Hard Night (11th Hour #3)

by Jackie Ashenden

  She shook her head, her heart aching for him. “Did no one stick up for you? Not even one person?”

  “Of course not.” He said it like that was unsurprising, a self-evident fact. “Rebecca was tired and sick with her pregnancy and she was so securely under his thumb she believed everything he told her. So into foster care we went. Greg told me that if I kept to myself what he’d done to Josh, he’d ensure that we stayed together. So I kept it to myself.” Jacob’s expression became suddenly, terrifyingly dark. “But he lied. And we were split up in the end.”

  A terrible sadness turned over inside her. His expression gave nothing away, but she could see the glitter of old pain in the depths of his eyes. And no wonder. He’d lost everything. He’d gone from having a mother and father and twin brother, a family who’d loved him, to having nothing. It had all been slowly and inexorably stripped from him.

  He must have been so alone. And she knew how that felt, didn’t she?

  Unexpectedly, Jacob lifted his hand to her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. He was frowning, but the darkness had lifted from his expression somewhat. “Don’t look so sad, sweet girl.” His thumb stroked along her bottom lip. “It happened a long time ago.”

  Sweet girl ...

  A whisper of electricity chased over her skin and she found herself leaning into his palm like an animal wanting to be petted. “I can’t help it,” she said. “It is sad. You lost everything. At ten years old.”

  “I did. But I survived it.”

  Of course he would have. Jacob Night was nothing if not a survivor.

  She looked straight into his eyes. “I know what it’s like to be alone. I know what it’s like to have nothing and no one.”

  His expression didn’t soften. If anything it became fiercer, though the touch of his thumb upon her lip was still gentle. “You’re probably the only one who would. You and Joshua.”

  “Is that why you want to find him so badly?” she asked. “I mean, I know he’s your brother, but you haven’t seen him for a long, long time . . .” She broke off, realizing how stupid the question sounded.

  Jacob’s thumb pressed gently against her bottom lip as if testing it. “I’m the older twin. It was my job to take care of him. I was supposed to save him from that asshole Greg, and I was supposed to keep us together. And I failed in both of those things. So yes, it’s important to me that I find him.”

  She understood, oh she understood all too well.

  Jacob Night, for all his darkness, for all his healthy disregard for the boundaries of law and order, was a protector at heart. Why else would he have looked after her for six months? Why else would he have an entire business based on helping people with various difficulties?

  “So what happened next?” she asked, suddenly desperate to fit all the pieces of the fascinating jigsaw that he was together. “When did you go into the military?”

  “Not till I aged out of the system. I was in many different foster homes before that, though ‘home’ was a very loose term for them. The first thing I did when I came of age was to enlist in the Navy.”

  “But why the military?”

  “Because I failed school and there was nothing else I wanted to do. Because I was angry and needed a focus for it.”

  And he was still angry, she knew that much. She’d seen it smoldering in his eyes sometimes when he thought no one was looking.

  “You didn’t go into the Army?” she asked. “Like your dad?”

  “No.” The word was flat. “Dad’s career was his own. I wanted a fresh start.”

  “So . . . what happened after that?”

  “I had a Navy career. Became a SEAL.” There was a sharp, glittering expression in his gaze now. “I was then asked to join an elite black ops unit, which I did for a few years. The missions were classified so I can’t tell you where or why, but during one there was a disaster which involved the deaths of many of my unit.”

  Something shifted inside her, like the ground settling after an earthquake. And she caught her breath. But there was no abrupt flash of memory or even an echo.

  How strange.

  Jacob’s relentless black stare was on hers. “You okay?”

  “It’s nothing. Go on.”

  The expression on his face told her that he didn’t believe her. Nevertheless, he continued. “I was given a substantial payout following that particular mission and my affiliations with the unit were dissolved. They made me go underground, made me disappear. And that’s when I decided I had to find Joshua.”

  She studied him. His voice gave nothing away and yet there was more to that story, she was sure of it. Why would he be paid for his silence? Why would he be made to disappear? She knew better than to ask him those questions though, especially as the information was classified.

  Not that the reasons would make a difference to what happened. He’d lost everything when he’d been a boy, and then, as a man, it had been done to him again.

  No wonder he’s so angry.

  And no wonder he was trying to find his brother. Joshua really was the only thing he had left.

  “So why the 11th Hour?” she asked. “Was that part of finding Joshua too?”

  “Yes. I soon realized that doing things myself could only take me so far and that I needed a team to help. My initial investigations into Joshua’s whereabouts led into some dangerous territory and I needed some cover. The 11th Hour is my cover.” Dark humor flickered briefly in his eyes. “Plus, doing jobs that other people don’t want to do, especially if they’re not quite legal, is lucrative. And money is very, very useful in getting people to talk.”

  “You’re helping people too, Jacob,” she pointed out. “All the jobs you take on are to help people or protect them.”

  The humor vanished as quickly as it had come. “You’re ascribing some very noble motives to me, Ms. Beasley, but don’t go imagining I’m some kind of secret Good Samaritan or a saint. The jobs I take on are all for a reason. Protecting Senator Hawthorne’s daughter, for example, was purely so I could get intel about Smith and the gun-running ring. Sending Mr. Blake and Ms. Leighton to get information from Mr. Blake’s father was again purely for intelligence purposes.” His tiger’s smile made a reappearance. “I want to find my brother and maybe get a little revenge while I’m at it, nothing more.”

  Revenge? Interesting, he’d never mentioned that before.

  “Revenge? Revenge for what?”

  “That’s classified.” His thumb that had been pressed to her bottom lip dropped away. “It’s time for dinner, Ms. Beasley.”

  * * *

  It was clear Faith was not happy to break for food, but right now, Jacob didn’t care. He was done answering her questions.

  He hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to tell her, not about his childhood, because it had all happened so long ago. And yet when the time came to say it, he’d found it . . . hard.

  Perhaps it was having her warmth and softness pressed against him, making him even more acutely aware of everything that he’d lost. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he hadn’t told anyone the story before.

  Certainly, the way she’d looked at him, an unexpected understanding in her eyes, had for some reason brought into sharp relief the isolation of his current existence.

  When was the last time he’d been able to talk to someone like this? Not ever. He kept everything to himself, every single fucking thing. And he’d been okay with that, telling himself he didn’t need to tell anyone anything. That he didn’t need anyone, period.

  But the day he’d taken Faith home from the hospital, everything had changed.

  He had someone in his keeping now and even though that someone was a woman who didn’t know who she was, it was still someone. Then over the space of a few months, he’d come to know her, and had discovered how fascinating she was. How much of an enigma and yet, to some extent, how much of an open book.

  Whether his fascination was merely proximity or something to do with the link she had to his
brother, he didn’t know. But one thing he did know was that right now, he didn’t regret telling her what he had, even though it was hard. Even though he had no idea what would happen once she remembered who she was.

  It had been worth it just to have someone look at him as if they understood.

  It’s not proximity. It’s her.

  No, it couldn’t be her. He couldn’t afford for it to be her. Not when he needed her to remember who she was so he could find Joshua. And not when the moment she remembered . . .

  You’ ll lose her.

  He shoved the thought from his head, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring some wine into the tumbler beside her plate. She was sitting now in her own seat, which he hadn’t wanted. He would have been quite happy for her to remain in his lap, but then if he’d kept her there, he would have ended up eating something else and regardless of whether he needed actual food himself or not, she certainly did.

  So. Food first and then her, preferably spread across the table so he could feast on her naked body at will.

  Faith had attacked the steak without hesitation, obviously hungry, and it gave him a certain amount of satisfaction to see her take pleasure in the food he’d brought for her.

  They ate in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, which he allowed to stretch a little longer than he should have, mainly because he didn’t want to disturb it. But disturb it he must, so eventually, he put his fork down and said, “Are you going to tell me what was wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I told you about the death of my unit.”

  She stared at him a second. Then she looked down at her plate. “There was nothing wrong.”

  “Yes, there was. You went very still and your eyes became glassy.”

  A lock of hair had fallen over her shoulder, the inky length of it in stark contrast to the white of her T-shirt. He remembered how that hair had felt in his fist as she’d sucked him, how silky and soft it had been.

  “It really was nothing.” Slowly she lifted her gaze back to his again. “A strange . . . shift. But no echoes of memory or anything. I can’t describe it any better than that.”

  “But it was talking about my unit that prompted it.”

  “I couldn’t say.” She reached for her tumbler and took a hefty sip. Then pulled a face. “How long did you say you’ve had this wine?”

  Jacob was unsurprised. The wine had been in the bottom of one of the cupboards for a long time and it had been cheap. “Not sure. And don’t change the subject.”

  Faith put the glass down. “Fine. But find me something else to drink first.”

  He eyed her. She was stalling, he’d lay a thousand bucks on it.

  Then again, it wasn’t as if he was in any rush to talk about this himself. He’d been searching for Joshua for years; one more night wasn’t going to make much difference.

  It might to her. It might to him. Don’t forget who they are to each other.

  An emotion he thought he’d long since ceased to feel twisted in his gut. A painful, poisonous emotion. Guilt.

  Fuck, he’d thought he was done with that. For years after he and his brother were split up, guilt was all he’d felt. Guilt for not protecting Josh from Greg. Guilt for screwing up what family they’d managed to find after their mother had died. Guilt for promising him they’d stay together only for them to be split up.

  Guilt. So much fucking guilt.

  Jesus Christ, what was happening to him? It was Faith getting under his skin, making him feel things he hadn’t felt for years. Faith, the only person he’d let even a little into his life.

  Faith, whom he’d fucked and made his, completely and totally.

  What would his brother think about that when he found out? They’d never had a competitive relationship because they’d both liked different things. Jacob had always been more into physical pursuits, while Joshua had preferred reading and playing computer games. Maybe if they’d grown up together as teenagers that might have changed. Maybe they would have had problems with liking the same girl.

  Or maybe they wouldn’t have.

  It was all a moot point anyway because that’s not what had happened.

  If he’s anything like you are now though, he’s going to be angry as fuck with you.

  Jacob shoved his chair back and stood up. “I’ll get the vodka,” he said brusquely, and strode out of the room, guilt like acid in his gut.

  He found the vodka at the back of one of the shelves in the kitchen. It was unopened and dusty, but he pulled it out and took it back into the living area.

  Faith had finished her meal and was over by the banks of electronics beneath the TV screen on the wall, fiddling with some of the buttons. As he put the vodka down on the table, music abruptly flooded the room.

  “You found the stereo, I see,” he said, sitting back down in his chair.

  She turned and gave him a grin. “Internet radio. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Slowly she came over to where he sat, giving his lap another meaningful look.

  He didn’t bother waiting, gripping her hips and tugging her down. She put her hands on his shoulders, the warmth of her settling onto him and making his cock twitch.

  Fuck it. The conversation about what she remembered or didn’t remember could wait. She was here in his lap and she was warm, and he could see her nipples hardening into tight points beneath her T-shirt. The pulse at the base of her throat was beating fast and he wanted to put his mouth on it, make it beat even faster.

  As if on cue the music changed from some upbeat nineties pop song to the slow, familiar strains of “Unchained Melody.”

  He lifted his palms and cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. She shivered, arching her back, pushing herself against his hands. Then she turned and grabbed the vodka bottle, twisting off the cap and lifting it to her mouth, raising it to drink.

  The move was so unlike Faith that for a second he forgot about touching her, watching as she took a swallow, a kernel of ice slowly hardening in his gut.

  She choked a little on the alcohol and he took the bottle out of her hand before she dropped it, putting it back on the table. She’d bent forward coughing, her hair falling down and into her eyes.

  He pushed it back to see her face, the silky strands drifting over the backs of his hands. Her cheeks were pink, her lashes veiling her gaze.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded, rougher than he’d intended.

  She didn’t reply, taking her hands from his shoulders and pressing them over her eyes.

  “Faith.” He said the name he’d given her deliberately, the kernel of ice getting larger. “What’s wrong?”

  “The vodka and . . . this song.” She shivered, her shoulders hunching.

  A web of ice began to wrap around him and before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from her eyes, wanting to see her face.

  The midnight blue of her eyes had darkened into black and she’d gone very, very pale. She stared at him as if she’d never seen him before in her entire life.

  He gave her a searching look, the worry inside him beginning to deepen into fear. Fear for her. “What about the vodka and this song? Are you sick? What?” He let go of her wrists, cupping her face between his palms. “What is it, sweet girl? Tell me.”

  And he saw it then, swirling like clouds in the depths of her gaze.

  Fear.

  “Faith,” he said again, an order this time. “Faith, tell me what’s wrong.”

  She kept staring at him, fear black in her eyes. Then suddenly she twisted in his lap and was off him, heading straight toward the door to the bedrooms.

  He followed like a shot, reaching out to grab her, but somehow she avoided him, the door to the hallway slamming in his face.

  With a growl he flung it open, only to see her disappear through the door to the bedroom she’d been using. He tried to pull that one open too, but she’d locked it behind her.<
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  Adrenaline flooded through him and he jerked at the door handle, but it remained stubbornly shut. “Faith!” he shouted hoarsely. “Open the fucking door!”

  But there was no answer.

  The web of ice froze solid, encasing him in cold. Because he knew what was going on. Deep down, he knew.

  “Faith,” he ground out, hammering at the door. “Open the door. Now. ”

  Nothing happened.

  He took a step back, ready to launch his boot at the door and kick it the fuck down when suddenly it jerked open and Faith stood on the threshold.

  She was dressed completely in a T-shirt and a pair of tight-fitting black pants, black boots on her feet. Her hair had been pulled into a ponytail high on the back of her head and the expression on her face was utterly impenetrable.

  She was sleek and sexy and so fucking beautiful that for a second he couldn’t breathe.

  “Not Faith,” she said in a voice he didn’t recognize. “Not today.”

  Then her fist came back and flashed toward him.

  Taken by surprise, he tried to dodge, but she was too fast and it smashed into his face with surprising strength.

  Pain exploded in his head, dizzying him, but old reflexes kicked in and he shook it off, moving in for the attack. Except she was moving too, and faster than he was, lifting her foot and slamming it without mercy between his legs.

  He dropped like a stone as agony burst through him, barely conscious as she bent down next to him.

  “I’m sorry, Jacob,” she said in that unfamiliar voice. “But I was never yours. And now I have to go.”

  Then something else smashed into his head and blackness claimed him.

  * * *

  He came to again sometime later to find himself lying in the hallway where she’d dropped him, his groin still a fucking agony.

  Painfully he levered himself to his feet and began a systematic search of his ruined castle.

  A pointless exercise when he knew already she’d gone, but he had to be thorough.