to say it out loud. His
canary.

James returned with a heavy-handed knock on the door,

“you can see her.”

Saint inhaled sharply as Jack collected his stick and guided

him through the door and into the hallway. “It took some
convincing with the nurses because you’re a rude idiot,” his
eyes drifted to Jack, “but I think they’ll let you sit with her for
a while.”

James turned back to Jack as they came to a stop outside of

a door just down the hall from where Jack had been. Saint
pushed through the door without pausing but Bailey put his
hand up, stopping Jack from entering. “If you go after Banks,
even whisper his name too loud around any cop in New York.
I’ll have no choice but to arrest you. Do you understand me?”
He ground his jaw together. “Don’t be stupid, if not for you do
it for Beck.”

“Whatever you say,” he nodded gruffly, and James let him

pass.

The room was lit dimly with two lamps on either side of
her bed and the soft hum of machines was the only noise in the
space. The sounds from the hallway flooded into the room
until the door clicked shut behind Jack and made everything
muffled.
 Someone had braided her dark brown hair back and had
tucked it neatly under her head against the stark white pillow.
She looked so sick that Jack almost puked at the sight of her.
Her cheeks hollowed and her complexion so washed out she
didn’t even look like herself. Harsh purple bruises lined her
throat like ropes, where Banks had laid his fingers into her
skin without remorse. Her face had a few small gashes and a
nasty bruise along her cheekbone.

Saint sunk into the chair beside her bed and pressed his
hand against her limp wrist as the machines beeped
rhythmically through the quiet space. Jack swallowed the
guttural fear that was growing in his chest and walked toward
her.

“She’s so still,” he growled between clenched teeth.

“Her heartbeat is strong,” Saint nodded pressing his

forehead to her bed as he continued to grip her wrist. “She’s
going to be ok Jack,” he mumbled.

“You don’t know that,” he countered. He touched her soft,

cold face with the back of his hand. Brushing his knuckles
against the untouched skin of her jaw gently. He wrapped his
hand around the side of her face, dipping as low as he could
with a vicious groan of pain as he pressed a kiss to her cold
forehead. “I hate this.”

Saint sighed, Jack could hear the break in his voice and
trained his face in a different direction to let him cry. He
rubbed the tears from his own cheeks and walked away from
the bed toward the window that looked out into the hallway.
He counted the police that hovered, six men on her door, four
on one down the hallway. He was in there. They had brought
that piece of shit to the same hospital, they were keeping him
on the same floor.

“Jack,” Maddox called to him, knowing just from the

sound of his rapid heart rate what he was doing. “It’s not worth
it, look at her.”

“That’s exactly why it’s worth it,” Jack barked without

turning around. He had seen enough of her bruised and beaten.
She deserved better. “I could have stopped this, could have
prevented it all. You were right.”

“I was right about what she wanted, telling her how you
felt would have only helped you through his,” Saint groaned,
looking up from the bed his glossy gaze landed somewhere
between Jack and Beckett. “But we would have taken that call,
she still would have gone home. We’d still be here.”

Jack chewed at the inside of his lip and inhaled slowly to

calm his breathing and slow his own racing heart. He turned
back, tugging the spare chair from the corner, and set it on the
other side of her bed. Sinking into it, he wrapped his shaky
hand around her lifeless one and didn’t let go.

For weeks the nurses came in and they sat there.

For weeks they argued that the men had to leave if it

wasn’t visiting hours.

For weeks they lost the battle leaving Jack and Saint still
beside Beckett, never leaving her side again.
 They took turns going home to shower and clean the
apartment but someone was always with her. Saint took the
time waiting better, he did work at the base of her feet and
made phone calls. Jenn and Nat came by to see them, dropping
off folders and paperwork. Jenn made more than one comment
that Jack’s beard was out of control, but he didn’t have the
energy to shave his face. It didn’t matter anyways.

He had read, and reread Hitchhikers to her twice over the

last three weeks, and no matter how much Saint pleaded for
him to read something else. Jack would just flip the book over
and start again.

“You’ll be okay?” Saint asked, pushing from his chair, he

unfolded his stick and waited for Jack to answer him every
single time before he left to get some sleep. Jack was never
okay, but he always nodded yes, this time was no different.

Saint knew he wasn’t, but he asked anyway. Always.

Once the door shut, Jack let out his emotions. Crying into
his hands while she sat beside him silently objected to
listening to his cries of agony. His stitches had healed well,
and most of the physical pain he felt was gone but his heart
was in jagged pieces on the ground. He looked over at her,
sleeping there against her will, begging her mind to let her free
of the cage she was in.

“Come back to us,” he pleaded when he was alone with

her. He’d beg for the rest of his life at her bedside if that’s
what it took. He growled, standing over her, and pressed a kiss
to her temple. Whispering against her skin for the thousandth
time he repeated himself, “I love you, Murphy. Damnit do you
hear me? I love you.”
 42

forty two

Beckett was awake.

Her head pounded down through her spine like a nail gun
to the back of her skull. The bones in her body rattled, and she
could feel every single one as she forced herself to sit up.

She opened her mouth to speak but her throat was so sore
that not a sound left her lips. She swallowed but that only sent
a fire raging through her throat and into her chest. Her eyes
slowly adjusted to the light and it was only then that she
realized she had a breathing tube shoved down her throat.
With one hand on the pipe that allowed her to breathe, she felt
around on the bed below her, trying to quell her panic as she
searched for the nurse’s button. The pain of the breathing tube
vibrated around inside of her throat and felt as though it was
tugging on the skin in the back of her mouth.

Bits of pieces of what had happened flashed across her

vision, Banks attacking her, Jack getting shot. Saint, her chest
tightened. Banks had fired shots to impair his hearing. Her
panic was unhinged as she thought about them as if she had
tugged on the wrong string. Her willpower to remain in control
was unraveling.

She needed to know if they were okay, she had made a

mistake and they had come to save her. She had put them in
danger, she had trusted him, she had put them here. She
wanted to scream for help but the tube tore at her throat and
she couldn’t find the nurse’s button no matter how much she
pushed her hand around on the bed.

She could feel the tears streaming from her eyes and her
gag reflex had started to push at the intrusion in her body,
fighting against the plastic jammed down there. The door
clicked open and her head snapped to see the nurse come into
the room in a panic.

“Stop,” she hurried toward the bed and threw her charts
down, “you’ll hurt yourself.” She helped Beckett calm down
and called out of the room for a second set of hands to help her
remove the tube.

Beck counted to ten but it didn’t help the horrible, slick,

burning sensation that the tube created as they removed it from
her body. She took a long deep, uncontested breath from her
own lungs once it was gone and her chest unfurled, giving her
a moment of peace.

“Sa-” she tried to say but her voice wouldn’t produce the
sound she needed to ask about him.

Tears streamed down her face as she realized the damage

from the breathing tube and Banks had made it painful to
speak.

“Your throat will be sore for a while,” the nurse said as she
checked her vitals. “The doctor will be in any moment.”

The nurse was staring at her like she was a miracle, eyes
bright and wide as though Beckett was a ghost. She turned her
head away so she didn’t have to be subject to whatever
thoughts the nurse was having, she didn’t want to make her
think she wanted them shared out loud. Thankfully the nurse
left after she was done checking her vitals and helping Beck
get comfy again.

Beckett spent the few moments of quiet surveying her

surroundings. She was in her own clothes, pajamas that she
hadn’t seen in years. But they were hers, James and Ashton
had given them to her for Christmas.

Her window was decorated with so many flowers that she

could barely see past them out the window of New York. She
groaned as she rolled over to sit up, she just needed out of this
damn bed. Her whole body itched. She left like she had been
laying in this bed for eternity. She pulled her shirt around
checking her skin for her injuries. To her surprise, she was fine
but with a few new scars and weird abrasions. She looked up
as the lightning flashed across the sky outside and the rain
began to pelt against the windowpane furiously.

She ran her finger against a long ugly scar that painted her
wrist, and up her hand like a bolt of vicious lightning. The
sound of her cracking bones rattled around inside her
memories and the feeling of Banks’ boot pressing down until
they snapped was burned into her mind. She examined the
contents of her bedside table, an empty glass of water, a
notebook, and a small vase of dark red flowers were there with
her bag. She tried to stand but her legs were too weak and the
second she planted her feet on the cold hospital floor, they
caved beneath her and she hit the floor with an angry thud.

She wanted to scream and cry. To throw things and break

something.

Just needed a way to release all that anger that was boiling
up within her skin and bones. How long had she been here?
Her body told her a while, but her mind and heart hurt as
though everything had happened the night before. She was
broken in more ways than one with no way to climb from the
dark hole she had been pushed into.

“Ms. Murphy?” A male voice called into the room and for
a second the sound of Banks’ voice clawed at her brain like
razor-sharp nails into her nervous system. She gripped the
edge of the bed just waiting for it to be over, the trauma of
remembering but the images wouldn’t stop. She could see his
face, his hands all over her, over and over again. Creating
streaks of red down her stomach and legs until she was
nothing but a streaked, bleeding mess and Banks was staring
back at her laughing.

The time between when he took her was suddenly clear in

her mind. What had he done while she was asleep? She was
going to be sick.
 “Ms. Murphy!” The voice snapped her from the moment
and her hands were digging into the white jacket of the doctor
kneeling before her. He was older with a grim expression on
his face, one of concern and fear as he helped her back into
bed. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

She stared at him; his name tag read Dr. Norrack. She
rubbed the frustration from her skin and stared at him for a
long moment, urging him to continue because she couldn’t ask
him anything verbally. She pointed to her throat, explaining
silently that it was sore.

“You’ll be able to speak soon, the tubes tend to make us

sore and unable to speak. Do you know what day it is?” He
asked her and she laughed without sound, her ribs whining
from the movement and causing her to grab them. Her whole
body was sore.

“Ms. Murphy, you’ve been asleep for six months.”

She tilted her head at him, six months. He nodded in

confirmation, “you sustained massive brain trauma and lost a
lot of blood that night. Do you remember what happened?” He
asked.

She nodded, she remembered everything.

She put a finger to her heart, tapping it a few times.

“Your heart is fine,” but the doctor didn’t understand that

she was asking about Saint and Jack. No one would.

She shook her head, sighing loudly she tapped her chest
again and hoped that the stranger in front of her might
understand what she needed. He just stared at her blankly until
she made a writing motion with her hand, and he extended his
chart to her.

She flipped the page over, so it was blank and scribbled,

“Jack Callahan,” on it. Saint’s name wouldn’t get her answers,
but if a cop had died in the city. This name would be
recognized.

The doctor took it back and groaned, “I can’t discuss other

patients with you. I’m sorry Ms. Murphy.”

Her heart dropped, and she snatched the board back,

“Alive?” she wrote.

He nodded, “yes.”

“Need James Bailey,” she scribbled and pushed it back.

The doctor stood with a sigh but nodded, giving in to her
request before leaving her alone again.

She waited until the door clicked shut and scooted

uncomfortably toward the phone on her nightstand, picking it
up she let the dial tone create white noise as she tried to
remember his phone number in her foggy mind.

She ran her hand through her hair and tried to push the
feeling of Banks’s hands on her skin from her mind. She
popped the number into the phone and waited as it rang, she
didn’t even know what time it was, did it matter?

“Hello?” His voice came through the phone like a prayer

and Beckett’s tears fell uncontrollably down her cheeks as she
sobbed silently. “Beck?” He asked but she couldn’t answer,
she just sat there listening to him breathing hoping that he’d
understand what she couldn’t say.

The dial tone rang in her face as he hung up. Fuck.

The door opened again, and James filtered into the room in
a hurry, his hands coming around her face before she even had
time to register that he was standing in front of her. His big
blue eyes were staring at her, exhausted and bloodshot but he
was there, he was safe.

“It’s good to see your eyes,” he hummed and pressed a

sloppy, forceful kiss to her forehead. She tangled a hand into
the front of his NYPD gym shirt and tugged him closer. “God,
I missed you.”

After a long moment of relief, she patted his phone in his

jeans pocket. He looked confused for a moment before digging
it out, unlocking it, and handing it to her.

Doc said it will be a bit before I get my voice back.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with a nod as he looked

down at the phone screen.

Jack and Saint?

James sighed, frustration seeping from his expression as he

rubbed a hand to the stubble on his jawline. His tongue licked
over his bottom lip, “Saint is fine, I’m surprised he’s not here
now. He’s been here every day since you were brought in.”

A weight was lifted off part of her heart, she was glad that
Saint was okay. That he had survived the cruel game that
Banks wanted to play with them. The other part of her heart
was still suffocating, she poked him in the chest and waited for
the second half of his answer to her question.

Jack??

“I haven’t seen Jack in four months,” he growled. “He was

here for a while and then, one day we just couldn’t find him.
Saint’s been looking but he’s gone, Beck.”

Gone? Where would he have gone? She shook her head

and growled, the noise coming from deep within her chest.

Why?

“Why what?” James asked handing the phone back.

Why would he just leave?

James’s eyes drifted to the floor, Beck could tell she was
avoiding telling her the whole truth but she didn’t understand
why. She wanted answers, she had been asleep for six months
without them, and she had missed everything. She had laid
here helpless from the outside world while the men in her life
were left to rot alone and handle things.

“Banks’s gone too.” James groaned and he took a step

back from her as she turned her eyes to him with a furious
glare.

He survived?

“He was in transport to a maximum prison facility when

his van ran off the road. By the time the cops got there, both
transport guards were dead and he was gone,” James
swallowed thickly.
 Her entire mood shifted, James knelt down so his eyes
came level with hers and he put his hands on her thighs.
“Don’t worry about Banks, I’ll never let him hurt you ever
again.”

She tilted her head, her doubts rising to the surface of her
expressions without being able to use her words. Her hair was
so long now that it dipped against her chest and over her
shoulders. James looked at her with his stern blue eyes, “I
promise. I’ll keep looking for Jack but if he doesn’t want to be
found I can’t do anything about it, Beck.”

Try harder

She shoved against his chest with his phone and curled her
legs up and away from her. She knew it wasn’t his fault and
she knew how stubborn Jack could be but she didn’t care.
Beckett just wanted him back.

James stood up and hovered for a moment. “I’m glad

you’re awake Beck, that was really scary for a while.”

She dipped her head away from him. She was happy to see
him but she was so frustrated with not being able to speak and
not being able to fight. She let him kiss her head before he left,
leaving her in silence again. The rain filled the void that the
lack of sound had created. She curled up into her bed, her
knees in her stomach and she pressed her hands against both
her ears to drown everything out.

She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and after a

while, she could feel the stiff, cold hospital mattress dip from
someone’s weight. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know it
was Saint, she could feel it in the weight of his arms around
her stomach. She could smell it in the sweet scent of his soap
and the soft feeling of his nose pressing to the back of her
neck, just below her ear.

She let herself lean into him, her back pressed as tightly as
she could manage to his chest. She wrapped her arms around
his and traced her fingers slowly up his arm as he nuzzled
himself in closer to her skin. She had missed him so much that
the shock was overwhelming every single other emotion in her
body.

She started slowly, moving her finger against his skin and
tracing out the letters of the words she needed to say. You
found me. She could feel Saint tense against her as he felt each
swipe of her finger as she spelled out what she couldn’t
vocalize.

“I always will.” He whispered against the back of her

neck.
 43

forty three

“Don’t get up too fast,” Saint hung onto her elbow with the
palm of his hand, his thumb wrapped into the ditch and
pressing down just enough to remind her that he was there.
She hadn’t gotten used to the casual outfit he had become
comfortable wearing around her. Jeans and sweaters were a
stark contrast to his usual suits.

The soft beeping of the machines around her had become

white noise, ticking away, monitoring her constantly in the
background of her thoughts. The only thing that seemed to
help was that Saint hadn’t left her side. He went home to
shower, and to change but he spent hours with her.

If not for him she would have gone insane.

“I’m okay,” she pressed her forehead against the hollow of

his shoulder as he helped her to her feet.

Wobbling slightly as she found her footing, Saint wrapped

his free hand around the back of her head, stabilizing her
against his chest as she took a deep breath. “Saint,” she
whispered against him, “you gotta let go.”

She felt him tense around her. Saint had been hyper-
protective of her, and for reasons, she found one hundred
percent valid but it had been weeks. They both knew if she
wasn’t going to be released, not until she was able to start
walking on her own and more than a few feet.

Weeks of him fondling over her like she was a shattered

teapot, and in the beginning, she had been, she knew that. It
was just agonizing to admit it. The news that Jack had gone
missing was enough to set her progress back, her mind had
retreated into a place that wasn’t beneficial to her healing. She
was depressed and angry that he had left her, leaving them to
climb this mountain alone. Sometime in the month of lying
awake in the middle of the night, listening to Saint’s soft,
steady breathing her anger had turned into heartbreak and
worry.

Saint was feeling it too, he was missing his partner.

Beckett urged him to go out and spend some of his nights in
the streets helping people but it wasn’t the same without Jack
by his side. Watching his back.

Saint looked down like he knew what she was thinking

about, pressing his lips to her forehead he took a long deep
breath and unhooked his hand from the back of her head. He
took one slow step back, still connected to her by the arm, and
let her find a balance before he let go.
 “Talk to me Beck,” he whispered across the short distance
between them.

“Stable as a baby deer,” she laughed and took a couple of

steps toward him. He moved back, a cheeky grin forming on
his scruffy face. “Cheater,” she giggled taking another two
forward.

“Opportunist,” he swallowed and looked at the space

between her and the hospital room door.

She knew it was because he couldn’t see her, so he was

listening to her, tracking her but Beck looked back at the door.
Her heart betrayed her with a few unsteady beats.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready,” Saint’s voice was low
and reassuring as always.

“You keep saying that,” she stepped forward again, this

time on better footing. She was getting stronger with every
walk they took.

“One of these times maybe you’ll believe me when I do,”

he tilted his head and winked but there was a hollow pain to
his words.

“I’ll believe it when you do too,” she shook her head and
stepped forward in unison with him stepping back this time.

His back fully pressed against the windows overlooking

the city as she closed the gap and wrapped her arms around his
waist, twisting them into the navy blue sweatshirt he wore.
She buried her face in his chest and huffed against him in
protest to him not returning the hug immediately.
 “Saint,” she grumbled, resentful that she had to beg for it
and finally he wrapped himself around her, tangling his hands
into the hair at the back of her neck. He pressed his lips to the
top of her head and held himself against her for a wearisome,
silent moment.

“Beck,” he grumbled back causing her to laugh and pull

back to look at him.

She took his face into her hands, nuzzling her face against
his and stealing a soft, needy kiss from his warm lips. “I just
wanna go home. I hate it here,” she whispered against his lips.

“If you spent less time kissing me and more time walking
we could do that,” he said, the corners of his lips curling
slightly at her whiny voice as his thumb gently rubbed against
her bottom lip. He obliged her need for one more kiss,
groaning against her before he stepped away again, turning
back toward the bed.

“I don’t wanna go back to bed,” she protested like a

toddler.

“Then go into the hallway,” Saint suggested, leaning his

head toward the door.

“No,” she said.

He scowled, he had been trying to get her to leave the

hospital room all week. It didn’t matter how much she wanted
to be home.

To her, that wasn’t a place.

It was Saint and Jack.

 It had once been Banks.

Beck wouldn’t admit it out loud but she was scared.

Scared, that if she went out to the hallway, the safe little
bubble she created with Saint Maddox might come crashing
down around them.

She would never admit that if she went out to the hallway,
if she made it out of the hospital, home to her warm bed it
would mean things would have to go back to normal. The idea
that she would no longer need Saint to take care of her
terrified her. There was a little voice in her head, screaming at
her, telling her that if he didn’t need to take care of her that he
didn’t need to be around anymore. Deep down the thing that
scared Beck the most was the irrational fear that Saint would
disappear as Jack had.

Saint sighed, “do you want to go home?”

“Yes,” she said even though their definition of the word

was different.

“You have to leave this room to do that, we can’t go home

until you do,” he pointed out. “What’s stopping you? Anytime
you get near that door your heart races and you go somewhere
else. Somewhere I can’t reach.” He walked toward her and
cupped the side of her face with the dance of his fingers along
her skin.

“It’s stupid and selfish,” she bit her lip, leaning into his
hold.
 “Let me decide what’s stupid and selfish,” he chuckled,
which set her at ease.

“If we leave here—” she took a deep breath, “it means I’m
healthy, I’m stable. With the threat gone, it means you don’t
have to—” she could feel the tears threatening to fall. She was
stronger than this, more resilient yet every time Saint held her
close she felt like a damsel in distress. Her emotions were so
out of check around him, it drove her to the breaking point.
She couldn’t have a normal conversation with him without
breaking down anymore. She hated it.

“Sunshine,” the tone in his voice and the pause in his

words caused her to really look at him. “You never needed
anyone to take care of you. I don’t have to take care of you
here either.” He pressed his other hand to her throat, his
fingers pressed around the base of her jaw with the gentlest of
touches. “The hospital is filled with people that get paid for
that. I’m here because I want to be.”

“But things change,” she whispered.

“This won’t,” he pressed his forehead against hers. “I need

you. It’s not selfish, wanting to protect yourself from the pain
of abandonment Beckett, we all do it.”

“Even if it prevents us from going home?” She asked,

closing her eyes.

“I’ll sit in this hospital room until we get old if that’s what
you need,” he let a low chuckle leave his lips. “The spiced
apple sauce they serve with dinner is an incentive.”
 Beck gave him a pathetic laugh and pressed her hand
against his chest, needing to feel him beneath her fingers. “It’s
what I want,” she sighed.

“But not what you need,” Saint smiled before raising his
head and kissing her. Their lips crashed together desperately as
if they hadn’t kissed in days. Beckett just missed the heavy
touches and the needy way his mouth begged for more. It lit a
fire in her belly. She moaned against him as his hand pulled
her hips against his and she arched her back into his grip.

She wrapped a hand into the back of his hair, tugging

gently to urge him closer as his tongue slipped into her mouth.
Beck fumbled with the zipper of his hoodie, pulling on it
gently and exposing the bare skin of his chest underneath.

“Beck,” he whispered against her lips, “sweetheart,” he

pleaded as she pulled away and kissed the edge of his jaw.
“Doctor hasn’t cleared you for this,” he whined as she
peppered the skin beneath his jaw.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “Walk here. Walk there. No

kissing. Fine,” she snapped. Fear coursed through her veins
like fire as she pulled back to look at the door over his
shoulder.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to be able to touch

him and feel him.

Beck pushed away from him, his fingers on her skin as she
took three sturdy steps toward the door, pausing she looked
back at him and tugged at his fingers, inching him along with
her.
“Not alone,” she whispered.

“Never again,” Saint responded.

 44

forty forty

“Do you mean to forget this?” Saint asked holding up the book
Jack had left.

Beck rolled her eyes and sighed. Her anger had

steamrolled her emotions in the last few weeks of being in the
hospital. Her frustration of not getting to go home mixed with
the fact that Jack had been gone for almost six months was
fueling a short-tempered attitude. A fit of fiery anger that not
even Saint was safe from. She felt like she was out of control,
most days she was just sad and scared but when the anger
crashed over her she just couldn’t handle it.

“Do you think he did?” She asked, staring at the book in

his grip.

Saint sighed and tucked it blindly into her duffle bag

before zipping it up. “Jack, wherever he is,” he felt his way
around the bed and helped her into her sweater, zipping it up
and adjusting it on her shoulders. “His heart is in the right
place.”
 “His heart is right here.” Beckett snapped.

She expected him to step back, to move away from her.

Every single time she barked at him or was short with him.
She waited for him to snap back but he didn’t, he wouldn’t.
She almost felt bad because she was aware of her mood and
couldn’t do a damn thing to change it but Saint was just that, a
saint. He let her lash out when she needed, responding with a
kiss or a hug and never more or less than she needed at the
moment.

“He left it in good hands then,” Saint pushed his hand into
her hair, pressing his palm to her ear and tugging her against
his chest. “He has his reasons, if he survives whatever those
might be, he’ll come home.”

“How can you be sure Saint?” Beck sighed.

“Because unfortunately, I have the pleasure of knowing

Jack,” he laughed, “if he’s alive, eventually he’ll come
crawling home. He’s immortal.”

“You ready?” James called from the open door.

His hair was cut short but the fluffy scruff on his jaw
remained thick and clean. He had aged ten years in the time
she was asleep, at least it had felt like it. Ashton was there, his
hair long and curling around his ears. His tall frame leaned
against the door; his arms crossed over his chest as he watched
her. She couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky she had gotten
when she won the lottery that had given her this family. She
swallowed tightly, pushing down the hurt of the missing
member but knew that three out of four wasn’t too bad.
 Saint waited, hand on the crook of her elbow, for her to say
the words out loud. For her to really commit to going home.
He could have easily answered the question for her, she was
cold to the touch and her heart was beating ten times too fast.
But he respected her space and her mind, waiting like the rest
of them for her to say aloud.

Tears brimmed her eyes as she looked over at him, his soft
brown eyes, his sweet gentle smile. She wrapped her hand into
the one he caressed her with and squeezed.

“I won’t let you get lost,” he whispered against her head.

“Okay,” she huffed.

Leaving the room had become easier but the known fact
that she was about to leave forever, to go home to the
apartment that she hadn’t seen in seven months. James
watched her, nervous for her and showing it all over his
grumpy face. One hand linked in with Saint’s and the other
with James’ the men led her from the room she had spent so
much time in.

The wounds had turned to twisted scars.

The bruises had faded back to healthy skin.

The threat was gone, and the nightmares had begun to

fade.

But…her hand shook against Saint and he moved closer to

her as she stopped at the two large sliding doors of the
hospital.
 “I’m going to get the car,” James untangled his hand from
hers and Ashton replaced it without a word.

He was unusually quiet as they waited and even though

she wanted to ask him what might be bothering him she
couldn’t find the words to do so. She steadied her breathing,
trying to remain as calm as she could. The cool New York air
seemed colder than the last time she had been outside, and it
stung her throat and lungs like she had swallowed a stinging
nettle.

“You are-” Saint spoke low, so low she almost missed him
talking. He pushed the hair back off her shoulder and placed a
long, soft but steady kiss on the hollow curve between her
neck and shoulder. “-The bravest person I know,” he pulled
back to whisper in her ear. “Each time you are faced with a
challenge that scares you, it’s the scariest moment in your life.
Each time, that moment feels too big, too loud. But you,
Beckett Murphy, are braver and stronger than you’re giving
yourself credit for. Don’t let fear win. Use it.”

Ashton didn’t add anything, but he squeezed her hand in

his a little tighter and stepped a little closer as James pulled up.
He helped her inside as Saint put her bags and flowers in the
back with assistance.

“I’m not going to vanish into thin air,” she whispered as he

helped her with the seat belt.

“Humor me,” Ashton said lightly, his tone soft but his
brows kissed in worry.
 On the car ride home she thought about Saint’s words, she
thought about how her fear was eating away at her and how
much she wished she could just shut it off.

She didn’t even realize they had come face-to-face with

her apartment door.

Saint opened it, unlocking it with ease. “I’ve been staying

here since you were-” He paused, it was comforting to know
that even he had moments of fear.

“Half dead in a coma?” Beck laughed but she watched

every muscle in Saint’s back tense from her joke. She pressed
her palm between his stress-wracked shoulder blades and felt
him relax from her touch.

The apartment was clean, so clean she barely recognized it.

Her heart stopped, absolutely stopped in her chest. Darkness
crept in so fast that she didn’t have time to stave it off as it
completely consumed her thoughts and emotions.

“Angel,” Banks’s voice rattled around in her skull like she

had been hit by a train. “I’ll be here to keep you warm,” he
whispered and suddenly he was everywhere at once. His lips
on her neck and chest, his hands roving across her stomach
and thighs.

She stepped back, gripping the frame of the front door, and
watched as Banks turned to look at her, blood dripping down
his face and into the wicked, toothy grin he gave her. He spat
blood on the floor and winked at her. “I’ll keep you safe,” he
licked his lips.
 “No,” she mumbled, over and over again.

She put her hands out to protect herself but, in the process,
she was knocked off balance.

“I’ll never leave you again, it’s just us. Together forever.”
Banks got closer and the room began to close in on her. The
shadows stifled her words and jammed the fear further down
her throat. “My little bird.”

“Beck?” Saint’s voice cracked, Banks’s face flickering

back and forth.

Brown eyes shifted to Black and back again.

She couldn’t catch her breath. “I can’t,” she choked out, “I

can’t breathe.”

Saint, it was Saint.

He slid across the floor to the opening of the apartment and

caught her before she hit the floor. Long arms supported her
and scooping her into his arms he walked her through the
apartment. Everything whipped past her as they moved toward
her room and into her closet. He lowered them to the ground
and settled her into his lap.

She felt him wrap around her but when she opened her
eyes Banks stared back at her, “Beck?” His eyes flickered
back and forth, searching for her voice.

She could see Banks, but it wasn’t him. She could tell by
the touch of his hand on her stomach and the way the other
one wrapped around her face.
 “Come on sunshine, talk to me.” He squeezed his hand
around her face, pressing his fingers in to remind her he was
real. “It’s me,” he said softly, pressing his forehead against
hers. “It’s Saint,” he whispered again.

He pulled a soft kiss from her lips, rubbing his hand over
her face just trying to coax something coherent from her.
“Beck,” he nuzzled his nose against her face, pressing hard
against her.

She shut her eyes, took a long deep inhale of his scent and
rolled in closer to him. “Saint,” she huffed, “I can’t,” her
words tumbled from her lips. “He ruined it.”

“I know,” he kissed her cheek.

“He-” her hands shook, “I loved him, Saint.”

He bundled her closer, wrapping his hand over her head

and pulling her to his chest so she could breathe to the sound
of his heartbeat beneath. They had all trusted him, he had slept
in her bed and between her thighs. She sobbed out, she had
been careful to avoid every thought that led to him. Beck was
naive to think that she could come back to her apartment and
continue to live in ignorance.

“How do we-” she inhaled weakly. “Adapt?”

He chuckled, “Sunshine,” he kissed her head. “Adapting is

the easy part.”

“I wasn’t always blind,” Saint said quietly barely audible

over her cries. “There was an accident when I was younger, it
took the sight from my right eye first and then eventually, my
left. Losing it was slow and a horrible form of torture and
figuring out how to navigate that new darkness was
challenging but-” he sighed. “The worst part wasn’t being
blind; it wasn’t the pain or the terrifying new way of life. It
was the way people spoke to me and treated me differently.”

Beck’s crying slowed, and she tugged her bottom lip

between her teeth.

“Everyone wants you to believe that the worst part is

behind you.” He lifted her chin to look at him and even though
his gaze was distant she could feel the blanket of calm, his
brown eyes laid over her. “But I know you don’t feel safe in
your own skin, I know because I can feel you and I just-” He
stopped. “It doesn’t matter how much we talk at you about
protection and keeping you safe, you won’t believe a word of
it. Not until you want to.”

“I don’t want to feel like that,” she choked out a soft

sentence.

“I don’t think you have a choice right now,” he assured

her.

“But I’m not going to leave you,” Saint said, “Even if this
is hard for the rest of our lives and I spend half of it in a closet
with you. I will Beck, ‘cause having sunshine on a rainy day is
still sunshine.”

“How do you do that?” She wiped her tears on his shirt.

“Make everything seem so simple?”
 “You’re more than capable Beck, you’ve proven that. Just
don’t give up on yourself.” He spoke. “And talk to me, when it
feels suffocating, don’t shut down. That’s a J-” he cut his
sentence short.

“Jack trait,” she finished it. “I see him, Banks, I was seeing
him in the hospital too but it’s worse here. It smells like him,
and the time spent with him seems to be flooding in like
stepping inside the apartment broke the dam.”

“We can leave together if you want,” he said. “I’ll take you
anywhere.”

Beck nodded, trying to catch her breath as her chest

hiccupped and her body trembled.

He scooped her from the ground and into his arms,

huddling her as close as he could.
 45

forty five

JACK CALLAHAN

He watched him. Just like Banks had watched her.

He tucked himself into the thin fabric of his black coat and
ducked inside the derelict apartment building. He had shoved
his hair beneath an old ball cap and he used the collar of his
jacket to hide the nasty, twisted scar that maimed his neck
where Beckett had shot him.

He had watched him for months.

Banks hadn’t made it hard to find him.

Jack followed him inside, up to the second floor, and

passed the apartment with the screaming kids and abusive
father to the corner unit with the door that didn’t lock properly.

He pushed the door open with his boot gently and stepped
inside.

Jack watched as Banks grabbed leftovers from the dingy

yellow fridge and kicked it shut with his foot as he grabbed a
dirty fork from the sink. He wanted to take the fork and jam it
down his throat, he wanted to watch Banks beg while he
choked on his own blood for the crimes he committed. He
wanted to show him exactly how it felt to be a victim.

He wanted Banks Romero dead.

“Stop moping Callahan, it’s ugly.” Banks set down the

container on the island and turned to look at him as he came
through the door. “Pitiful existence, you know if you had gone
to my apartment that day, the bomb would have taken care of
you both. No suffering, no hospitals. Just death.”

Jack had a suspicion that the warehouse fires had been

Banks. The second he went missing they seemed to stop
completely. He had tried to kill them that night in warehouse,
but it hadn’t stuck. It made him sick to his stomach knowing if
it had, Beck would still be here…with him.

“You could have killed me ten times over in the last three
months. What’s stopping you?”

Jack pressed his hand to the gun at his hip and continued to
watch him. Banks was going to monologue no matter what he
said or did. It was just who he was as a person. All the
attention needed to be on him, all the fucking time.

I’ll tell you what it is,” Banks popped open the container
and stuck his nose in it. He scrunched up at the smell and
pushed the container further away. “It’s because you fell in
love,” he laughed.
 Jack let a throaty growl ripple from between his teeth. He
forced his eyes to stay wide open because if he closed them
even for a second, he would see her. Her long dark hair,
fanned over his arms as she slept in them.

“You got soft Jacky,” Banks shrugged, “happens to the best

of us. But you,” he waved the utensil at him, “when you go
soft people die.” He clicked his teeth at him and dropped the
fork that he was holding in his hand.

“You’d think you were smarter than the last time, letting
someone so close. I thought for sure you’d keep her at arm’s
reach.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes back. “All you had
to do was keep being the same old hard-headed asshole you’ve
been for years. But no.”

Jack stepped sideways, moving back from Banks as he

stepped forward. “It was just a stupid coincidence that
Maddox got involved. And just like that, I was outside my
own game.” He sighed deeply, filling his rotten lungs with
more air than he deserved to breathe. “Of course, she fell for
him first, he’s sweet and kind. Honest with her. And you, the
other side of the coin. Rough, stubborn, challenging. It’s
disappointing actually that you think you deserve her. You
don’t. You’ll just pluck her clean of beautiful feathers until
she’s nothing but a bird that can’t fly Jack. And what good is a
canary without its wings?”

Jack clenched his teeth together, hiding the anger that

simmered across him at the thought of her. He didn’t regret his
decision to leave, it gave him the space to find Banks without
Bailey breathing down his neck. Jack’s heart thumped to the
beat of betrayal because he knew what Banks was saying was
true. He didn’t deserve Beckett any more than Banks did.
They were the same monster, built and bred to kill in the
military, left to rot on home soil, and told the skills they had,
the skills they had honed to save their country were deplorable
and disgusting. Monsters without a purpose.

“James should have given that folder to me, a low-level

stalker crime…” Banks rolled his tongue over his teeth. “This
conversation is tiring Jack, if you came here to stare at me
until I die, I’m going to have to ask you to leave until you
decide to man up.”

“He was waiting for me,” Saint stepped through the

darkness of the narrow hallway and into the dim light of the
kitchen.

“I should have known you’d bring your boyfriend.” Banks

groaned. “Do you think this will change anything?” He asked,
turning to Saint. “Do you think killing me will make her forget
my voice…my face? I am part of her now,” he laughed.

“We aren’t going to kill you, Banks,” a small smile crept to

Saint’s lips.

“We’re going to tear you apart with our hands.” Jack was
the first to attack his fist connecting with Banks’ face with a
loud, snapping crack. Banks stumbled backward; his eyes
blinking closed momentarily as he regained his balance.

Saint wrapped a hand around his neck from behind,

thrusting upward so the hold was tight. Banks’ hands flew to
his arm, scratching at it for air as Saint kicked his knees out
beneath him.

He dropped to the floor, Saint lowering with him as he

kept his stranglehold tight around Banks’ scrawny neck. “How
long?” Jack asked, slamming his hand into his face so hard it
cracked the bones in Jack’s hand loudly. He hissed under his
breath and laid another one into his friend. Nausea rolled
around in the pits of his stomach as bile forced its way up his
throat. “How long were you touching her when she slept?”

Banks smiled at him, gasping for what little air Saint

would afford him.

“How long?” Jack snapped cocking his hand back for

another shot.

“Six months before she figured it out, three before she

confessed to Bailey, and another month before you two clowns
caught on,” he laughed, and blood bubbled up out of his
throat. “Your canary sang for m-”

Saint tightened his hold and shut him with the force of his
forearm against his throat. Jack knelt before him, sinking
down onto the balls of his feet so they were eye level, and
pulled out two long, sharp blades from the back of his pants.

Jack ran his thumb along the blade, flipping it in his hand
before he slammed it through the tight flesh of Banks’ folded
legs, into the meatiest part of his thigh causing him to grunt
out against Saint’s hold. Jack grabbed the handle that
protruded from his thigh and twisted, blood bubbling up
around the silver blade. It was dark and thick and spilled down
his leg, forming a puddle on the floor. Saint loosened his hold
and Banks hissed, a low shrill whine of pain tearing from his
mouth.

“Fancy that, you sing pretty too,” Jack slammed the second
knife into his other thigh and Banks writhed beneath him
trying to slide away but Jack grabbed his knees and pushed
them into the concrete. “You aren’t going anywhere, I’m not
fucking done talking to you.”

“Then talk,” Banks spit blood to the floor beside him,

grinding his teeth together in pain. “You always loved to play
with your food,” he laughed.

Saint’s fingers threaded through the dark strands of hair

and tugged roughly at the root, pulling Banks’ head up and
exposing his throat. A dark purple bruise had started to form,
and his skin had already begun to turn a sickly shade of pale.

“I’m not playing around with you Banks.” Jack snapped,

grabbing his throat and pulling his face toward him, “we
trusted you; she trusted you.”

“That sounds like your problem,” Banks smiled again,

baiting him but Jack wouldn’t fall for it. Never again.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jack shook his head. It

was a loaded question because they had all been through so
much crap over the years that keeping count didn’t even make
any sense.

Banks came home from war differently, a little twisted but

still happy. He was sunshine and rainbows, hiding the pain
with a bright smile and smooth charming attitude that the
woman loved. Jack had missed the switch and he was cursing
himself now for not seeing it. When had his best friend turned
into this disgusting human being before him? So willing and
ready to hurt the one good thing in their lives. So willing to
kill Beck for his own selfish gain. Too stubborn to share like
they always had.

Jack could understand why, Beckett Murphy was not to be

shared but the rules didn’t apply to them. They were the brain
and heart of one man walking around in three different bodies.

And maybe that was the problem, maybe when they

returned home, they were split so forcibly that Jack took the
bad, Saint took the good and Banks was left soulless.

“You came home Jacky and had a family waiting for you, a
wife and kids. Happy to see their dad but what did I have?”

“You had me,” he snapped.

“Not like I did,” Banks shook his head, “you weren’t the
same. You didn’t want to hurt people anymore as I did. All the
fight was gone from your body. Jack Callahan, pussy
whipped.”

Jack’s hand slapped across his face, splitting the skin on

his cheek.

“I was foolish enough to think that once Laura died, once

you were free from the chain around your neck, I would get
my friend back. No nagging wife, or children to hold you
down.”
 Saint tensed, knowing that the topic had reached a boiling
point. No one had even spoken her name since everything
happened. Banks knew it was a shot to Jack’s heart, straight
and true. It was an arrow that would tear through the soft flesh
of his heart, tearing at the organ like barbed wire. At least
Banks was smart enough to keep Jack’s kids out of his mouth.

“And I did for a while, killing ‘bad’ guys in the pit was fun
while it lasted but,” he laughed. “Saint’s moral high ground
made it hard to enjoy myself, you got comfy in your new
position at the station, and I got left behind.”

His smile fell as he said the last words, “But Beckett found
me, dragged me from hell, and made life worthwhile again.
But you took that too. She was mine Jack; I was going to take
care of her. I was going to love her.”

Jack laid a fist into his gut, dipping his head to follow his
pitch-black gaze. “You stalked her for months, terrorized her,
raped her in her sleep.” He snarled, his lips pulling over his
teeth as he squeezed his hand around Banks’ chin, “look at
me,” he demanded, “you’re a piece of shit, you were never
going to save her. You destroy everything you touch.”

He let go of him as Saint pulled against his hair and

dragged him to his feet. Banks could barely stand, tugging the
first blade from his thigh and tearing a strangled snarl from his
lips. It clattered to the floor, followed shortly by the second
one. Banks’ rolled his neck and shoulders out, shifting on his
injured legs, and looked up at Jack.
 “You’re going to have to earn it,” he smiled, throwing his
elbow back he connected with Saint’s stomach.

But he was ready as Banks turned to attack him, catching

the next blow to his forearm he laid the sole of his heavy black
boot into his stomach and pushed him backward toward Jack.

“With pleasure,” Jack grabbed him by the head and yanked

him back against his chest as he punished his rib cage with
repetitive hard punches until he was able to twist free.

Banks landed a blow to Jack’s face, and his cheekbone

seemed to shatter under his skin, blacking out the vision in his
left eye and sending shooting pain down through his jaw and
spine. Adrenaline blossomed in Jack’s stomach, a wide smile
forming on his face.

“There he is,” Banks whispered, unafraid to die. “I missed

you, Jacky.”

“You’re going wish you didn’t,” Jack beelined for him,

wrapping a hand around his throat as he pushed him up against
the wall. Saint stood close, his chest heaving with fast shallow
breaths.

“Alive Jack.” Saint turned, whispering to him. They had

come here with a plan.

Banks clicked his tongue against his teeth as he fought for

air and threw another onslaught of punches into Jack’s body.

He dropped him to the ground and Saint rammed his knee

up into Banks’ sharp jawline. He slumped to his side against
the wall, groaning out as he attempted to crawl away from
them.

Jack shook the blood from his hair like a dog and tried to
blink the sharp white dots from his left eye. Saint stalked
Banks, dragging him by his leg back to the living space, he
hoisted his body up off the ground and threw him backward,
shattering him through the weak coffee table that was littered
with garbage.

“That hurt bible boy,” Banks rolled to his side, coughing

up more blood but he was able to push himself to a stand
position. Saint huffed, clearly impatient with what was
happening as he waited for Jack to give the go-head.

“You want to know the saddest part of all this?” He asked,

crossing his arm across his body, he gave it a rough tug and
cried out as the joints snapped back into place. “If you don’t
kill me, she’ll never be the same. Always watching over her
shoulder, waiting for me to come home to her.” He said staring
at them both like he still stood a chance to survive what they
had in store for him. “And if you do kill me, she’ll never look
at you the same because somewhere deep down inside of her,
there’s a tiny shred of her soul that still loves me.”

Jack’s stomach turned over, tangling into a thousand

vicious and twisted knots.

Banks limped his way into a lazy circle, blood dripping

from his scalp, cheek, nose, and lips. It poured out of him like
he was a fountain and that brought a sick joyful feeling to Jack
as Saint cracked a closed fist across Banks’ jaw. As he leaned
away from it, Jack returned it like they were playing tennis,
over and over. They took turns beating the shit out of his face
until his legs could no longer hold the dead weight of his
upper body.

“Jack,” Saint barked as he cocked his arm back to hit him

again. “Enough.”

He turned on Saint, slamming his hands against his chest.

“Back the fuck up Maddox,” Jack warned, rolling the handle
of his knife in his hand between them. “He deserves to die,” he
yelled, knowing Saint didn’t deserve his anger but had
nowhere else to put it.

“It’s what he wants,” Saint said, his bruised and bloody

hand flickered up and in a surprise act of tenderness, he
pressed it to Jack’s face. “It’s not what she needs.”

Jack closed his eyes.

“Hey baby,” Beck squinted in the bright sun as she

stepped out from her apartment onto the street. Jack kissed
her, taking his lips against hers and wrapping his arms around
her back. He leaned against her, and she laughed against his
touch.

“Here,” he said, pulling the flowers from behind his back.

“More?” She pushed her nose into them and inhaled the
smell of the pale pink and yellow flowers. “You spoil a girl.”

He licked his lip and his head lulled to the side as a smile
formed on his face. His heart fluttered like it hadn’t done since
the last morning he woke up to his wife and he knew at that
moment that he would never let Beck go. He would treat the
simple gesture of bringing her flowers just to see her admire
them as a privilege for the rest of his life.

She kissed him again, tucking them into her arm, and
tangled their hands together as he walked her to work.

God he fucking loved walking her to work. It was so

simple, but it made him feel a little less dark and heavy.

The wind blew through her dark hair and a laugh bubbled
from her lips as he stared down at her through his sunglasses.
He counted the freckles on her jaw and the flecks of gold in
her bright brown eyes, memorizing them so he could think
about them later.

Later had come on swift wings with the tang of copper

blood and sweat on his upper lip and the sounds of Banks
Romero whimpering in a pile on the ground at his feet. Jack
rotated on his boot, lifting the toe and driving it down into the
fragile bones of Banks’ hand as he screamed out for Jack to
stop.

“Be quiet,” Saint kicked his face and a sickening snap rang
out through the apartment as his head thudded to the floor.

“I’ll get the truck,” Jack said throwing the knife to the
ground, the blade sticking out of the crooked, rotten hardwood
two inches from Banks’ head. Saint knelt as Jack walked
away, scooping Banks’ limp body over his shoulder, and
walked carefully through the hallway, following the sound of
his footsteps as they went.
 Jack didn’t bother to hide or clean the blood that they left
behind as he opened the stairs for Saint and led him down
them. Saint grunted, “do you need me to take him?” Jack
asked quietly but he just shifted the conscious body over his
shoulder and continued to descend.

The few moments of quiet that Jack was awarded as Saint

waited in the alley for him were blissful until the sharp
realization that Saint would make him go home now flooded
in. How was he supposed to go home to her with his hands
soaked in blood and tell her that he did it all for her? He slid
uncomfortably into his truck, eyeing his battered appearance in
the rearview mirror and looking away. His left eye was
swollen and bloodshot from the blow to his face, he pressed
the back of his hand to his cheek and hissed. He grabbed a
dirty shirt from the passenger side, where his duffle bag
overflowed onto the seat, and cleaned the blood that dripped
down into his eye from his scalp.

He started the engine, pulling it around the apartment and

into the alley. Saint dropped Banks’ body into the bed of the
truck without hesitation or an ounce of gentleness before
feeling his way around and climbing inside.

“Have you been living in here?” He said as the door

closed. He pushed the duffle bag out of his way with his feet
and dropped his head between his shoulders.

“Come here,” Jack mumbled, grabbing Saint’s chin. He

cleaned the large gash that twisted into his hairline and wiped
away any other blood before chucking the soiled shirt between
them.

Saint sighed. “You’re coming home,” he said, “no

arguments.”

Jack didn’t say a word, he just drove through the city with
his window down, letting the cold air fill the cab. He couldn’t
think about going home, not until Banks was dealt with. He
couldn’t look her in the eyes without knowing he did
everything he could to protect her. He wouldn’t.

Jack pulled up in front of the precinct, “get me a piece of

paper.” He grumbled, “in the glove box,” he instructed.

He took it when Saint extended it, sitting quietly and

waiting as he wrote on it. He stepped from the truck, pulling a
cap down over his eyes as he dropped the tailgate and grabbed
Banks by the boot. He slid him down, leaving a long trail of
blood in his wake as his body dropped to the pavement below.
Jack scooped him up, dragging him to the front entrance of the
police station and propping his body up between the doors. He
flipped the knife out, wiping it clean of prints, and pressed the
paper to his shoulder before using the knife blade like a
pushpin to keep it in place. Blood seeped out of his shoulder as
Jack drove the knife in as deep as he could get it.

Banks writhed beneath his touch, “good you’re alive.”

Jack could hear the night duty scrambling to get out front, but
he still had time. “Banks, if I ever see your face again, I’ll
fucking peel it off your skull.” He slapped his cheek, “good
luck in gen-pop. Detective Romero.”
 “Hey!” Two officers rounded the corner, but Jack was
already out the door and the only thing heard was the
confusion in their voices, “To Detective Bailey?”
 46

forty six

“Angel,” Banks brushed the hair back off her face, his dark
eyes watching her as she woke lazily from her sleep. He was
lying on his side, tattoos on display in the morning sun. The
golden rays that peaked through the window glimmered back
at her in his iris’ “Did you sleep okay?” He asked.

His arm was tucked under his head, while his other hand
rubbed soft circles on her jawline and lines down her throat.
“Yeah,” she whispered leaning over to kiss him.

His mouth felt so soft against hers, his tongue warm and
welcoming as she wrapped her arms up around his face and
slipped into his mouth. They lay like that, tangled into each
other for a long while until finally when she pulled away his
face had changed.

Blood dripped from his mouth, his teeth stained pink as he

smiled at her. “My little bird,” he whistled, pursing his lips
and trying to kiss her again. “Sing for me.” He wrapped his
hands around her throat.
 Like every day since the incident Beckett woke up with a
searing headache. She pressed her head deeper into her sweaty
pillow trying to catch her breath from the nightmare as she ran
her hands over her throat to be sure she was okay.

Saint had brought her to the condo that he shared with

Jack. At first that had made her uncomfortable, her heart
protesting at invading a space that didn’t feel like her own but
the moment he had laid her in bed she felt safe.

The walls were dark gray, and void of any decorations. She
sat up rubbing her eyes, clearing the forced sleep from them
she took in her plain surroundings. Two large, wooden
bookshelves. Thick, warm dark blue sheets and a comforter
that was wrapped and tangled against her skin. She was
wearing shorts and a tank top. She felt along her head, taking
note of her hair perfectly braided back with care.

She turned to her left, catching a set of heavy boots

slumped in a thick black armchair that was against the back
wall near the door to the foreign bedroom.

She leaned over, opening the top drawer of the dresser. In a

half-awake daze, she had watched Saint put the gun in there
before she fell asleep properly the night before. He had gone
somewhere, leaving her alone but confident that she could
protect herself if anyone had come looking.

Beckett felt around behind the books, finding the handle,

and wrapped her fingers around it. She followed the boots up
to a pair of dirty blue jeans, and a flopped-open book tightly
held in a bruised and battered set of knuckles. Her heart raced,
as she took in the black shirt that exposed scarred arms that
were tense and corded with thick muscle even in his sleep. A
thick shaggy beard that she immediately hated but as she took
in his sleepy face. She slid from the bed, keeping her eye on
him as she settled down on her feet and held the barrel against
his head.

She could tell by his breathing that he had been awake the
whole time, but he left his eyes closed and settled his forehead
against the gun. “Do it,” he whispered. “Please, canary.”

“Jack,” His name tumbled from her sore lips. “Get out,”
Beck whispered, her throat felt like sandpaper as she shook off
the sleepiness.

“I deserve it,” he said.

He didn’t move, but his eyes opened and he looked up at

her, remaining a cold, hardened statue, as he watched her. The
left eye was sore, blood shot and had a dark ring of purple
around it. She wanted to touch it, to feel his pain beneath her
fingertips. His sharp jaw clenched tightly as his dark eyes
studied her. The clock ticked by without words and the longer
he sat there, the angrier she became. Her hand shook against
the barrel, all the emotions swirling around in her chest like a
tornado, and he just sat there. Waiting.

She dropped the gun in his lap, turning away and crawling
back into the safety of her bed, “shooting you would be giving
you an out you don’t deserve.”

She rolled over in the bed, pulling the blankets over her
head, and cried herself back to sleep as he sat silently in the
corner, unwilling to move. When she woke later in the
afternoon he was still there, his eyes watching her as if he was
afraid to blink and lose track of her. She could see his lips
moving as he counted her gentle breaths, each time her chest
rose he counted higher.

“Get,” she sat up in the bed, wrapping the blankets around

her. “Out.” She inhaled sharply, filling her lungs with fresh air
in the most painful way possible.

She refused to give herself time to adjust to what was

happening—blocking out the wave of relief that overwhelmed
her seeing him alive. Stay angry, she willed her heart, don’t
you dare let him get away with this.

“It’s been eight months Jack,” she whispered, fury lacing

her words as she worked up the courage to speak to the ghost
haunting her. “Eight months since I saw your face and I should
be so fucking angry at you for disappearing. For leaving us.
But I’m just,” she shook her head.

“You don’t get to vanish,” she licked her bottom lip, “to
run off and play vigilante. I needed you but you and your
stupid ego needed revenge more.”

She watched his chest rise and fall under his shirt; his
hands twisted around the book in his lap. He wanted to talk to
her, she could tell from his body language. His eyes flickering
away from her finally and to the dark city beyond the window.

Beckett was talking to herself.

 “If you were going to come back and be this,” she scoffed,
looking him up and down. Taking in his beaten, pale
complexion, “you could have just left a voicemail.”

She could hear Saint shuffling down the hallway, tempted

to call out to him, unsure if he knew Jack was there. He had to
know, two heartbeats. “I don’t know why he let you in here,”
she closed her eyes and counted silently to ten as she waited
for the sound of him leaving but it never came.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered across the room, knowing

fully that it didn’t matter what she said to him. He was angry,
not at her, not at Saint.

Yet again, Jack Callahan was waging an unwinnable war

on himself.

“I’m too tired,” she tugged the blankets against herself

more, tangling her fingers within the sheets. “My body is sore;
my brain is broken. I can’t block out the sound of his voice
scraping rough lines into the back of my head like nails on a
chalkboard. I can’t sleep, I sleep too much. I feel trapped,
confined to my bed. You think that your leaving made me
safe,” she ground her teeth together to keep from crying.

“You forget how well I know you. You went after him
because you believed it was what I needed, but it doesn’t
matter if Banks,” she hissed his name and Jack flinched, his
jaw tensing from the sound. “Is alive or dead, he is a ghost that
will never stop haunting me. You can’t protect me, out there,
from a ghost, Jack. He’s just a fucking ghost.”
 A flicker in his expression, a small crack in his resolve.
They had done something.

“Keep going out there, keep searching for him. Check

under every rock and kill yourself with exhaustion to prove a
point to yourself. I don’t care.” She rubbed her face with the
back of her hand pushing away the tears. “None of that
mattered. All I needed was you and you were too stubborn to
realize.”

She begged silently for him to get up, to come to her. She
wasn’t going to get on her knees for Jack, not this time. He
could wait for her forgiveness if he wasn’t going to ask for it.
She was so overwhelmed with grief and anger that her bones
were exhausted from holding it all in.

She wept, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks,

wetting her tank top. None of it made her feel better though,
she still felt like shit as the rabid crying hushed to nothing but
a murmur. The faded city light twinkled as the rain started to
fall against the windowpane, Beck was just grateful that the
sound of their breathing was quieted.

The door creaked open, and Saint wandered one hand

gripped around a mug and the other gliding across the door
and to the wall.

“Jack,” he noted as he walked by.

Beckett took in the fresh bruises on his jaw and under his
eye along with a small, swollen gash on his forehead that
tucked into the dark locks of his brown hair.
 Beckett curled her toes up and waited until Saint’s hand
found the bed, settling against the mattress he ran his free hand
over her feet and up to her knees. Reaching out into the
darkness he danced his fingers against hers. She opened her
hand so he could slide the warm mug into it and closed her
fingers around it.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Better…worse?” She sighed, unable to convey how she

felt.

“We can try to clean out your apartment later this week,”
he promised.

“What happened?” She asked, tempted to banish him in

the same way that she had Jack. But his brown eyes were so
sad as they settled on the wall behind her head, and he
searched the silence for her heartbeat.

“What happened yesterday…” He nodded, “the panic

attack,” Saint answered his hand brushing over her knee to her
thigh.

“To your face, Maddox.” She looked at his bruised

knuckles, a matching set to Jack’s.

“Why did you force him to come here, I want him gone,”
She whispered to him, knowing whatever they had done,
whatever he had done to bring Jack home to her. Her heart
squeezed so tightly she thought it might explode as she
pressed her free hand against Saint’s scruffy jaw. “Please.”

Jack’s jaw clenched tightly.

 He dipped his head, leaning into her touch and staring past
the bed into the darkness before he brushed his hand over her
head. His fingers itched into the back of her hair and brought
her close as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“No,” he whispered against her too-warm skin, “you

don’t.”

“Saint,” she looked over at Jack who had turned his head
to look out the window as she spoke to him. “Make him leave,
I can’t…”

“Not this time sunshine,” he shook his head and granted

her another kiss, his soft eyes drifting around her as he listened
to her heart slowly beat with defeat. “You both need this.” He
whispered before he stood, moving toward Jack he stopped
and tilted his head toward him and then just left the room.

Jack looked back at her as the door clicked closed. His

dark eyes focused on her, sending chills through her body that
she did her best to combat with little sips of tea. “So this is
who we are now?” she asked after a long period of silence.
“Two strangers sitting in a room having a staring contest?”

He swallowed tightly, shifting in his chair as she set the

empty cup on the nightstand beside her. Becket pushed her
dark hair off her face, rolling stiffly onto her side, and slid
down into the sheets before closing her eyes.

After a while, she heard the familiar footfall of his boots as

he made his way across the room. She heard him pause as his
fingers dragged over the sheets, “keep your boots out of my
bed Jack Callahan,” she whispered, nearly crying from the
words.

Beck didn’t dare move as the sound of his boot dropping to

the floor echoed through the room and the bed dipped at her
back, all the while her heart was beating in her chest. She
could smell the all too familiar smokey leather scent as it
drifted over her. He didn’t touch her, not with his arms but she
felt him, as slowly as he could move, he pressed his forehead
between her tense shoulder blades.

Against her will, against the rage inside her soul and the
conflict she fought in her mind, her entire body relaxed against
his touch. She wanted to touch him but she knew that would
make him pull away, so she curled into a ball and stared out
the window listening to him breathe for a long time. Feeling
his hot skin against her, waiting for him to figure things out.

“Beckett,” he whispered, his voice cracking from the low,

soft groan. Silence again, the length between words seemed
unbearable as he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered even
quieter this time. “I’m sorry.” He repeated.

She laid quietly still, letting him work it out. Letting him
verbalize his pain in any way he could figure out how to do.
She could feel the warm, wet drops of tears that fell from his
face and caught the bare skin of her back before hitting the
sheets below. “I,” he stopped, she didn’t hear him clear his
throat, but she felt him tense up. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

Beck closed her eyes so slowly that it felt like a sigh as the
world went dark around her. He wasn’t angry. He was
ashamed. Still, she didn’t turn to him. Scaring him from her
bed was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Seeing you laying there,” he sobbed, his voice breaking

as he tried to explain to her, “the life ripped from you. I
couldn’t do a damn thing for you, sitting there in that room
day after day felt like hell. I watched the weak way your chest
rose; I counted the bruises on your skin. Waited as the wounds
closed and healed, and I just…”

He reached around her, and she inhaled sharply as his arm

brushed against her bare shoulder in the darkness. He set the
book down at her side and pulled away from her again. “The
silence was torture. I begged you, time and time again to wake
up and was only met with the quiet squeaking of the hospital
bed as I sunk to the floor on my knees and prayed. Saint said it
would help, that talking to someone, even God would help me
figure it out. It didn’t, it just made me angry. What good is
God if he let this happen to you?”

“Jack,” she whispered, tears escaping her softly as she

counted his shallow breaths. She didn’t want him to stop, or to
leave but she also didn’t want him to be greeted by more of the
same painful silence that he had been suffering through the last
few months. That was cruel and even in her frustration, she
wouldn’t add to that pain. She couldn’t.

“So I left. Saint found his faith again in that hospital room,
but God left me a long time ago. So, I went looking for the
devil.” He sighed, “I found him hiding in every dark, haunting,
and dangerous corner of New York. It was never enough, no
matter how many of them I put down, there seemed to be more
waiting. The rage is just a dull thrum within me, Beck. I can’t
turn it off.”

“I didn’t ask you to turn it off,” she swallowed her fear.

She felt manic around Jack, like she wasn’t in control of
herself. She supposed she never had been, but she never
expected him to change. She loved every bit of his anger; it
made him who he was, and he never used that anger on her. “I
asked you to stay.”

“How can you love someone who doesn’t even understand

how to love anymore?” He shook his head against her back,
his messy beard scratching the soft skin and tickling her. “You
should be afraid of me, I’m just as corrupted and marred as
Banks.”

“Is that what you think?” She couldn’t stand another

minute not seeing his face, rolling over in the bed but still
giving him space.

His brown eyes were so dark and pensive, but the moon
filled them with luster and stars. She knotted her hands
together to keep from touching him. His body was rigid as he
studied her face in the dimly lit room. “It’s what I know.
What’s stopping me from losing myself to that as he did?”

Beck never took her eyes off of him as she slipped the
palm of her hand under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up
against his tense abdomen, over the scars and bruises. Tickling
and tangling into the dog tags that hung around his neck and
resting her hand against his heart.
 “This.” She whispered, the word feathering from her lips
between them. “Saint found his faith in god, you find yours in
the devil. My faith is here,” she flexed her fingers, digging her
nails into his skin just enough to make the sharp lines between
his brows appear.

“Your idea of faith is flawed,” he mumbled, leaning

forward, his lips hovering above hers. Waiting for her to find
the courage to forgive him, waiting for her to remind him that
messy was what they were good at above anything else.

Chaotic, bloody, angry love.

“I was starting to come to terms with never seeing you

again, even worse I thought you might have-” she stopped,
inhaling her words and closing her mouth. “I don’t know how
to live without you Jack.”

“It took a moment, and I will spend an eternity apologizing

for that. But I will always come back to you. Half-alive,
covered in blood, on my knees I will crawl and fight my way
back to you. I will beg you until my last breath to need me and
love me until yours.” Jack spoke and all of the air in her lungs
seemed to rush out.

She could feel his breath on her face, his tongue pushing
forward, licking her top lip delicately as his hand wrapped
around her jaw and chin. Holding her steady as she pulled
against his shirt with her other hand and brought them together
finally, for the first time in months. She could feel him all
around her as she fought against his hold to deepen the kiss.
Hissing from the sharp pain in her ribcage he broke the kiss
and searched her face, checking over her body as though she
was the reason she was in pain.

“You’re one to talk about faith when you find solace in the
dark, Jack Callahan.” She untangled her hand from his shirt
and brought a finger under his chin. “You can’t hurt me.”

“I already have,” he shook his head, looking away from

her with swollen lips.

“So make it up to me.” She whispered quietly, watching as

the hunger filled his eyes and his hands trailed down over her
body. Fingers danced over the ridges of her curves and around
the swell of her ass.

Jack pulled softly at her shorts, tugging them over her hips
as she unbuttoned the top of his jeans. He kicked them off,
shedding his boxers with them, and instantly started on his
shirt, with help she pulled it up and over his ribcage, chest
bare. His rough hands push the straps of her tank top to the
side, and then over her breast and nipple. His long hair tickled
her chin and throat as he dropped to take her between his
mouth, wet tongue, and sharp teeth tugging at her skin.

“Jack,” she breathed, her eyes lazily closing as his thigh

pressed up between her legs. She rocked against the hard
muscle, her hands over his shoulders and down the ridges of
his back.

His thigh is replaced by thick, warm fingers that rub

against her. Teasing her until she tugged on his hair, “Jack,”
she warned as he leaned into her grasp.
 Looking up at her, bathed in the moonlight, a sly smirk
formed on his bruised face and her heart fluttered at the sight.
Relief overwhelmed her, the true realization that he was home
and alive. She was impatient, she had missed his touch too
much for him to mess about with his fingers, she needed him.

They pressed together as Jack left wet marks on her throat,

her eyes half closed. She caught glimpses of his messy, dark
hair, the strong shape of his muscle-bound shoulders, and the
swollen color of his lips. He slipped inside her without
warning, ripping a low, lustful whine from her lips as she
wrapped her leg up and over his hip.

His breath caught in his throat, finding home within her

and rocking until the rhythm had them both shaking. Beck’s
body was on fire. A tangled chaotic mix of pain and pleasure.

“Beckett,” he mumbled into her hair.

The sound of her name tumbling from his lips made her
dizzy. Her hands scrambled to find purchase in the hardened,
scar-stained skin of his back just trying to bring him closer.
His body pressed to hers as though it was made to fit there in
the sticky, hot curves. She would find God hiding under the
flushed cheeks of Jack Callahan as his dark eyes turned hazy
with lust. He moaned against her, coming completely undone
in her arms. The movements were lazy and slow. Beck was
floating. There was a careful, restrained strength to each
thrust. Jack’s hand tangled into her hair, as his breath fanned
her neck. She hadn’t been sure that Jack was capable of it but
he was making soft, tortuously slow love to her. The word
echoed around in her heart, the look in his eyes like he
couldn’t bear to stop as he studied her features. She felt lucky
to have had a chance to have Jack hold her like that, to take his
time and be careful with her. She kissed him, pressing her
hands deeper against his shoulder blades.

His jaw tightened, breath sharpening as she came. A rasp

of his name on her lips and she was trembling in his arms
taught like the string of a bow before snapping and releasing
herself completely. She watched him through a cloud of stars
that flooded her vision as he pushed deeper inside of her. It
was like he couldn’t get close enough. His whole body tensed
as he swore against her shoulder, his voice thick with lust
before he relaxed and his hands loosened their grip on her
waist and neck.

“Faith restored, Jack Callahan.”

“Don’t tell Saint where you found it or he’ll make us go to

the confessional,” he pushed a chunk of sweaty brown hair
from her forehead and kissed her nose. “I love you.” He
whispered, his beard rubbing against her cheek.

“I know,” she closed her eyes. Remembering his voice

breaking through the darkness as she slept against her will all
those months. “I know,” she repeated.

“Read to me,” she requested.

“Now?” He let out a low chuckle.

“Please,” she needed it, she wasn’t above begging for him
to indulge her.
 But it didn’t take convincing as he rolled them over, he
flicked on the lamp and returned to her. His strong arms
cradled around her he picked up the book. She ran her finger
over the small note she had left for him as he started to read in
a soft whisper.

You are the moon, Jack.

Below it scratched in dark ink in writing that was not her

own, You are my stars.
 47

forty seven

Beckett wiggled her toes and pulled the sheets back from her
body, staring down at a sleepy Jack she smiled and pressed a
kiss to his temple before crawling from bed. She was missing
her sun, but she could hear him busing himself in the kitchen
beyond the door.

She hadn’t been out of the bedroom other than when Saint
had carried her through the condo half awake. There was a
shower connected to the master bedroom, so she had no reason
to venture out. Especially because Saint had been bringing her
three-square meals and enough kisses to subdue a grizzly bear.

She opened the door to a wide space, with high ceilings

and wood accents. Large windows along the far wall gave her
the most gorgeous view of Brooklyn and the falling snow that
covered the sleeping city. Concrete floors made her feet cold
but the sight of Saint standing over the dark marble counter,
shirtless and running his fingers along a piece of paperwork
warmed her up a little. She tip-toed toward him, grazing the
arm of the plush black sectional in the open living room before
reaching him.

She wrapped her arms around his stomach, pressing her

hands against the flat of his hips. She pressed her cheek to his
back and sighed, the world around her had settled just for a
moment.

“You know you can’t sneak up on me?” He mumbled,

sliding his hand over her forearm and tangling his fingers into
hers at his waist.

“It was worth a try,” Beckett kissed his shoulder blade.

“How did you sleep?” He asked.

“Where did you sleep?” She countered, kissing his scarred

skin a second time.

“On the couch,” he hummed.

“It’s freezing out here, you should have come to bed.” She
rubbed her nose against his skin, missing him so much even
though she was tangled up and pressed to every inch of his
warm body.

“You deserved your space,” Saint insisted but it felt like he

was making her choose and her heart skipped rapidly. “I’ve
had you to myself all these months Beckett, Jack needed a
moment.”

“Are you sure you’re not…” She tripped over her words.

Saint let go of her hand, spinning her in a loose hold to

face her. He scooped her up in a fluid motion, bringing her
legs around his waist he wrapped her up tightly and held her
against him.

“Beck,” he whispered to her as her arms came around his

neck, she winced from the stretch but it felt good to move her
body after being in bed so long. “Having alone time with Jack
doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here.”

He rubbed his nose against her jaw, “it doesn’t mean I

wasn’t jealous and frustrated laying on the couch, hearing your
heart race from his touch. Wishing I was in there, touching
you,” he whispered. His breath was hot on her skin, and she
swallowed tightly as he kissed her throat.

“Keep going Saint,” she hummed, her legs clenching

around him as a warmth spread through her belly. God, she
missed him so much it hurt. It had been torture to be around
him without being able to act on her urges.

“Kissing you, feeling you, devouring every inch,” he said,

taking her lips against his own. It was hungry and needy as his
teeth tugged at her bottom lip. “I resisted for so long before I
couldn’t anymore,” he growled.

“What did you do?” Beck tossed her head back, her dark
hair cascading down her back as he walked them to the couch
slowly, taking his time to avoid his surroundings.

He sunk into the couch, her legs still wrapped around him,
but she could feel him growing hard against her. Finally able
to move his hands he ran them up her back and disposed of her
shirt without a word, “I took matters into my own hands.”
 He groaned against her bare skin and bucked his hips
gently into her, “I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help
myself.” Saint nibbled at the soft flesh of her breast, palming
the other with his hand as he worked his way down. “I
couldn’t bear the sound of you, wracked with pleasure and
not…” he sucked a nipple between his lips.

“Saint,” she moaned from the sensation.

“…Touch myself,” he bit down gently, murmuring against

her skin as he finished his sentence.

Sparks erupted in her from the thought of him, alone on

the couch last night stroking himself to the sounds of her
fucking Jack in his bed. She tipped her head back again,
arching her back in his one-hand grasp to give him better
access. Feeling her movement, he ran his hand up over her
chest to lay it flat against the hollow of her throat before
wrapping his fingers gently around it. He needed to feel
everything, even her heart.

He swirled his tongue over her nipple, sucking hard. Beck

ground her hips down, pulling a low moan from his lips that
vibrated through her and tickled all the right nerves between
her legs.

Saint inhaled deeply, smelling her skin as he devoured her.

He looked up, his eyes searching the sound around her, taking
in her soft pants and rapid heartbeat as his hand squeezed
slightly around her neck. She pushed her hands down and over
his chest, pushing him back from her so she could really take
him in. The olive tone of his hardened chest, mixed with the
soft white twisted lines that formed up the network of scars he
had received over the years.

He leaned against her, his hands drifting over her with a

feathery touch as they wrapped around the shape of her thighs
and dug into her skin. The tender trail of her fingers ended up
in his hair, scratching at his scalp she watched his eyes flutter
shut and his head fell back into her hands.

“What are you going to do about it then?” She asked him,

pressing down into his lap.

“Christ,” he breathed, “I want you out of those shorts,” he

played with the hem of her pajamas with a cocky smile on his
face.

His fingers tucked under the fabric and ran up her thigh
until they were met with the fabric of her underwear. Beck’s
breath caught in her throat; her fingers still tangled in his hair
as he teased her. A helpless whimper tore from his throat as
she pressed against him again, feeling his dick throb between
her legs and against her core. His grip tightened just trying to
keep himself together.

“Always in control Saint Maddox,” she whispered, leaning

her bare chest against his. Her hard nipples protested the
warmth of his skin as she sucked on his ear lobe.

“You’re still healing,” Saint tensed around her.

“Did it sound like I was in pain last night?” she asked,

resisting her urge to push herself against his lingering hand
beneath her shorts. “I’ve been patient and listened to you,
please touch me. How is it any different than you fucking
yourself on the couch to the sounds of me and Jack? Show me
everything you imagined doing that made you come, show me
in the most torturous way possible, don’t rush with me. Not
this time.”

Saint exhaled sharply as her soft lips brushed against his

throat. She looked down between them where he held onto her,
his hands trembling against her thighs as he fought not to buck
up against her. Beck slipped her hands free of his hair and
hooked one under his chin to bring his lips to hers.

“Please,” she whispered, unafraid to beg him. “Don’t hold

back this time.”

His lips parted, thinking about it as his fingers tickled the

skin of her inner thigh in soft, familiar circles. Beckett
watched him, his mind battling his urges as he shifted on the
couch trying to inch closer somehow.

“What do you want Saint?” She asked him.

“I want-” he licked his lips before stealing another breathy

kiss from her, “I want you.”

A growl rose in his throat and Becket gasped as he pulled

the shorts down over her ass. She helped him, and leaning
back he was able to slide the shorts under her. Down each leg,
before he threw them to the floor.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Saint?” She asked, feeling him
tense from her words and he nibbled at her lip as he pulled
away from her mouth. “Be honest,” Beck teased.
 He peppered her skin with kisses, gripping her thighs he
brought her back against him forcefully. She moaned under his
breath as she slammed against him, her sensitive core rubbing
against his hardened cock. He mumbled something against her
skin as his hands dug into the swell of her ass and held her
against him.

“I want to fuck the feeling of Jack out of you and then do it

again so I’m the only thing you think about today while you
cuddle on the couch with him,” Saint growled.

“Damn Maddox,” She grinned, high off the idea that he

was jealous.

Beckett had somehow pushed all the right buttons. She

dropped her hand to the tie of his jogging pants and loosened
them.

“Then stop making me wait.”

Beckett lifted up onto her knees to give him room to slip

the pajama pants around his ankles before settling back onto
his lap with a low moan as he pressed against her clit, rock
hard and throbbing. Needing more she didn’t wait; her hand
was warm against him as she wrapped her fingers around his
length and lined them up. She rubbed his tip down through her
wetness before she pressed him against her and slowly sunk
down onto his lap.

“Beck,” he groaned, dropping his head back.

Her moans filled his ears, and her breath filled the room as
she rocked to a steady pace. She gave Saint a moment to get
himself under control before she was lifting her hips and
sinking back down back on him. She would fuck herself with
his cock herself if he didn’t start helping. He filled every inch
of her as he finally found his composure and yanked her down
against him.

His hands wrapped around her back and up over her

shoulders, keeping her in place with him still crammed inside
of her tight, wet cunt. She whimpered from the tight pain that
coiled in her stomach, “that sound drove me mad last night,”
he moaned.

“Tell me,” She begged. “I wanna know.” She reveled in the

idea of him listening, a sick part of her wanting him to
describe everything to her as she fucked him.

“So mad I came twice, once here as Jack fucked you,” he

took his time, running his tongue down her neck and over the
soft tops of each breast. Torturing her just as she had begged
him to do. “And once in the shower this morning thinking
about my cock inside of you and how sweet you would sound
if I had the chance.”

Her mouth dropped open and her head lulled back as Saint
gripped her, using his strength to lift her and lower her back
down on his dick.

“Fuck,” she moaned, it stung how wide she was stretched

for him, wetness seeping down her into his lap.

He rolled his hips, and with each thrust, she fought to hold
herself together. When she finally managed to open her eyes,
Jack was standing, upside down in the door frame of the
bedroom. His taught stomach was hard, and his bare arms
crossed over his chiseled chest. He was watching them with
dark eyes and for a moment she thought he might get mad or
leave. But instead, he leaned lazily against the door frame as a
smile crept up on his face.

He was enjoying it.

“All those nights in the hospital room,” she whispered,

trying to catch her breath. Saying it loud enough for Jack to
hear. If Saint knew he was there he wasn’t showing her that he
did. He growled as she teased him with her words.

“I touched myself to that first moment on the couch.

Thinking about your fingers inside of me was enough to
satisfy me then but,” a soft whine left her lips as she dropped a
hand between them and circled her clit, giving herself even
more of the friction she craved.

“I need more,” she moaned.

Saint hissed, feeling the soft vibrations of her moan as they

rolled down through her spine. She pushed herself closer to the
climax she chased. He bit into her shoulder, his canine teeth
sinking into her skin hard enough that he would leave marks
for her to find later but he pulled back, kissing the spot as
though he had gone too far. His hips softened, and his speed
slowed.

“I won’t break,” she moaned breathlessly, encouraging

him, “harder Saint…”
 He bucked in response, each thrust hitting some deeper
spot in her that she didn’t even know could be reached.
Together they worked to pick up the speed, his fingers digging
into her back as hers circled her clit.

Beckett’s curious eyes drifted as she worked at herself,

Jack still watched contently, hunger in his dark eyes that
threatened to swallow her whole if she let it.

Her knuckles grazed Saint’s cock every time he filled her.

He couldn’t stop himself as his body tensed around her,
coming hard and hot inside of her as she clenched around him.
Her orgasm followed closely behind, rolling through like a
tidal wave as she shuddered against him. He continued to
pump for her, slowly and carefully rubbing against her
sensitive nerves to give her a little extra. Her fingers were wet
and sticky from his release mixing with hers as they fell over
the edge together.

Stars clouded her vision as she fell against him out of

breath and sweaty. “Saint Maddox,” she whispered, kissing his
neck. “How dare you hide that from me for months.”

“You never quit,” he panted. He helped her off of him but

she stayed settled in his lap, she wasn’t ready to leave just yet.
“You weren’t healed.”

“That could have healed me,” she pulled back with a

cheeky smile on her face and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“You’re hiding a modern-day miracle in those pajama pants.”
She teased.
 “Beckett Murphy, I swear…” Saint’s cheeks flushed. His
head tilted a little to the left and Beck stole a chance to place a
sweet kiss on his collarbone.

“Hush,” she whispered, kissing him properly this time. “I

forgive you for keeping it from me.”

He chuckled, his head dropping and his tongue licking

across his bottom lip. He sat up wrapping his arms around her
and laid his head into the crook of her sweaty neck.

“I love you,” he said softly, kissing the spot he marked

with his teeth. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Lost control?” She giggled. “I wanted it.”

Saint’s head tipped up and she knew he was looking

toward where Jack stood still observing them. “You enjoy the
show?”

She tilted her head back to look at him, waiting for his
answer.

“Especially the part about fucking the Jack out of her. Nice
touch.” He shook his head and disappeared back into the
bedroom without another word.

Saint groaned, pressing his head into her shoulder, “he’ll

never let you live that one down,” Beck laughed, her hair
cascading down around him as she hugged him tightly to her
chest.

“If it means he’s around to uphold that promise, I don’t

care.” Saint got serious.
 “Why?” She asked, “when he was gone you had me all to
yourself.”

“No I didn’t,” he lifted his head. Pressing his hand to the

side of her neck, he kissed her again. “I only ever had half of
you.”

“Saint,” she scowled, and he kissed her again, sensing her

mood through her tense body.

“He took the other half of you when he left.” He whispered

against her lips.

“You’re both insufferable,” she chewed her bottom lip and

smiled.

“I can’t see your smile,” he said rubbing a thumb over her

mouth to release it from her teeth. “But I heard it in your voice
this morning for the first time in months.”

“You definitely did more than hear it, Maddox. You got
front-row tickets,” she giggled again to lighten the mood and
give herself a chance to catch her breath. She rubbed a hand
through his hair and sighed, “I love you too.”
 48

forty eight

“Are you sure?” Beck’s shaky fingers fumbled with the

buttons of Jack’s dark blue shirt, he wrapped his hand in hers,
slowing her down and calming the tremble.

The muscles in his neck flexed as he looked away from

her, taking in the present on the dresser that he had wrapped to
the best of his abilities. The small anniversary present that
Beck had picked out for Ashton and James had been crudely
wrapped in brown paper with too much tape and a lopsided red
bow.

They had sat down, the three of them, and talked about
Banks. The conversation was hard, Beckett fought tears the
whole time as they told everything. For months he had control
of everything she did, her mind, her body. She was at his beck
and call every time she fell asleep.

It would take a long time for her to wrap her head around
that.
 They told her what they had done, how close they had
come to killing him. She called James shortly after, needing to
hear it from his lips that Banks was in prison. So at least if her
mind wasn’t safe, she was in the real world.

Beck watched their bruises and cuts heal, jealous that

within the week they seemed fine when her thoughts were
nothing but shattered pieces of glass she had to pick up piece
by piece. Every piece she seemed to put back into place cut
her hand, shredded her skin, and bit into her flesh leaving
more wounds than before.

Jack could feel how unsettled she had become.

“I’m sure it’ll go better than last time,” he turned back to

her, casting his dark brown eyes over her. The bloodshot veins
had faded from the left and most of the bruises were gone. The
doctors had been worried that he might lose sight, but after a
while, he stopped squinting at her like a pirate and went back
to his mean narrow eye scowl. He took her face between his
rough, calloused hands and pressed a slow, warm kiss on her
lips. “I’ll behave,” he smiled against her mouth and stole
another quick kiss.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jack Callahan.”

Beck rolled her eyes and turned to the mirror to fix her hair
over one of her many nasty scars.

“You look beautiful, Murphy,” Jack wrapped his hands

around her stomach and nuzzled his face into her neck as she
played with the collar of her deep maroon dress.
 She looped her fingers into his and leaned back against her
chest, “remind me to erase all your memories of Saint later,”
he whispered in her ear. The skin on her neck flushed from the
heat of his breath.

“Don’t be a tease,” she turned and stole a final kiss from

his soft pouting lips. She pushed a looped earring through
either side, trying to think of an appropriate threat, “or I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what tough guy?” The corner of Jack’s lip

turned up and he winked at her before pressing his lips to her
again. It had been like this since he returned, soft whispers,
softer kisses. Like he was tip-toeing his way to an apology.
She let him hold her for a bit like that, gripping to keep him
there with her, tucking her head against his chest to remind
herself that they were safe and together.

“Let you get your way,” she huffed, “it benefits me in the
long run and I’m sick of fighting with you.”

“Don’t,” Jack rubbed a knuckle down her arm.

“Don’t let you get your way?” She laughed.

“No, no baby,” he smiled, “Never get sick of fighting with

me.”

“You are a conflicting man,” Beck peppered his jaw with

kisses, glad that he had finally trimmed the mess he had
grown. “Behave tonight,” she patted his shoulder as she
hurried out to the living room.

They were going to be late. She flopped down to the couch

and pulled her shoes toward her, slipping them onto her feet
and fighting with the straps that wrapped around her ankles.
She cursed the tremble in her hands. Rehab had been doing
wonders for the broken bones and damaged muscles but her
fine motor skills were proving more difficult.

Saint lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips, a smirk curling at

the corner as she struggled to pull on her heels. He poured
back the amber liquid and walked toward her, tucking in his
white dress shirt and fixing his jacket before kneeling in front
of her. He slipped his hand around her ankle, his fingers
tickling the back of her leg as he took the straps from her.

“As much as I enjoy your frustrated huffs, we’re going to

be late,” Saint smiled as his fingers worked the straps and
latch without difficulty. “Other foot please Beckett,” he asked.

She obliged him, letting her calf rest in his palm as he did
up the second shoe. She fixed the collar of his shirt as she
waited, the sounds of Jack digging in the key bowl for his
truck keys.

Her heart squeezed, staring down at sweet Saint, and over

at hardened Jack. So mundane.

“Hey,” Jack’s hand was pressed against her lower back,

anchoring himself to her as she stood frozen outside her
apartment. “You can do this, Murphy. I’m right here.”

She rubbed her fingers together and took a long deep

breath before turning the key in the lock. She hadn’t been here
in two months but she was getting sick of wearing the same
three outfits. No matter how many times Saint offered to take
her shopping, or Jack offered to pack her a bag she refused.
She was forcing herself to come home.

She had to rip the bandaid off.

Beck had brought Jack because she knew he wouldn’t let

her chicken out. Saint would push her, tell her she could do it
but if push came to shove, he would let her leave. Jack would
not.

She gripped the handle but couldn’t find the nerve to turn
it, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Jack’s hand came up around the back of her neck, pressing

her to his chest as she cried in the hallway. Letting it all out,
she sobbed gripping the back of his shirt and digging her
fingernails into his lower back.

“You won’t be able to move on from this until you can

enter that apartment,” he said into her hair. “Maddox and I,”
he cleared his throat, “we like to think we can do everything
for you, we try sometimes even though you don’t want us to but
we can’t, not this time. You gotta do this.”

“I don’t,” she huffed.

“Don’t give me that crap,” he shook his head, “you’re the

strongest person I know, now find that fight in you one more
time.” Jack’s dark eyes flickered over her.

She broke contact and looked at her feet trying to calm her
beating heart down.

He hooked a finger under Beck’s chin and lifted her eyes to

meet his, “I love you.”
 She would never get sick of him saying that to her. It
warmed her body from head to toe and turned her heart to
mush. It hadn’t been enough that day though. She ended up in
the fetal position in the hallway as Jack packed her a bag and
grabbed a few of her things. He sat with her in the hallway
until she was ready to move and they hadn’t been back since.
She felt ashamed of herself and even though she knew it
wasn’t true she felt like Jack was staring through her most
days.

It was like he was unsure of how to help her heal, the

words missing from his vocabulary to show her that things
were going to be alright. She stared between the two of her
men, wondering if she would ever truly feel okay ever again
and as if they could read her tragically twisted thoughts Jack
spoke.

“Murphy,” Jack called from the doorway. “Bring it back,”

he said softly, encouraging her heartbeat to slow and her vision
to focus before she cried. “Bring it back,” he repeated.

“Come on,” Saint extended his hand outward and Beck

took it, allowing him to pull her up into his arms. He kissed
her cheek gently, inhaling her scent as he held onto her.

***
Beckett carried the gift in one hand as her other one linked
into Saint’s grip. Ashton answered the door looking as
handsome as ever with a dark red button down on and a
perfectly kept beard.

“Hi beautiful,” Ashton cooed. “Gentlemen,” he nodded to

Jack and Saint behind her. “Come on in,” he took her coat
from her and hung it in the closet before leading her away
from them and into the house.

Luke sat on the couch, curled up with his date and a glass
of wine. He greeted her with a nod in passing as they made
their way to the kitchen. James leaned against the fridge in a
tight black shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He had grown out his
hair again, it was longer than before and l pulled his hair into a
messy bun as he balanced a glass of wine between his fingers.

Beck made her way around the island and curled into him
for a hug, he opened his arms and greeted her warmly as he
pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How you doing?” he asked in
a whisper.

“I’m okay,” Beck sighed and gave him a light squeeze

before giving him the gift.

He moved closer to Ashton, taking the present from her

and carefully leaning against each other they opened the small
present. Inside were two brand new rings, ones without chips
or dents. Perfectly new and sized, engraved with the sweetest
of lines, “until the end of the line,” James whispered, looking
over at her. “Thank you,” he smiled, tears brimming his big
blue eyes.
 “Beer, whiskey?” James asked Jack and Saint who hovered
awkwardly in the doorway. Both of them nod at the same time
sending Beckett into a laughing fit.

“Will both of you relax?” She barked, leaving her spot by

the fridge she sauntered to the kitchen sink that was filled with
ice and piled with various beers.

She grabbed a beer for Jack and simultaneously Ashton

filled a glass with whiskey for Saint. She walked both over to
them, holding the drinks out as neither of them moved an inch.
She lowered her voice so only they could hear her, “I am here,
I am alive, we are together.”

Beck pushed the glass of whiskey against Saint’s hand and

slowly he carefully tickled his fingers around the crystal and
took it from her. “We survived, now it’s time to celebrate that
and if I can,” she turned to look at Jack who was chewing the
inside of his lip and looking away from her. “If I can,” she said
louder, knocking the bottle against the top of his palm, “so can
you. Please.”

He looked down at her, his brown eyes filled with concern

as he slipped his hand around her wrist instead of the bottle
and tugged her forward for a kiss. “You can’t sweet talk your
way out of this,” she whispered as she pulled back from him.

Jack took the beer in his hand and shook his head as he
raised it to his lips, “I didn’t say a thing, canary.”

“Sure,” she hummed and watched as he down a good

portion of the beer.
 Everyone found a spot at the table, Beck flanked on either
side by Saint and Jack as she settled in to eat. She took a
glance around the table, drinking in the warm, euphoric feeling
that came with being surrounded by her best friends and
family. She hadn’t realized how desperately she was missing
that, the soft, comforting blanket feeling that wrapped around
her and made her feel secure.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of the
shadows that lurked around the corners. She looked around the
table, taking careful, precious moments to study everyone
around her. James leaned into Ashton, whispering something
in his ear as Luke passed a large dish of potatoes to his date.
Jack stared at her, never breaking the intensity even as he was
passed food.

“Hi,” she smiled, her cheeks flush from her drink.

He smiled back at her as Saint rubbed circles on her wrist

beside her. She inhaled deeply, filling her soul with fresh air.
She wanted to preserve this moment in her mind forever. They
ate making small talk as they filled their stomachs with
something other than booze. James and Jack traded minor jabs
through the night always needing to one-up another but always
with smiles on their faces. For once everything was working
out.

“What happens now?” James asked and Ashton groaned.

“What does that mean?” Beckett set her fork down, her
knee shaking beneath the table.
 “Are you three just,” James swallowed tightly, “living
together?”

“Yes,” Jack said, his hand skating to the top of Beckett’s

knee.

“All three?” James glared.

“You can count,” Jack shook his head and took a sip of his
beer.

“Thank you for ruining dinner,” Beckett sighed, “you just

couldn’t leave it alone.”

James stared at her and she could see the concern written
all over his face but she couldn’t figure out why he was so
worried. She was sandwiched between two men that would do
anything to protect her and they had the means to do so.

He continued to stare at her, waiting for her to back down

but she just stared back. Her thigh was warm from Jack’s
support and her rage was simmering, waiting for him to say
something stupid.

But he didn’t, he finished his meal and rose from the table,
taking Ashton’s half-eaten plate with him. “I wasn’t-” Ashton
sighed, watching his food being carried away.

Beckett stood to follow him, taking their plates. Jack tried

to follow her, “down boy, I can handle James.” She kissed
Jack’s cheek and left them to the small talk.

She carried dirty dishes to the kitchen and settled in next to

James beside the side, taking a towel and offering her help.
James handed her the wet dishes in silence for a while before
opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again.

“What James?” She said, nudging him with her elbow.

“It’s nothing,” he sighed, running the water to rinse and

handing her another.

“You’ve never been one for subtlety, you sure weren’t at

the table. Now, what is it that you want to say?” Beckett dried
her hands and set the towel down beside her as she leaned on
the counter.

“Are you happy?” He continued to wash the dishes, not

turning his blue, judgmental eyes on her for a second.

“I am now,” Beckett whispered.

“Really happy?” James dropped a plate back into the water

and turned to her, “like really?”

“Yeah, Benji,” she smiled, and he melted at the nickname

like she expected him to, “really happy.”

“Where do you see this going?” He asked, leaning against

the counter. “It can’t last forever,” he noted with a weak smile.

“Why does it need an expiry date?” Beck asked, her heart

stinging at the thought of not having them around.

“You can’t date two men for the rest of your life and you
certainly can’t marry them,” James growled.

“It’s funny, I remember people saying that to you and

Ashton.” She shook her head, “I need them,” she whispered, “I
can’t sleep alone, every shadow makes me cry, and loud noises
make me jump.”

She felt him before she heard him, looking over to find
Saint standing in the kitchen doorway. His gaze drifted toward
the sound of her racing heartbeat and his feet followed in time.
His hand snaked around her back, his fingers trickling against
her skin until he found her hip.

“It’s unhealthy that they just appear,” James groaned, “It’s

weird and freaks me out,” his eyes drifting over Saint who
stood tensely against her back. His eyes flickered back to Beck
and his shoulders dropped as he relaxed. “As long as you are
happy.”

Beckett put her hand behind her back, linking her fingers
with Saint’s, her heart pounding as he gave her a gentle
squeeze, “I’ve never been more.”

Everything alright?” Jack leaned in the doorway, with his

arms crossed and his chin down, staring through James at
Beckett. Demanding honesty in the best way Jack knew how
too, foreboding glares.

“It’s creepy,” James repeated and pointed to Jack.

“James was just telling Beckett how happy he is for her,”

Saint hummed, squeezing her waist.

“I bet he was,” Jack chuckled and Beckett got dizzy from

the sweet, soft sound of it.

“Enough,” she groaned, slapping her hand to Saint’s

stomach gently to get him to stop. “You’re all big boys, start
playing nice or you can all take a hike.”

Jack was the first to scoff and it earned him a dirty look
that ended the playfulness of her threat, he threw his hands up
in the air, “Bailey started it,” he quipped.

“Actually Maddox started it,” James rolled his eyes. “You

idiots are made for each other. If you break her heart, I’ll have
you murdered and thrown in the nearest ditch.”

Beckett looked between the two men, Jack stepping

forward around the island. “You’d have to kill us,” he lowered
his tone, “Are you prepared to do that?” Jack asked.

“One phone call,” he looked at Jack, “one text,” he said

turning his head and directing his voice toward Saint, “one
side comment about you two hurting her in any way,” James
swallowed.

Jack laughed, “I’m going to spare you the embarrassment

of having your ass kicked by a blind dude,” he smiled at
James.

Saint’s chest hitched from the words but he played it off

and a smirk formed on his face, “What Jack is trying to say, is
that we would sooner die than break her heart.”

Beckett looked up at Saint who stared into the shadows

that lingered just beyond James, his jaw tight and brow
furrowed. “As much as I love the idea of a chocolate pudding
wrestling pool, and either of you-” she looked over at Jack
who returned her smile, “naked, fighting, and covered in the
stuff. You are all idiots, and you’ll do your best to remember
that I am a grown woman, who can make up her own mind at
any old time.”

“Beck,” James sighed, getting ready to apologize for the

thousandth time.

“I love you,” she cut him off. “You’re an overprotective,

jackass with a head the size of Mars but I love you. I will
never be safer than when I am with them. Trust that.”

She held out her pinky finger to him, “trust me,” she
nodded.

“Blind faith and trust are two different things you know,”
James shook his head.

“Oh I know,” she laughed, looking back at her blind faith

and trust hovering just behind her as James wrapped his finger
around hers in a silent meaningful apology.
 49

forty nine

“Don’t you fall asleep,” Jack warned as Beckett’s head lulled

against his shoulder. His gaze drifting from the road to her
face briefly, “I’m not carrying you up all those stairs woman.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Saint smirked, looking down at her.

His fingers rubbed lazy circles on her bare thigh where her
skirt split, “he lives for that.”

“I know he does,” Beck laughed softly curling into Jack’s

side. “It’s why I always pretend to be asleep.”

“You’re trouble,” Jack grumbled, turning down their street.

He cut the engine and dropped the keys in Saint’s outstretched
hand. “I ain’t carrying you, canary, you walk, or you sleep
here.”

Beckett wiggled her cold toes, having kicked off her heels
long before they arrived home, “I guess I’ll sleep here,” she
teased.
 Saint pinched her arm between his fingers softly, dragging
a tiny yelp from her lip, “out of the truck, Beck. Come on,”
Saint hummed, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he
stared into the darkness ahead of her.

“Ow,” she whined, sitting up and grabbing her shoes.

“Fine,” she rubbed sleep from her tired eyes before sliding off
the bench seat after Jack. “You’re both grumpy,” she rolled her
eyes. “And mean,” she tiptoed across the street, Saint hooked
into her elbow and Jack following closely behind.

“Mean?” Saint laughed, his thumb rubbing against the

inside of her arm.

“You heard me, Maddox,” Beck said with a sleepy tone.

“Mean, ruthless, horrendous!”

“You’re sleep-deprived, cranky, and definitely a little

drunk,” Saint laughed, pressing his forehead against hers as
they waited for the elevator.

When the doors dinged open, they ushered inside and Jack
pressed the button to their floor. Beck looped her pinky into
Jack’s behind his back and leaned against Saint as the elevator
climbed floors.

“Thank you for tonight,” she whispered into the silence

between them and felt both of them squeeze her hands. “I
know it’s not easy to be around him sometimes,” she started,
and Saint let a chuckle slip from his lips. “Okay, most of the
time. He is my brother and I love him.”
 “I like his husband better,” Jack muttered, “he’s got less of
a mean streak in him.”

Both Beck and Saint tilted their heads in Jack’s direction

and the three of them laughed loudly.

“Wasn’t a joke,” Jack quipped as the doors opened and he

dragged Beck from the confined space down the hallway.

God, she had missed them, the quiet warmth they wrapped
her in. She hadn’t had such a calm, easy night in a long time
and it was all because they were in arms reach. It struck her
that if a time ever came that she wasn’t surrounded by them, it
would rip her heart out. Even thinking about it made her heart
thud unevenly and she sucked her bottom lip between her
teeth.

Saint wrapped his arms around Beck, nuzzling his face

into the crook of her neck as Jack popped the lock on the
apartment door. She knew what he was doing, he could hear it,
feel her before he even touched her. For once she didn’t mind
that he read her like a book.

“You smell pretty tonight,” he whispered as she leaned

back against him. “Like oranges,” he smiled against her skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Saint responded by leaving only the slightest kiss on her

jawline in response. She slipped from his grasp and took his
hand as the door swung open, Jack reached his hand around
the wall, flipped the living room light on, and slid out of the
way, allowing Beckett to guide Saint through the doorway and
into the apartment, following behind and locking the door
tightly.

Saint left her side and dropped his cane on the counter in
the kitchen before pouring them all a drink.

“Sit,” Jack pressed a warm hand to her back, leading her

toward the couch, and positioned himself across from her. He
rolled the sleeves of his shirt up around his forearms and
pulled at the top few buttons of his shirt.

She whined at the sight of him, tanned chest, dog tags

hanging loosely against his skin as he watched her with dark
eyes and a half-cocked smile.

His hand wrapped around her calf, she watched him

closely as he sat upright, keeping her foot in his hands and he
rubbed out the tense and sore muscles in her ankle. The smile
grew, curling up into his eyes on his usually hardened face as
he adjusted the pressure of his thumb around her ankle bone
and up her calf.

Saint rounded the couch carefully, handing Jack a glass of

amber liquid before plopping down on the couch beside Beck.
He dug his fingers into the knot of his tie and worked it loose
until he was able to toss it over his head onto the coffee table
with more precision than any blind man should have.

He unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt and leaned back

against the couch, “you going to rub my feet too, Callahan?”
Saint asked, laughing.
 His head fell to the side with a cocky grin. Pieces of his
soft brown hair fell out of place as he waited for an answer to
his question.

“You wish Maddox,” was the only response he got.

Jack dropped his hold on her ankle, palming the top of his
whiskey glass, and stood up from the coffee table. He leaned
over on the couch with a smile and kissed her forehead gently,
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said with his lips still pressed
to her forehead.

Beckett cupped his bicep with her fingers, giving it a

squeeze. Making sure he was real before he walked away from
her, even if it was just to the bathroom. His dark eyes flickered
from the hold on his arm and connected with hers like he knew
exactly what she was thinking, and his soft smile turned back
to a scowl.

“We aren’t going anywhere Murphy, you don’t have to

keep us on leashes,” he teased but it didn’t help the ache in her
heart.

Saint’s fingers traced circles over her lower back as Jack

crouched down between her legs, “Beckett,” he said, and she
groaned.

“Don’t full-name me,” she whined, her bottom lip jutting

out slightly.

He flicked the pouty lip with his thumb and leaned forward
to drag a kiss from her that was languid and warm as his hand
hovered on her chin. “Listen to me and listen well. You’re
going to have to try a lot harder to get rid of us. No one is ever
getting between us again,” he warned.

“We’ll die before that happens Beck,” Saint said, trying to

sound reassuring but that’s exactly what she was afraid of.
“Lucky for you we’re pretty hard to kill.”

“It’s not funny,” she growled, pushing them both off she
stood and turned her back on them walking toward the
bedroom.

“He wasn’t joking,” Jack’s voice echoed off the hallway

and soon enough he was standing in the doorway of the room,
both hands gripped tightly to the frame.

“I know he wasn’t,” Beck spun on her heel, “that’s the

problem, Jack. You’re always in danger, you both throw
yourselves on the line for people every night. There’s always
someone trying to kill you!”

“Woman,” he growled moving across the room faster than

she could fend him off. He had his hands around her face and
tangled in her hair. “Believe me when I tell you that it’s a
whole different feeling when you have someone to live for.”

Beckett pressed her hand to his chest, twisting her fingers

into the collar of his shirt exposing the nasty gunshot scar that
maimed his skin beneath the fabric. Her eyes flickered up to
his and she cocked her head to the side, “lying to me is not
going to help.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Jack asked and Saint huffed

from the doorway. “If you aren’t going to help, keep quiet.”
 Saint laughed and moved through the room until he found
the bed, sitting down on it he removed his shoes in silence.

“Really no help at all?” Jack looked over and Saint just

laughed a little more.

“You said to keep quiet, besides you are digging that grave
perfectly fine on your own Callahan,” Saint stripped from his
dress shirt, tossing it across the room to the pile of dirty
laundry.

Jack licked his bottom lip and turned back to look at Beck,
“I can’t promise we’ll always come home in the best
condition, but I promise we’ll always come home.”

“Sweet talking me isn’t going to work,” Beck pushed on

his chest but he didn’t budge on his hold.

“Okay beautiful,” a playful smirk formed on his lips, “how

about we show you how much we love you?” Jack’s hands slid
from her face and rounded her hips, up her back, and played
with the zipper of her dress.

“Say it again,” Beck’s eyes watered.

“We,” Jack wrapped his hands around her rib cage, and
kissed her neck, sucking against the warm skin.

She tensed as Saint appeared at her back, wrapping his

hands over her hips he tugged her toward him, “love,” he
whispered as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “you.”

Beckett leaned back against Saint as he supported her

weight and Jack helped her from her clothes leaving her in
nothing but the black silk underwear she had slipped on that
afternoon. Saint’s finger slipped under the strap and flicked it
free of her shoulder before kissing a trail along the indent it
left behind.

Saint’s hand came around to cup her breast gently. She

tipped her chin up and was met with a set of deep brown eyes
staring down at her. “Hi sunshine,” Saint brushed his nose
against her ear, his finger playing with her hardened nipple
beneath her bra.

She sighed, “I’ve had this dream before,” she giggled. “It
was a lot wetter that day,” it hadn’t felt nearly as real that day
in the shower.

She could feel a faint trail of lips on her skin, forcing her
to look down. Jack knelt before her, he cupped his hand
around her thigh, digging his strong fingers into the inner side.
He said nothing as he continued to trace her skin with his lips.

“Oh you’re plenty wet,” Jack groaned.

He worked her underwear carefully down over her thighs

and tossed them to the side as Saint peppered her neck with
tender kisses. His hand worked her nipple with increasing
pressure, tearing a soft moan from her lips.

Saint’s tongue raked down her neck, teeth scraping her

sensitive skin, “you’re going to have to last longer than that,”
he warned as she buckled against him.

“Jack” she gasped as his lips found her clit.

His tongue licked up her center from the bottom and

sucked as he reached her sensitive nub. His fingers dug deeper
into her skin and she leaned back against Saint for support as
the two of them brought her to the edge.

“Good girl,” Saint whispered, pressing his hand around her

throat gently, his thumb grazing her jaw and pulling at her
bottom lip as Jack slipped two fingers into her body. “Don’t
break yet,” he whispered.

“Jack, don’t stop,” the moan left her lips before she could
stifle it.

He worked her clit with his tongue and fingers, faster and
faster until she was on her tiptoes fighting the urge to finish all
over his face. Her right hand found his hair and knotted into
the dark locks as her left hand wrapped around her to grip
Saint’s thigh.

She growled, “I’m at a disadvantage here,” she huffed out,

short of breath and doing everything in her power to keep from
coming.

“Just the way we like you,” Saint laughed.

She rocked against Jack’s face and Saint’s hip, all at once
as the overwhelming sensation of her orgasm took her right to
the top.

“Not yet, canary,” Jack pulled away, grabbing her by the

hips he pulled her from the safety of Saint’s arms, her knees
wobbly as he pushed her against the bed.

Saint wandered around him as Jack pulled his shirt off and
tossed it at him, Beckett saw a glimmer of excitement in those
brown eyes as he leaned over and cupped her chin with his
whole hand. “I warned you I was going to fuck him out of
you,” he licked his bottom lip.

“I’m holding you to that promise, Callahan.” Beck

challenged and he laughed.

Jack stripped from his jeans without hesitation crawling

over her and laying her flat against the bed, his hands roamed
down her chest and rolled over her covered nipples with
careful hands. She lifted her hand to help him get it off but he
shook his head, hovering over her with his hand as he
unclipped the back.

“Don’t move,” Jack warned, pulling her chin toward his

mouth and colliding with her as the bed shifted with Saint’s
weight.

Saint’s hand tickled between her thighs and pushed them

open letting his hand wander down so he could carefully palm
her core. She breathed in harshly as his fingers dove between
her, and his hot breath fanned over her. He rubbed circles
around her clit and her hips buckled toward him but Jack’s
heavy hand came down on her lower stomach, holding her in
place.

A patient tongue licked from the bottom up toward her clit

where he suckled at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Beck
whined, “you guys I can’t,” she pushed herself back into the
mattress, gripping the sheet between her fingers.

“You’ll wait, or we’ll walk away,” Saint threatened from

between her legs and she just about argued but her protests
were cut off by Jack’s hand wrapping gently around her throat
and his lips covering her mouth again.

“That’s our girl.” Saint cooed.

“Our perfect girl, so ready for anything,” Jack growled into

her, nipping at her bottom lip. The more he bit and kissed, the
rawer and swollen they felt.

He mimicked the desperate whiny noises that she made as

Saint tangled his tongue inside, working his way over her like
it was a competition to bring her to the edge.

Saint mumbled against her, his mouth hot and vibrating her
nerves with just his voice, drawing her closer and closer. Beck
wriggled beneath him, her lips still attached feverishly to
Jack’s as he demanded his own form of attention from her.

She sighed as Saint wrapped his hand up and around her

thigh, his fingers digging in tightly to feel her racing heartbeat
for himself. He laughed, as she squirmed under his touch,
deepening his reach as his fingers dug so firmly into her thigh
it was going to leave bruises on her skin.

Beck was a moment from falling apart as Saint pulled

away from her, “what the hell,” she growled, pressing her foot
against his chest as he tried to join them on the bed.

“Oh baby,” Saint smirked, “it’s cute you think you’re in

charge tonight.” He gripped her ankle and left messy, wet
kisses up her calf and thigh until he was positioned on the
other side of her.
 Jack didn’t let her think about it, pulling her into him and
deepening the kiss she broke to complain. She could feel how
hard he was against her abdomen as he rolled her on top of
him. She lay against him, reveling in the warmth that he gave
off as he slipped inside of her. Beck whined, biting down on
the tough skin of his shoulder to muffle her cries.

He wrapped his arms around her helping her relax over

him as he paced himself in and out gently. Not giving her a
second to recover from the previous sensations. Her head was
dizzy and faint as he rocked up into her, filling her even more
before rocking back and removing his length from her
completely.

“Jack!” She growled, slapping her hand against his chest

as she sat up.

“Be quiet,” he laughed, tugging her back down against his

mouth as Saint lined himself up without hesitation and slipped
inside of her completely. She muffled the scream that
threatened to echo from her throat, Jack smiling feeling the
vibration beneath his hand.

“Atta girl,” Jack praised as his grip tightened on her throat.

Beck cried out as Saint sunk a little deeper, tears brimming

at the corner of her eyes.

“Beg for it,” he snapped, “beg him for it like I know you
can.”

Jack used his free hand to rub smooth circles against her
back, soothing her as Saint steadied his pace and braced
himself against her hips. He was thinner than Jack, but his
length reached so deep that it felt like everything inside of her
was on fire from his touch.

Beck rocked back on Saint, urging him silently to go faster

but he didn’t listen. He just kept his pace, torturing her slowly
as her nails dug into Jack’s chest relentlessly. He reached
between them, pressing the head of his cock at the front of her
entrance where Saint was still buried.

“Callahan,” Beck warned him, but it only made him laugh.

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped.

“Don’t be mouthy,” Jack smirked.

“Or…” Beckett’s words were cut short by a quick, rough

thrust from Saint, “what?” She growled.

“Or I’ll fill that bratty mouth of yours,” he nipped her

bottom lip in a warning.

Beck trembled but Saint’s strong hands gripped at her hips,

settling her. “We got you,” he whispered, “you can take it.”
His voice was rough and strained but he pulled out completely,
and Jack quickly replaced him.

They kept up this pattern relentlessly for what felt like

hours as the tension built in her core, and she fought to keep
quiet. Jack took sick pleasure in her efforts, “you can do better
than that,” he whispered.

They went on with this pattern for a few more minutes,

switching between every few thrusts. Jack twisted his hand,
releasing his grip on her throat, and tangled his fingers into her
hair, pulling her head to the side. “Take it all,” he kissed her
mouth roughly, gripping her hair in his hand.

The head of both their cocks caught at her entrance. Jack

pulled Beck’s head into the crook of his neck, and at the same
time, they thrust through entering her at the same time. She
muffled her cries against the sweaty crook of Jack’s neck and
dug her fingers deeper into his skin.

Beck moaned, stretched as tightly as she could be, the tears

starting to fall against her hot cheeks as the pain tangled
intimately with the pleasure.

“You’re doing so good,” Saint rubbed his hand over her

ass, coaxing a more stable breath out of her. “It’s so good
sunshine,” he all but purred, wrapping his hand around her
middle and pulling her closer.

“You like this don’t you?” Jack growled, “both of us using

you like this.”

A rough kiss pressed to her temple as her walls pulsed

around the two of them. Saint fell forward over her back,
sliding deeper and reassuring her as she took them both in
sweet mumbles of praise as Jack reminded her how used she
was, filled to the brim with cock and degradation.

The burning subsided, and Beck started to feel good as

Jack happily inched his full length back into her peppering her
hot skin with kisses. They found a rhythm, slow and
tantalizing, Jack, pulling back carefully until he was just
sitting inside, and Saint would rock in as deep as he could get.
Swapping, kissing, moaning, and sweating until she was
stretched in the best way possible.

Beck had no other option other than to let them have their
way, not fighting or bickering but sharing in perfect harmony.
“You’re even prettier in pain,” Jack moaned against her skin,
“our pretty Beckett, split in two. The way God intended.”

Saint huffed, and Beck’s head spun, overwhelmed by the

attention and pleasure as they slowly tortured the orgasm from
her. Every hot wet slap of skin made her breath draw shorter
and her heartbeat faster, clinging on for dear life.

“Almost there,” Saint gripped her a little tighter, “you’re

taking us both so well baby,” he cooed.

Jack quickened his pace, digging his nails into her skin.
The burn of his markings was nothing compared to the fire
that kindled between her legs. They were close, and both their
thrusts grew sloppy as they chased their release. Beck opened
her mouth to beg them to hurry but Jack was quicker, hooking
his hand around her jaw he pressed his thumb into her mouth
against her tongue.

“Not a word,” he growled.

Saint pulled out as he came, spilling over her sensitive

skin. Jack stayed buried inside of her, while Saint’s lips
pressed to her sweaty back and up her neck to her ear. “Jack
lied,” he whispered, “you’re even prettier covered in us.” He
kissed one of the tears that fell down her cheek as Jack filled
her and painted her vision with stars.
 Jack littered her skin with bites and kisses, untangling her
from his fingers as she slid down between them just trying to
catch her breath. Saint’s hand reached between the mass of
bodies and rubbed her clit in slow soft circles, working her
through the orgasm as she pressed Jack’s face against her
chest. His mouth sucked at her sore breast as the wave crashed
through her over and over, relentlessly until she was merely a
puddle of short breaths and exhausted limbs.

“Fuck you both,” Beckett wiggled between them to get

comfortable, her heart still racing as Saint wrapped his arm
around her and pressed his palm to her chest.

“Sunshine,” Saint pressed a kiss to her neck, “you already

did.”
 50

fifty

The sun leaked through the windowpanes of Saint’s room and

violently woke Beck from a deep sleep. She attempted to
throw her arm over her eyes, but it was trapped beneath Jack
so instead, she pressed her forehead to Saint’s shoulder and
screwed them shut even tighter.

Jack’s hand wrapped around her middle and tugged her

into the curves of his body, his thighs curling up against her
until she was molded there. “Saint needs curtains,” Beckett
groaned, unable to get back to sleep.

“He’s blind,” Jack laughed, his chest rising and falling in

time with the chuckles even though his eyes were still shut.
Beck traced her finger over his face, trailing down over the
scar that maimed his eyebrow and down to the twisted one that
danced crossed his hardened jaw. He kissed her fingers as she
brushed over his lips and his dark eyes fluttered open to look
at her.
 “Hi,” she chewed on her lip and brushed her nose against
his.

“Hi,” he whispered, stealing a kiss from her pouting lips.

“A man could get used to this,” Jack groaned, rolling onto his
back to free her from his hold.

“I can’t hide from the world forever, eventually I have to

work, I have to go back to that apartment. Start repairing the
damage that was done to my body and mind,” she nodded to
herself, terrified of all the hard work she had to do to feel
better.

She rested her head on his shoulder and felt Saint shift in
bed until his chest was flush with her back. “One day at a
time,” his hand pressed firmly against her lower stomach and
his head curved into the slope of her neck.

“Can we start with coffee?” Beckett groaned.

“As long as you don’t make it,” Saint laughed.

Beck sighed against the arm that wrapped around her chest
delicately and had to stop herself from rubbing back against
him, her entire body was sore from the night before. But in the
best ways possible. She had been nervous for a long time
about how it worked, having them both around all the time but
it seemed to work better than she had ever expected.

They needed each other as much as she needed them, and

it showed in moments like that. A sinking, anxious feeling
weighed heavily on her chest, even tangled safely between
them where she should have felt protected. Something itched
its way into her heart and had made a home there.

“What’s wrong?” Saint asked, rubbing circles with his

fingers against her shoulder.

“Nothing,” Beck swore but she knew that he could tell she
was lying. It didn’t matter how well or smoothly she could
deliver the line; Saint always knew. “How long until all this
started slipping through our fingers?”

“This again,” Jack groaned. “How many times do we have

to drill home that nothing is changing Murphy?”

She watched as his dark eyes trailed over her skin, he

turned, angling on his elbow, and propped his head up in his
hand. She ran her hand over a partially nasty scar that cut
deeply into the underside of his pecs, her brows knitting
together tightly in worry.

“I can’t shake the feeling that once everything starts to get

back to normal that you both might…” She sighed, “get
bored?”

Jack lost it, his head falling back as his body shook with
laughter. “Beck,” he said as soon as he regained composure,
“baby,” he purred, wrapping his large hands around her face
and pressing his lips to hers dramatically, “the day we get
bored of you is the day we die.”

“That was oddly animated of you Jack,” Saint laughed, his

breath tickling her shoulder. “He’s not wrong, if you’re
worried that not living together or us all going back to work is
going to force us apart you seriously underestimate how we
feel for you.”

“I don’t believe that but there’s just this feeling, I can’t

shake it.” Beck whispered, “I don’t want to doubt it or…
underestimate either of you. I’m just-” she stopped. Breaking
the hold on Saint and sitting up on her knees, she tugged at the
thin tank top she wore, covering herself.

Jack laid back on his elbow, staring up at her while Saint’s

lazy gaze focused farther away as his hand wrapped around
her calf. His fingers squeezed, encouraging her to tell them
how she felt, showing her how safe she could feel.

“Scared,” she swallowed tightly. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Jack sat up a little more.

“It’s not something you can kill Callahan,” Saint groaned.

“You can kill anything if you try hard enough,” Jack rolled
his eyes and gathered himself before sitting up against the
back of the bed.

She sat still, staring at him and after a long beat of silence,
he finally spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “what’s scaring you?”

“Over the last year, no matter how hard we’ve tried to

control the outcome of our lives everything seems to tangle
together anyways and I just… I’m scared that we’re going to
spend the entirety of our relationship fighting something.
Don’t you want peace… quiet?” She asked, her hand falling to
Saint’s and rubbing the top of it gently, grounding herself
within in the feathery touch.

“We’ve all suffered under the hand of violence, I just don’t

think I can stomach it anymore. Even thinking about either of
you hurt makes me feel like my heart is in a vice. I can’t
breathe or think, the fear of either of you not coming home is
taking over and I don’t know how to stop it,” she confessed.

“Beck,” Saint shifted in the bed, sitting up so his thigh and

knee were angled behind her, and his fingers tangled in her
hair around her neck. “Jack and I are never going to stop being
who we are and if that’s going to be a challenge for you, we
understand.”

Jack huffed, turning his face away from them and

clenching his jaw together. “We’re not leaving her,” clearly,
they had come to a disagreement about the topic more than
once, “she’s not leaving us.”

“Enough,” Saint angled his face toward the sounds of

Jack’s voice and his brows knitted together angrily. “She
makes her own choice, if we don’t let her do that we’re no
better than…”

“Shut your mouth,” Jack sat up and leaned closer to Saint

as he warned, “I get it,” he growled, “I don’t like it, but I
understand.”

“Make me a deal,” Saint asked, shifting in front of her, his

hands gripping the side of her face as she tried to get a solid
breath of air into her lungs.
 She nodded in his grasp, everything felt unresolved but she
couldn’t stand on the shaking ground of being scared, it wasn’t
a fair argument. They had always protected her, kept her safe,
and had done whatever it took to keep her alive. She shouldn’t
have doubted them so openly, but she couldn’t help how she
felt, it would take a lot more than one night of good sleep to
wash the nightmares from her bones.

“We have a day planned,” Saint’s lip curved into a soft

smile, “just for you, give us one day, and then you can
decide.”

Beck looked between the two of them, hanging on for dear

life to the love that she felt for them praying it would be
enough to overpower the intense fear and anxiety that crept
through her bones like a wolf on the prowl. She flexed her
hands at her side and nodded, “Okay, one day…” she
whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Jack closed his eyes over, and Saint pressed his head to her
shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for canary. You’ve
been put through the wringer over and over again, we just
want to make sure that you’re OK, making the right choices
for you.” Jack explained, “you can’t hurt us.”

He stared at her, his gaze unrelenting as she tried to work

up the confidence to just believe him but the sounds of
gunshots rattled through her like she was an empty house.
Inhabited by angry ghosts. “I’ll run you a shower, Maddox can
make coffee.” He slid from the bed, kissing her temple and the
tenderness of it dragged a tear from her exhausted emotional
state.

Saint waited until Jack had disappeared into the bathroom

and kissed the tear that rolled down her cheek, his lips
lingering on her skin. “I know that you’re tired baby but no
matter what you choose to do Beck, live here, go home…” he
paused, and the words left echoed in the silence even without
him saying them. “You’ll never be alone,” he assured her,
“we’ll always be there to protect you. Our love doesn’t draw a
line at your trauma.”

“I love you,” Beck pressed her hand to his jaw and his
fingers wrapped delicately around her wrist, “I got really
lucky,” she whispered.

“So did we,” he smiled against her skin. “Now go shower,

we have lots to do today.” Saint hummed but she could feel the
tremble of his lips as he pulled away.

She slinked off the bed, avoiding his gaze as she made her
way to the bathroom. Jack had warmed the shower to the
perfect temperature and closed the door behind him leaving
her alone for the first time in weeks. She pressed her forehead
to the cold tile and cried. She sobbed really, her heart crying
out for relief she just couldn’t seem to find no matter how hard
she looked.

Beck washed her hair, avoiding looking at any of her scars

for too long, and was out of the shower before either of them
came looking for her to make sure she hadn’t slipped and died.
The apartment smelled of coffee and toast as she wandered
back to the bedroom to find a present laid out on the sheets.
She lifted the lid to the satin black box and revealed a crimson
red sundress folded neatly inside.

She brushed the fabric with her fingers and wasted no time
getting into it. The bodice fit tightly around her chest and the
triangle-cut straps hung loose on her shoulders. The skirt
moved with her, jutting out around her waist, and dropped to
her knees.

“Do you like it?” Jack leaned against the door frame
watching her, she nodded, still struggling to button the back,
“here,” he walked over.

He pushed the hair off her back and with careful hands did
his best to hook the delicate button at the top of her zipper. He
kissed a trail between her shoulder blades, “no one is going to
judge you if you aren’t okay,” he hesitated, his hand ghosting
over her shoulder, “everyone is haunted, Beck. If you wanna
hide in those walls fine, but a house isn’t a home without the
people you love.”

“Will you hide with me?” She asked, knowing just how
silly she sounded.

“Baby I built the walls,” Jack purred, “When Laura died I

didn’t have a chance. It was built barriers around that pain or
feel it and I wasn’t ready.”

He had never spoken to her about his wife, small stories in

passing about his children but he had never spoken about that
day. She felt paralyzed with grief and guilt, a woman had died
to give her a chance at Jack Callahan’s heart.
 “I’ve lived with her ghost for years Canary,” he gave her a
weak smile. “There’s never been a person that can quell those
haunting wails she produces when the darkness seeps in.”

“Jack,” Beck swallowed tightly, not really knowing what

to say to him. The sound of her heart shattering in the silence
around them was deafening.

“Beckett, you muffle the pain that echoes around in that

house. If we can do that for you, let us try.” He said, brushing
his hand over her hair. “Give us that chance.”

Beckett inhaled lightly, just enough to fill her lungs with

air. He left her there mulling over his words and her sadness.
He wasn’t wrong, she knew that but all her rational thoughts
seemed to melt together and she couldn’t tell them apart any
longer. She just wanted to shove everything aside and take
today to enjoy the time with her boys.

She brushed out her hair, leaving it down and wavy before
joining them in the kitchen. Saint served her breakfast, he even
cut the tops of her strawberries exactly the way she liked them.
She thanked him with a kiss and went to drink her coffee. Jack
didn’t sit, he ate his toast from across the kitchen, watching
her every move like she might explode if he took his eyes off
of her.

“So what do you two have up your sleeves?” She popped a

strawberry between her lips and watched as they both
squirmed. “You’re being unusually secretive about something,
I can feel it.”
 Saint chuckled, a cocky smirk forming on his face as he
rounded the counter and kissed her forehead, “for once just
relax, let us take care of you.”

“That worries me,” Beckett giggled.

“It should,” Jack stared down into his coffee cup. He

looked up at her, lightness returning to his hardened
expression, and smiled, “wear your sneakers, the dark ones.”

“With this dress?” She ran her hand over the fabric,
admiring the delicate and intricate stitching of little daisies that
she hadn’t noticed inlaid into the dress when she had put it on.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “trust me? Please.”

A loaded statement meant to be light-hearted but with

Jack, everything came with an underlying heavy meaning that
she wasn’t sure she was always ready to deal with. Beckett felt
the weight of the world pressing down on her but she shoved
the feeling away, burying it deep within her soul so she could
enjoy the day. “Of course,” she responded without hesitation.
“Sneakers that can get dirty it is,” she forced a tight laugh,
“just so you know that made me very suspicious.”

“When are you not?” Jack set down his cup and walked
over to the front hallway. He pulled his dark grey jacket from
the wall and shucked it over his t-shirt. He tied up his heavy
boots and waited for Beck to finish her breakfast before the
three of them made their way to the truck.

Beck sat in the middle like always, tucked safely between

them.
 “Seat belt,” Jack hummed under his breath, tugging a soft
smile from her lips.

The radio played a stream of soft music as they drove for

what felt like hours. Soon the towering buildings and busy
sidewalks of New York became towering evergreens and
tranquil forests. She sat forward, peering out the front
windshield, craning her neck in an attempt to see how tall they
grew. Wish she knew the feeling of being that unbothered and
free. Blowing in the wind so effortlessly and for hundreds of
years without the tangled inner demons that fought wars in her
mind and heart.

She was curious about where they could be taking her,

they had never done something so ridiculous together before.
Barely able to catch their breath as one bad thing wracked
through their lives at the time, relentlessly punishing them for
being happy. Saint’s hand rested against her knee, gently
pressing into her skin to remind her that he was there as if she
could forget.

Resting her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes
and let the lull of the moving truck rock her back to a more
manageable state. She chewed on her lip for a while, working
through her thoughts before Saint brushed his thumb against
her bottom lip silently urging her to stop.

“You’ll go through it if you keep that up,” he whispered

over the rumbling engine.

Just as she was about to argue that the probability of her

chewing through her lip was low the engine cut and she sat up
to look around her. The truck was parked on a pad of dirt
surrounded by trees in every direction and nothing else in
sight. Beck had no idea where they were or why they were out
in the middle of nowhere but for the first time in a while, her
curiosity was strong enough to push down the anxiety that she
had been feeling constantly.

Jack got out, tugged on her hand, and pulled her from the
seat and into his arms, “close your eyes, Murphy,” he smiled
down at her, brushing a loose hair behind her ear. He spun her
in his arms and pressed his warm hands over her eyes gently.

“I hate surprises,” she groaned.

“No you hate the unknown,” Jack whispered, he walked

her down carefully helping her with each step.

“Isn’t that the same thing,” she laughed, pressing her hands
around his forearms to steady herself as they walked. She tried
to focus on the rise and fall of his chest at her back as they
moved.

“No surprises are fun, gifts, they can be thoughtful,” he

said.

“They can also be scary and unwanted,” she rebutted.

She heard Saint chuckle from her left and extended one
hand to him. She felt him wrap around her and soon the three
of them were walking in unison. His fingers pressed into the
crook of her arm, grounding her as she moved without sight.

“This is horrible,” she said, “the whole blind thing.”

Saint tensed slightly against her, “just a little further.”

 The smell of fresh air and lake water brushed over her and
she couldn’t help but lean into Jack’s touch as she chased the
smell. It was so different from the busy, polluted smell of New
York and she hadn’t realized how horrible that smell was until
that exact moment when she was given the chance to smell
something different.

“You ready?” Jack asked.

She inhaled deeply and nodded against his hands, “I think

so.”

“Don’t be scared,” Saint encouraged.

Jack let go of her face, his fingers lingering on her skin as

he dragged them down over her neck and her eyesight focused
against the overwhelmingly bright light. Beckett gasped; her
whole chest flooded with emotions she didn’t even know
existed.

Nestled into a circle of evergreens that seemed to reach

through the clouds above sat a two-story log cabin home. A
small stone path, framed by long, wistful green grass leading
up to the steps of a long eloquent porch circled around the
front. The A-frame tin roof was a shade of red so dark that she
almost mistook it for black until the sun reflected off of it.
Beck stepped forward, smiling at the delicately planted flower
bushes that surrounded the house. Enamored, she was only
pulled from her shocked trance by a small wind chime made of
dark blue sea glass that hung from the east corner of the porch
over a swinging bench big enough for three.
 “What is this?” She turned to them, expecting them to be
taking it all in but they were both focused on her. Jack’s dark
eyes raked over her nervously as Saint stood with his hands
slack at his side and his head tilted forward. Listening to her
heart.

“It’s what you need,” Saint spoke first.

“What we all need,” Jack finished his sentence.

“Is this…” She turned back to it, her heart swelling with a
raw hopefulness that she wished to live in forever.

“It’s yours,” Saint came up behind her, “it’s ours.”

“It’s not exactly finished, its barely a house, but there’s a

big kitchen for you to make terrible coffee in and a bathtub the
size of your old bathroom…” Jack explained, he came to stand
next to her and pointed to the upstairs window. “There’s an
office up there,” she looked over at him, breath caught in her
lungs as she witnessed the sincerest smile on his face. “Luke
offered to help us set it up so you can work from home…” he
said, the word home coming out a whisper.

“When did you have time to do all of this?” She brushed a

tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“When you were asleep,” Saint sighed, “we had so many

hours where we just sat and stared at you, making promises to
a ghost that we vowed to keep if god gave you back to us.”

“This house was one of those prayers,” Jack grumbled as if

he was angry to even whisper the omission of faith.
 She pressed a hand to his face, she had gotten used to Saint
being so dependent on his faith, it was where she could always
find him and that was a simple sense of security that she
hadn’t even known she needed until she had met them. But
Jack was fickle about God, bitter with him to a point of being
angry at everyone who still believed. It was a grudge match.

She hadn’t been aware that he prayed for her, and she
wanted to thank him for it.

“We just thought that eventually, we would need a place

where we could all be together. A place that felt like ours,”
Jack smiled.

“A home away from all the bad, hidden deep in the woods,
untouched by the horrors that you’ve seen.” Saint pulled his
glasses off and tucked them into the pocket of his sweater, “a
place to heal.”

“Can we go inside?” She asked, her fingers tangled into

Saint’s, and he gave her a sturdy squeeze.

It wasn’t a decision but it was close enough for the three of

them. The silent promise that they would all try to get through
the next stage of their trauma together. Saint needed time to
heal and find his place helping people again, Jack needed to
work through the bitter anger that he held on to. And Beck…
she clenched her jaw, knowing that she needed the most work.
But confident that they would be there to support her as she
patched herself back together.

“You’ll need these,” he dug a set of keys from his back

pocket and dropped them into her hand.
 The set of three keys glittered back up at her and for a
moment every horror, every ghost that had been haunting her–
haunting them– was hushed by the wind that blew through the
tall evergreens and let her blind faith and trust lead her home.
51
 epilogue

The breeze blew in off the coast and Beckett bundled into her
sweater, tucking her toes up under Saint’s ass on the porch
swing. He was practically asleep, his chest rising and falling
beneath the blanket she had wrapped around him. She had no
idea how he had just passed out cold without care. He was in
rough shape, his face was beaten up from a fight three nights
before, bruising ringing around his pretty left eye, and a split
lip that was all but healed. She hadn’t minded the extra
cuddles and time spent making sure he was okay.

Six months had gone by and they hadn’t been easy. They
had finally moved into their cabin, spending the first few
months getting the rest of the rooms ready. She had enjoyed
picking out tiles and fixtures. It felt oddly mundane and
normal compared to the horrors that flashed around in her
mind like lightning. Beck had been a mess, she still was but
her life was stable, more stable than it had been. They had all
settled into a comfortable routine, and Jack went back to his
job in trafficking, working to bring down the rings that ran
rampant over the east coast. Saint assisted where he could but
for the most part, he spent his days at the office or in court.

Beck had gone back to helping people.

 It had taken her a while to find the courage. Her therapist
had reminded her that there would be times when people
would call in needing her help out of situations very similar to
her own experiences. That she needed to be able to compose
herself and work through the emotions after the call was
finished. The panic attacks she had been experiencing seemed
to dwindle the more she talked about what happened and
eventually over time they had become a thing of the past.

She hadn’t locked the latches on the windows in three

weeks.

She felt Saint shift and looked up from the book she was
reading to find him staring in her direction, searching for her
heartbeat in the air around him. “Hi,” he hummed, “come
here.”

He patted the spot closer to him and she obliged shuffling

over so she could curl into his side and rest herself against his
chest.

“You doing okay?” He asked quietly, the sound of the cool

spring wind ripping through the trees between his question and
her answer.

“Better than,” she smiled.

The dark green front door creaked open, and Jack

sauntered out with three mugs balanced in his hands. Beck was
constantly surprised by his talent and dedication to only
making one trip. “Luckily I don’t have more boyfriends, how
would you carry any more cups,” she teased, and his eyes
flickered away from her as a smile formed on his handsome
face.

“You keep teasing me woman and you’re going to have

one less boyfriend to worry about.” Jack gave her a mug and
guided the second into Saint’s hand before snuggling down
next to her on the swing with a grunt of pain.

“If that rib keeps bothering you, I want you to go see

someone, I can only patch you up so well and if you insist on
getting thrown off buildings,” Becket grumbled.

“You worry too much,” Jack pulled her legs up and over
his own so she was comfortably laying between them.
“Besides, if you want me to stop getting thrown off buildings,
tell Maddox to stop throwing me.”

Beckett huffed, looking up at Saint who had a shit-eating

grin on his cheeky face. “You two will be the death of me,”
she scolded but couldn’t help but smile back.

“Don’t sound so hopeful baby,” Jack leaned over and

pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

Beck braced herself for the anxious feelings to flood back

in every time a moment of complete calm settled over them.
Anticipating feeling like she was drowning just when she
thought she had two feet on dry land for once, but the feeling
didn’t come. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t need
to fight with herself to feel good.

The wind chimes above them clinked together softly in the

wind.
 “I got a call yesterday,” she cuddled into Saint, “I saved
the log you might need to listen to it but it sounds like
something you two should handle yourselves.

“Our girl, vigilante in training,” Saint hummed, rustling

her hair with his hand.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she wiggled her toes and Jack

sighed, setting down his coffee on the table beside him before
he began to rub her feet. “Helping people makes me feel
better,” she admitted as he dug his fingers into her ankle
methodically.

“You’re really good at it,” Jack praised her.

“I’d say almost better than either of you,” she teased.

“Now now,” Saint scolded playfully, “watch yourself or

someone will have to teach you a lesson in humility.”

Beckett bit her lip, a pool of warmth flooding her stomach

as she leaned back to look at Saint again. He stared down in
her direction, his hand coming around to cup her jaw before he
stole a long, needy kiss from her pouty lips. She reached up
and ran her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and
smiled against his mouth.

“Would that lesson include more of that?” Beck asked as

he pulled away.

“Only if you behave,” Saint teased, his eyes scanning over

her as his hand slipped down and pressed against the flat of
her chest to feel her racing heartbeat.
 “And if I don’t?” Beck asked nudging Jack’s leg with her
toes, just trying to push their limits.

“That’s a whole different lesson,” Jack all but growled as

his dark eyes fluttered to her. “I’ll give you a head start,” a
smirk formed on his lips. “Run canary.” He purred, dropping
his gaze.

Beck didn’t hesitate, leaping out of their laps she spun on

her heels and dropped her sweater to the floor. Reaching for
the hem of her shirt, she lifted the fabric up and over her chest
and threw it at Saint before taking off through the front door.
The sounds of Jack and Saint fighting to be the first to catch
her echoed over the hardwood to their large master bedroom.
Laughter filled the house, happiness booming throughout their
perfect little home.

Beckett climbed the stairs to the second floor, tiptoeing

across the loft as she attempted to hide from them. Her dark
hair whipped around her face as she slid past the office and
down the hall to the back of the cabin. She skidded to a stop,
staring at the door that Jack had crudely labeled with a piece
of paper and scribbly writing. ‘Do not enter.’ She laughed,
looking back toward the stairs and gauging the amount of time
she had before she would be caught.

More so how much time the two of them would allow her
to feel confident about her hiding spot. She chewed on her
bottom lip, looking back to the door again. “Fuck it,” she
turned the knob and pushed the door open. Sunlight washed
over the tiny room, just large enough that if Beck held out her
arms her fingertips would brush the massive, floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves that lined each wall.

In the center, piled on the floor between them were pillows

and blankets that had been thrown sloppily on the floor. Her
eyes drifted back upward to the beautiful stained-glass
window that was settled between everything. Panes of red and
pale frosted white created an intricate design of the sun, the
moon, and a small bird that flew across the center.

Saint.

Jack.

And their canary.

“I told you that she would peak if you put up that stupid
sign,” Saint grumbled from behind them.

“Did you-” she stopped, breathless, turning to the two of

them hover.

Jack was leaning against the door frame, his dark eyes
focused on her as she turned. Saint stood just behind him, his
hair tousled from the wind and a soft look on his distant gaze.
His head tilted to the left as he listened to her heart.

“No more sitting in that damned closet, canary.” Jack

scolded but it held none of the typical Jack gruffness, this was
gentle and concerned.

She had been doing better but that was only in part to the
fact that she had retreated to her shoebox closet in the guest
room to cry when she needed her space. When the nightmares
seemed to cave in on her she couldn’t shake the sound of
Banks’ voice from her mind.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered in a meek

voice that cracked. Saint moved toward her without hesitation,
pulling her against his chest and running his hands over her
back until she was calm enough to speak again. She steadied
herself in his sweet, fresh scent and pressed her lips to his
hand as he brought it up to cup her face.

“You need a space that was just yours,” Jack explained.

“You built me an entire house in the woods Callahan, this

is-” she chewed on her lip.

“The least you deserve,” he finished her sentence. “We’ll

fill it with books, but this will have to do for now,” he pointed
to the lone book on the shelf.

Her dirty, frayed, and dog-eared copy of Hitchhiker’s

Guide to the Galaxy leaned against the shelf closest to the
door. She wiggled her toes against the soft carpet that
inhabited the space, plush and dark it warmed the soles of her
feet. A welcome change from the hardwood that lined the rest
of the house.

“When did you even have time to do this?” She inhaled

deeper, finally able to catch her breath.

“Last week when Saint took you into the city, Ashton and
Oscar the grouch came down to help me get the shelves up,”
Jack explained.
 “It’s bigger than my closet,” Beck said looking around
again. She felt secure enough to pull from Saint’s hold and
stepped closer to the window. She brushed her fingers
delicately over the canary in the window.

“Big enough for the three of us,” Saint said and she turned
to look at them again.

A small, defeated huff of air left her lips and she tilted her
head upward to collect her thoughts only to be bombarded by
the pitch-dark ceiling painted with a hundred tiny golden stars.
Tears streamed without control as she sunk to her knees and
sobbed out. Both Saint and Jack wrapped themselves around
her silently, letting her feel through it all. Letting all the
emotions she had trapped deep within the confines of her soul
pour out into their waiting arms. She cried for what felt like
forever, her face tucked into the crook of Jack’s neck and her
back pressed firmly to Saint’s chest.

“Baby, if I had known glow-in-the-dark stars would make

you cry I would have told Ashton to fuck off,” Jack teased,
brushing his thumb over her warm, damp cheek. He kissed the
tear away from the other eye and cupped her face in his hands.

“It’s not the stars,” Beck sighed.

“An exhausted heart is easily overwhelmed,” Saint pressed

his forehead to the back of her shoulder, his words settling
against her with hearty weight to them.

“I owe you both my life,” she whispered the confession,

unsure where it had even come from. It was an obvious
statement; one they had all heard before, but it seemed to be
the only thing she could say to them. Overwhelmed by the
sheer kindness of the two hardened, war-weary men before
her. They had gone into the fire for her, and she wasn’t even
positive why they would do such a thing. Before Jack could
argue she silenced him with a long deep and desperate kiss.
The kind of kiss that proved he was real, that everything
around her was real. Love coursed through her veins; it stung
as it flowed beneath her skin, but it meant she was alive. Alive
to kiss Jack Callahan and Saint Maddox for the rest of her
godforsaken life.

“We didn’t save you sunshine,” Saint responded into the

tense silence, “you saved us.”

Saint pulled her down against him, tucking her into the
cushions and blankets on the floor as his arm wrapped around
her stomach and he found his familiar place between her
shoulder blades. Jack followed closely, tangling his legs into
hers and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck as he got
comfortable. She tangled one hand into Saint’s against her skin
and the other knotted into the unruly length of Jack’s
untrimmed hair.

Before long the both of them were softly snoring on either

side of her. She stared at Jack for a long time, wondering if he
had actually fallen asleep or if he was pretending for the sake
of her. Biding his time until she dozed off so he could study
her face the way she was doing to his at that very moment.

Her brow wrinkled as she tested him, pressing a soft, tiny

kiss to the corner of his down-turned pouty lips. When he
didn’t stir from the movement, she was convinced that he had
actually fallen asleep before her. Finally safe, she snuggled
between them, warm from their touch and content with the soft
rhythmic beat of their hearts.

It came to her then, in a sleepy lustful haze. It would never

be perfect or clean, but they had exactly what they needed
from each other. Balance and safety.

Unconditional love.

She smiled, her eyes growing heavy as she fought the

sleep. Her last thoughts as she drifted to sleep were simple.

Beckett Murphy had found the peace she had so

desperately been searching for.
 Acknowledgments

There are so many people to thank for making this book

possible.

Husband first, the husband always. For letting me spend

hours in the office typing away about fictional men. For
supporting me while I create worlds without so much as a
complaint and for always refilling my wine glass when I need
it. You have a thankless job as a smut husband, one I can never
repay but will spend my life trying to. I hate everyone, but I
will never ever hate you.

Mattie, you were the reason I wrote this. A silly Matt

Murdork, Frank Castle AU came to life in humble beginnings
and grew to something I can only describe as one of my
favorite stories. I can’t thank you enough for spending hours
talking about gestures and movements, picking apart moments
and lines. You are the reason Saint Maddox is the man he is.
And most of all thank you for naming the book. This was a
project that came from the heart, and it felt vital that you
named it. I will always call it Godless, Graceless, and Young,
and Saint will always be Matt but At The Hour of Our Death
has a very nice ring to it. I love you butthead.
 Jess, twinkle toes, my dragon. Thank you for the
thousandth time. Thank you for every minute you spent in
google docs fixing every one of my mistakes. You will never
know how much that meant to me and somehow, we always
had tons of fun. This book would not be what it is without you.
And to anyone that may or may not have cried over the last
line in chapter 50, you can direct all therapy bills to Jess. She
wrote that during edits, and I couldn’t imagine the book
ending any differently. Also thank you for talking me out of
making Banks the bad guy every five minutes, (I’m so sorry
Jasmin, Netty and Beth) the twist would not have been that
good without those pep talks. I love you big time.

Rory and Ale, who literally talked me through every

mental breakdown and never gave up hope on me even when I
did. You came into my life fast and hot, but I wouldn’t change
a damn thing. You show up, you show out and you are an
endless source of support I cannot thank you enough for. My
Sun and Moon xx

To my best friends of years and years, whose names I

cannot mention in this book because it would be a dead
giveaway for my pen name. Thank you for supporting me and
thank you for telling me your dreams and trusting me to write
them. Thank you for supporting my bad habit of loving
fictional characters and for always having my back. The
Freakshow is a thing of its own, the tent goes up, the tent goes
down, may it thrive under the traveling big top for years to
come.
 My Sugar Club, it’s been a year since you came to life
and every day, I learn something new about myself. You guys
are an incredible source of not only support but inspiration
every single day. Thank you for having faith in me. Every
single person that Beta Read and ARC read ATHOOD thank
you for your kind and honest feedback. This book would be a
mess without you!

And Beth if you’re reading this, don’t tell anyone else but
you’re my favorite British cancer. If you do, I’ll lie.

To Bubbe, who listened to endless hours of story ideas,

who reminded me every morning, noon and night that I was
good enough to do this and for never losing faith in me. I’m
sorry I wasn’t fast enough for you to read any of the books
now in the world but thank you for believing in my creativity
and my imagination even when I couldn’t sometimes. Every
book is for you.

Lastly, Dean Winchester, who inserts himself in every male

love interest I write about. Thank you for being a muse, a
friend, and my family for over half my life. You raised me to
be a resilient loyal to a fault badass bitch and I owe you
everything for that.
 Other books by

Aubrey Taylor

Rough Water Series

You Left us In Georgia

Our Time in Japan

You can connect with Aubrey Taylor on Goodreads, Instagram

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at AubreyTaylorAuthor