Twisted Devotion: A Fae Paranormal Romance

by Jessi Elliott

  “That’s good,” I say, because I don’t know how else to respond.

  Jackson smiles, nodding again. “Come on, Red. Let’s eat.”

  Chapter 10

  “I think I’m just going to grab something from the fridge,” I say once we’re in the hallway. As much as I love sushi, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out on a date-like scenario with Jackson. I can accept that I have to spend my days with him, but eating lunch in public like normal people . . . it seems like crossing a line. One that—if I get too close to—could ruin my chances at winning our bet. Perhaps that’s exactly what he’s going for. I’m not about to fall for it.

  “What?” Jackson’s voice is filled with confusion.

  When I turn to look at him, his lips are turned down. “Yeah. I’m not really in the mood for raw fish.” Or being forced to sit across from him and struggle to make small talk without thinking about leaning across the table and—

  “I’m basically offering you the afternoon off, and you’d rather eat some of the questionable food in the kitchen?”

  I almost crack a smile. “Sorry.”

  He shrugs. “It’s fine, Red. You’ll just have to make it up to me tonight.” I open my mouth to respond, but he adds, “With dinner. I think it’s time you cook for me.”

  I cringe outwardly. “I really don’t think you want to do that to yourself. You’d have better luck with whatever’s in the fridge here.”

  Jackson laughs deeply, and the sound warms my cheeks. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He shoots me a wink. “I’ll be there to help you out.”

  I sigh and can’t help but think this is a plan to get me to concede. “All right, fine. I’ll cook tonight. Until then, go do something productive and try not to annoy anyone too much.”

  “Between you and Bethany, my ego is really kept in check around here.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a full-time job,” I say as I turn and walk away, heading back to the office.

  I snack on a bag of stale potato chips from the cupboard in the kitchen while I flip through local news reports. Another part of my job: making sure Jackson and this facility don’t make it into the media.

  Jackson pops his head into the office an hour later, after meeting with the client’s family from earlier. “I’m done for the day if you’re ready to go,” he says.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  After packing up my things, I shoulder my bag and grab my phone off the charger, sliding it into my back pocket.

  Jackson opens the door for me, waiting until I’m ahead of him before stepping into the hall himself. He lets the door shut and makes sure the lock clicks.

  “We’ll need to stop at the store on the way home,” I tell him as we pass reception and head for the back door leading out to where we parked this morning.

  His brows raise, and he pushes the door open for me to walk ahead of him. “Oh yeah? What’re you thinking of cooking?”

  A smile plays on my lips as I pause in the doorway, looking at him. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” That is definitely code for, I’m hoping to come up with something once we get to the store.

  His smirk is slow, and a dimple creases his cheek. “I’m not used to this playful side of you.”

  I roll my eyes instead of offering a response and walk through the door. At least, I attempt to. Jackson wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls me back.

  “Wha—?”

  “That was a compliment,” he tells me. “Seeing you smile . . . I enjoy it.”

  My eyes shift from where his grip on me doesn’t waver to his deep golden gaze, focused on me. “Jackson, no,” I whisper, shaking my head.

  He lets out a breath and pulls his hand back, sliding it into the pocket of his black coat. “Relax, Red. I’m just being nice.”

  I keep walking, focusing on the sound of the gravel crunching under our feet as we walk across the back lot toward his car. I so badly want to call bullshit, but I bite my tongue, zipping up my jacket to block out the cold wind. The sun is slowly sinking in the sky, but at least it isn’t snowing.

  “Come on,” Jax says. “Let’s just—”

  “Jackson Hawthorne,” a shaky female voice calls across the lot as she comes around the building at an awkward pace, stumbling closer and kicking up gravel with each step.

  I immediately put myself in front of Jackson, using my back to guide him farther from the approaching human. Her aura is dark, muddy. Filled with sorrow and anger. I can guess why she’s here and why her emotions are so negative.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, tensing when her eyes skim past me to glare at Jackson, who is standing stiffly at my back.

  “I want to talk to him.” She lifts her arm and points a finger at him. The faded gray sweater she’s wearing looks to be about three sizes too big with how it’s falling off her shoulders and hanging from her outstretched arm. She looks to be in her mid-forties, with frizzy black hair and dark eyes. Her cheeks are slightly sunken in, as if she’s lost weight quickly.

  How did this woman get past security? The team is supposed to have at least one guard patrolling the grounds at all times during the day.

  I take a deep breath. “Unfortunately, Mr. Hawthorne is headed out, but if you’d like, I can assist you.” I turn my cheek ever so slightly to keep my eyes on the woman, but say to Jackson, “Go inside and get backup.”

  His tone is low. “I’m not leaving you with this woman.”

  I scowl. “Forget about me. You’re the asset.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Jackson,” I hiss. “I said go.”

  Before he can say anything more, the woman shrieks and starts toward us—faster—with both fists raised as if she’s ready to fight.

  It’s an awfully sad sight. I don’t want to hurt this woman who is very clearly hurting herself, but I won’t let her come close enough to put a hand on Jackson.

  I turn fast enough to push Jackson away and whirl around seconds before the woman’s fist connects with my chest. It doesn’t exactly hurt; it’s more of an annoyance. With my training background—and the fact that she’s human—she can’t really hurt me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask in a calm voice, attempting to show the woman empathy in hopes of deescalating the tension before the situation gets further out of hand.

  “Shut up!” she hollers, her cracked lips trembling. “You don’t give a damn about me!”

  I frown. “Why do you think that?”

  She bares her teeth in a snarl. “Because I’m human now.”

  Now?

  I nod slowly, understanding flooding in. “You were fae.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes narrow. “I handed over my life savings to that monster to make me human. So I could live a normal life with my family.”

  “You got what you paid for,” Jackson cuts in, and I have to bite back a growl.

  Of course, he didn’t leave.

  “No,” she seethes. “We didn’t.”

  “We?” I cut in, stepping toward her to guide her back, even farther away from Jackson.

  Her eyes snap back to me. “My husband was also fae.”

  “So, when you found out you could both live as humans, you underwent the procedure,” I assume.

  She sniffles, shoving her hands into the pockets of the oversized sweater. “Yes, we did.”

  “Her husband didn’t survive the transition,” Jackson tells me, and the woman winces, clenching her jaw.

  “He’s dead because of you,” she snarls at him.

  Jackson sighs, as if this encounter is a mere inconvenience to him, though his pulse is ticking slightly faster than normal. “He knew the risks going into the procedure,” Jax reminds her. “You both did. I’m sorry for your loss, but you need to leave. Now.”

  “The hell I do.” She shakes her head. In fact, her whole body is visibly shaking. “No. You’re going to pay for what you did.”

  When she pulls out a handgun, my focus narrows on it. Suddenly, I’m not standing in the park
ing lot of the facility, but in the living room of my foster home, watching my parents die.

  It takes me a few seconds, but I manage to force the memory away. I can’t let my past jeopardize Jackson’s life.

  “Don’t make me take that from you,” I plead with her as my hands shake at my sides—not enough for the human to notice, but Jackson will if he’s paying attention. “You can walk away from this right now.”

  “No, I can’t.” Her unsteady arm lifts the gun, aiming it at Jackson, which of course means it’s pointed directly at my face.

  “Jackson,” I whisper so only he can hear. “Security would be helpful right about now.”

  “You’re telling me you can’t take her out?” He sounds doubtful, and I fight the urge to curse at him. Of course, I can take her out—I just don’t want to. She’s already hurting enough.

  This is the job you signed up for, I remind myself. This was never about sitting around an office or living in a mansion. This is about protecting the fae behind me—at all costs.

  I step forward, closer to the gun that could very easily and quickly put a bullet between my eyes. It might not kill me, but it would hurt like hell. I’d be out of commission for a while and require extra feedings to heal from a shot that close range.

  Without warning, she launches herself at me, slamming the butt of the gun against the side of my face.

  I wince, but manage to grab her around the waist, pulling her away from Jackson. A shot goes off, and I shove her back, spinning around to lock eyes with Jackson for a moment—just long enough to recognize he’s unharmed.

  Facing the woman again, I quickly rip the firearm from her weak grasp and toss it aside before grabbing her, my fingers digging into her shoulders until she cries out.

  I waste no time snaring her gaze and compelling her to stand down and stop trying to harm Jackson.

  She sinks to the ground, sobbing and clutching her chest.

  When I glance up, I find Jackson is gone, having left the back door open. Minutes later, several members of the security team surround the lot and take the woman away. Dex is with them, so I tell him I’m taking Jackson home.

  I walk back toward Jackson and pin him with a glare. I’m about to scold him for disregarding my instruction when he lifts his hand to my face and cups my cheek. “What—?”

  “You’re hurt,” Jackson murmurs, frowning.

  I blink at him, but I don’t move away from his touch. The warmth of his fingers grazing my tender skin, while mildly uncomfortable, is nice.

  Oh no. No, no, no, no.

  I swallow hard and break away from his gaze. “I’m fine. It’ll heal fast enough.” Moving out of his grasp, I inspect him from head to toe to ensure he didn’t sustain any injuries.

  “I get that was an intense moment, but you really should refrain from checking me out so openly if you want me to believe you’re actually putting effort into our bet.”

  I glare at him for several seconds. “I was—”

  “I know what you were doing,” he says, the amusement faded from his voice, sincerity having replaced it. “You should feed,” he comments gently, and he’s right—it’ll heal my minor injuries.

  “I’ll have Gloria send one to the house later,” I say as we walk to the car.

  Jackson nods, glancing at me sideways. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I shrug noncommittally. “This is the job, Jackson. That woman was nothing. The threat she posed was so small, it barely warrants the report I’m going to try not to fall asleep drafting.” Ugh. Saying it out loud makes it sound even less enjoyable than it’s going to be.

  His brows knit, but he doesn’t say anything else.

  “Let’s get going,” I tell him, forcing a smile as I get into the passenger seat, not having the energy to argue over who gets to drive. Once we’re both buckled, I let loose a sigh.

  “What?” Jackson asks.

  “We still need groceries.”

  Chapter 11

  Walking around the grocery store with Jackson isn’t what I pictured when I took this job. Watching him push the cart and look at everything as if he’s never seen food on display before is . . . pretty hilarious. And after the evening we just had, it’s a welcome distraction from the tension in my muscles.

  Evidently, Gloria does Jackson’s shopping, because he has no idea where anything is. Lucky for him, this isn’t my first time in a grocery store.

  It’s a quick trip. After today’s attack, I want to get home as soon as possible, behind the barricades of Jackson’s home security team. We travel through the store, and I pick up what I think will be good enough to use to make for dinner. Keeping it low maintenance, I grab a package of chicken breasts, a box of penne, a head of broccoli, tomatoes, and jars of basil pesto and pasta sauce.

  After we whip through the frozen section and Jax picks out three different flavors of ice cream—to which I don’t protest—we pay and carry the bags out to the car.

  When we’re about twenty minutes from the house, I turn to him. “We need to talk about what happened today.” The grocery store wasn’t the place to do so, but now that we’re alone, he needs to hear it. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, but it is apparent I need to. You need to listen to me, Jackson. When I tell you to do something, such as going to get security earlier, you need to do it—without question or some stupid remark. Do you understand?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “Your safety is my job, which means while I’m on guard, I’m in charge of you. You need to get that through your head, or things could get dangerous very fast in a situation like we had today. Got it?”

  Jackson laughs under his breath, and I fight the urge to smack him. “Easy, Red.”

  “No,” I snap back. “You don’t like being told what to do. I get that, but you need to hear me when I say that I do not care. I don’t care what you do and don’t like.”

  “I like you,” he says without taking his eyes off the road, and my eyes go wide.

  Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting that response.

  And he isn’t finished. “Your fire, your protectiveness of me, the way you don’t take anything from me . . . all of it. It’s very attractive.”

  I shake my head in an attempt to use my hair as a shield against my rosy cheeks. “You’re being ridiculous. Just tell me you understand, that you’ll behave from now on.”

  He sighs dramatically. “I get it. You’re in charge of me. My well-being is your entire world.” His lips curl, and before I can disagree in any way, he says, “Hmm. I like the sound of that.”

  I deliberately crank the radio volume up to drown him out.

  I like you.

  His words repeat in my head, making it spin. The revelation isn’t shocking, but I am surprised he admitted it so freely. Sometimes, I’m envious of Jackson’s carefree confidence. I wish I could look him in the eye and tell him that I might like him, too, but my voice is gone—scared away by his honesty and uncharacteristically serious tone.

  My knee bounces steadily as I fight through my jumbled emotions, and for the briefest of moments, I have the fleeting thought of giving up the bonus to find out what it would be like to spend the night with Jackson.

  Son of a bitch. I’m in trouble.

  “You need help with dinner?” Jackson asks as we carry the bags inside, setting them on the island counter in the kitchen.

  I start pulling things out of the bag in front of me. “If you want?” I’d rather put some space between us after the revelations in the car—Jackson’s and mine.

  He grins. “What are you making?”

  “Penne and tomato basil pesto chicken.”

  Jackson’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open as if he’s about to start drooling. “My stomach just growled so loudly.”

  I laugh and tell him, “It’s pretty much the only thing I know how to make.” I pull the chicken breasts out and find a baking dish to get them cooking. Once I’ve pre-heated the oven and covered the chicken in pesto and slices of fresh tomato, I slide the
dish into the oven and set a timer.

  I put Jackson in charge of cooking the penne, telling him that boiling water is the area in which he could do the least damage to the meal. He reminds me of what he made my first night here, though, and I have to concede.

  We cook in silence for a few minutes before Jackson says, “Nikolai said something the other day.” His tone is soft, curious.

  I turn my head enough to look at him. “Nikolai says a lot of things. I wouldn’t pay him much attention.”

  A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “He said you wanted to leave Rockdale.”

  My stomach drops as unease floods in. “Yeah.” I don’t elaborate. I cringe thinking about how much Nik could have told him. I probably don’t want to know.

  “But you stayed to take this job?” he asks, peeking into the pot to check the water.

  I shrug, pulling out a tray from a drawer beneath the double ovens. “It was good money.”

  There’s a pause, and then he says, “That’s the only reason?”

  I set the metal tray on the counter and turn to him. “What are you looking for me to tell you?”

  Jackson purses his lips. “I’m not sure. I guess I’m just curious as to why some money could keep you here if you wanted to leave.”

  I sigh heavily, searching several cupboards before I find tin foil to line the tray. “The money will help me stay away once I’m gone.”

  Confusion flickers across his face.

  “I’m planning to travel,” I explain, not sure how much detail I should get into. “I’ve wanted to for a long time but never had the money.”

  “Sounds interesting. I’ve wanted to get away for a while, but since opening up shop, I haven’t had the opportunity to step out for a vacation.”

  I nod. “Once my contract with you is up, I’m out of here. I’m not sure where to yet, but I don’t think I’ll stay in one place too long.”

  His brows knit as he scratches the stubble along his jaw. “Why?”