Hard Night

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Can’t I?” he cut across her, hard and cold. “You don’t understand. Frost, Joshua . . . All of that was because of who I was five years ago. Jake Foster, who didn’t give a shit about anything. Who didn’t want to think. Who lived for the kill. If I’d listened to Frost that day, then my team wouldn’t have died. Frost wouldn’t have gone on to set up that arms ring and maybe he wouldn’t have used my own fucking brother to do it.” Something else entered his eyes, black ice. “And you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

  But she kept shaking her head, because she still didn’t see it. “You made a call based on the information you had. It’s not your fault that it was wrong. And as for taking responsibility for everything else . . . Jesus, Jacob, that’s not your fault either.”

  “Frost told me the intel was bad,” he said flatly. “And I didn’t listen. Because I wanted the fight. I . . . needed it.”

  Then she heard, beneath the granite in his voice and the black obsidian of his eyes, notes of pain. Rage.

  Her throat closed and she had to force out the question, even though she thought she knew the answer already. “Why?”

  “I should have protected him.” Jacob stared at her but she had a feeling it wasn’t really her he was seeing. “I should have protected him better and I didn’t.”

  Joshua. He was talking about Joshua.

  She pushed herself out of the couch and took a step toward him. “You did, though. God, you were ten years old and you pulled a knife and—”

  “And it got us split up. It got me ten years of being alone. And I hate to think of what happened to Josh after what Greg did to him. What kind of foster experience he had. Because if it was anything like mine . . .” He stopped. “If I hadn’t pulled that knife, it wouldn’t have happened. But I was angry and I didn’t think.”

  “Jacob. You were ten years old. How could you—”

  “Enough.” The weight of the word was like an anvil falling direct from the sky. “I’ve made my decision. Isiah will be managing the 11th Hour while I leave the country.”

  It felt weirdly as if he’d pulled out a gun and shot her with it the way Joshua had.

  “W-What? What do you mean you’re leaving the country?”

  “I have too much of a past and it draws too much attention.” He paused, his gaze focusing on her. “It’s also become . . . personal. And I can’t have that. It’s why I preferred to run the team anonymously. I don’t want any personal connections—I can’t afford them.”

  The bullet wound in her shoulder suddenly didn’t hurt as much as the hole that had appeared in the middle of her heart. “Personal connections,” she echoed, her voice hoarse. “You mean me.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I mean you.”

  The look in his eyes had softened, but she didn’t think it meant he was going to change his mind. He never did.

  She swallowed, her throat tight. Everything tight. “So you’re leaving because of me? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You were hurt, Faith. And if there’s one person in this world that doesn’t deserve to be hurt, it’s you. And that’s on me. I put you in harm’s way and I can’t have that.”

  Anger glowed hot, a sudden rush of it, and she took a step forward, getting right in his face. “What? You think a couple of bullet wounds and a cut finger is anything to write home about? Jesus Christ, I’ve had worse. And I can handle myself, you know I—”

  “You might be able to handle yourself,” he interrupted harshly, “but I sure as hell fucking can’t.” The blackness of his eyes was as dense and dark as the void of space. “I can’t protect the people I should,” he bit out. “They get hurt. I get angry and they fucking get hurt. And I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t. It’s better if I keep myself to myself. Go and start over somewhere else.”

  “Why?” she demanded, too loud and too shrill, but she didn’t care. “So people get hurt. So people get angry. You can’t stop that, Jacob. And you can’t take responsibility for every goddamn thing that happens.”

  But his expression closed up. “No, but I can take responsibility for myself. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Right, so he was going to leave. He was going to leave her.

  Since when did you care so much?

  She had no idea. What she did know was that it hurt. For some reason she didn’t understand, it hurt worse than the gunshot wounds. Worse even than Josh’s betrayal.

  “You said I was yours.” The words betrayed far too much and yet she was powerless to stop from saying them. “You said you’d give me everything I ever wanted.”

  His gaze reflected nothing but her own desperate face. “Yes, Ms. Beasley. You are mine. But I’m afraid I can never be yours.”

  This wasn’t a gunshot wound. This was like he’d reached into her chest and ripped her heart out with his bare hand.

  “Why not?” she asked, because she couldn’t stop herself. “Am I not worth it? Don’t I deserve it?”

  Something flickered in his eyes. And then it was gone.

  “Maybe,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Or maybe neither of us deserves anything at all.”

  That was the knife in her gut, the one that twisted and ripped her apart.

  She wanted to tell him that she didn’t believe him, that they both deserved to have everything, and why shouldn’t they? They were good people. Yes, they’d done bad things, but they were good. Weren’t they?

  Maybe you’re not. Maybe he’s right. He’s never lied to you before, remember?

  Agony coiled tight around her heart, but she covered the pain like she always covered it and covered the fury, too, because letting that out, letting him know how deeply it hurt, would be giving away too much and she just couldn’t do it.

  But she had to say something. She couldn’t leave it at that.

  “I thought you might be a prince,” she said. “But you’re not, are you? You’re just another fucking man I have to shoot.”

  And then she walked out.

  * * *

  Faith sat in Mac’s Bar, a glass of whisky on the table in front of her, the bottle sitting beside it. The bar was empty, closed for the night.

  Or at least, she thought it was empty. Until a small figure sat down in the seat opposite her, a wealth of blond hair giving away who it was.

  Callie. Jack’s fiancée.

  “So,” Callie said. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” Faith didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to talk ever again.

  “Yeah, nothing says ‘I’m okay’ like a bottle of whisky and a shot glass.”

  Faith stared at her. “You here for a reason?”

  Callie leaned her chin on the heel of her hand. “The others are worried about you and I said I’d go talk to you.”

  Jacob had clearly not broken the news that he’d be leaving the country yet. He might not even tell them until he’d gone. That would be just the kind of thing he’d do. Because he was a fucking prick.

  “Well,” Faith said. “I appreciate it but I’m really not in the mood.”

  Callie tilted her head. “You know, a couple of months back, you helped me with a certain stubborn and hard-headed man. And I’m wondering if maybe you’d like me to return the favor.”

  Faith went still. How the hell did they know . . . ?

  The shock must have been evident on her face because Callie gave her a grin. “I don’t think Jacob Night calls just anyone ‘sweet girl.’”

  Oh yes. While she’d been in his arms with the bullet wound in her shoulder . . .

  He was a liar like all the rest of them. You were never his sweet girl.

  She looked away from Callie’s amused blue eyes, her chest aching. “Like I said, I’m fine. And whatever is between Jacob and me has got nothing to do with anyone else.”

  “Okay, I get it.” But Callie didn’t move and after a moment, she added, “I just want you to know, that if he’s being a tool and let’s face it, men are always being tools, it’ll be because he’
s afraid. And he’ll be afraid because he cares.”

  Faith reached for the shot glass and swallowed her whisky. The alcohol burned warmly going down, but it didn’t touch the ice in her soul. The ice that would probably be there forever now, because she was starting to think that nothing could warm it up.

  Nothing except Jacob.

  And he thinks you don’t deserve it.

  Did he really think that? Or was Callie right? Had that been simply him pushing her away out of fear?

  Shit, what did it matter anyway? He’d made his decision.

  “Whatever,” she said. “That’s his choice. I’m not going to go running after him.”

  “Why not?”

  Faith blinked and looked at her. “Because I’m not. It’s his decision. And you know he never changes his mind.”

  “He changed it when he allowed Jack to come and rescue me,” Callie pointed out. “And anyway, why should he get to make all the decisions? Don’t you deserve to make one too?”

  Something twisted in her heart at that.

  “You killed the last prince in this world, Joanna Lynn, so don’t talk to me about wanting to be a princess. You don’t deserve it.”

  Her mother’s voice echoed in her head, thick and grief-stricken.

  No, she didn’t deserve it. And Jacob thought so too. Which meant it had to be true, right? Because he’d never lied to her . . .

  She poured herself another drink. “I don’t care.”

  “Right. So that’s why you’re sitting alone drinking whisky and there are tears on your cheeks.”

  Bullshit. She wasn’t crying, was she? But when she raised her hand to her cheek, her fingers came away wet.

  Callie reached out and put her hand over Faith’s bandaged one where it rested on the tabletop. “I don’t know your past and I don’t know what went on with you and Jacob, but if there’s one thing I do know it’s that everyone deserves to make their own decisions when it comes to love. You can’t let your past tell you what to do. And you certainly can’t let some shady asshole have the last word on what you deserve.” Her hand was a warm pressure, her gaze very open and honest. “It’s worth it, that’s all I wanted to say. It’s so worth it.”

  Faith had no answer for that, but then she didn’t need to have one anyway, because without another word, Callie calmly rose and left her alone in the bar again.

  She stared at her whisky, thinking about the decisions she’d made and the past that had shaped her. A past that had taught her that she couldn’t ever have what she wanted, because she didn’t deserve it.

  But who got to say what she did and didn’t deserve? Not her mother, that was for damn sure, and not her superiors. And maybe Callie was right, maybe not Jacob fucking Night, either.

  He thought she was worth giving everything to and yet in the end he’d let her go.

  Except she knew, deep in her heart, she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to be his.

  He was a protector. A caregiver. And yet he also respected her strength. More, he got off on it. He thought she was a princess.

  He thought she was his princess and he’d told her so.

  But he’d also told her that maybe neither of them deserved anything. So what was the truth? And what was the lie?

  “He’ll be afraid because he cares. . . .”

  Slowly Faith picked up her glass, swirling the alcohol around inside it, Callie’s voice echoing in her head.

  She hadn’t thought Jacob Night would be afraid of anything, but . . . maybe he was. And people did all kinds of stupid shit when they were afraid. Such as say things they didn’t mean. Lie. Lie to themselves . . .

  Understanding broke over her all of a sudden, freezing her in place.

  That’s what she’d been doing, wasn’t it? Jacob had told her back in the motel that she was lying to herself and she had been. But not only lying about wanting him, she’d been lying to herself about other things too. Telling herself she didn’t deserve to have what she wanted, when in reality, she’d just been too afraid to take them.

  Just like she’d been afraid back in HQ, when he’d told her he would never be hers.

  The ache in her chest grew stronger, deeper.

  It didn’t matter whether he lied to her or not, did it? What mattered was that she’d been lying to herself. She was the one who’d believed she didn’t deserve it. Which meant that if she wanted to have everything, she had to believe she did deserve it.

  She had to believe in herself.

  Her hand closed on the shot glass and she lifted it, knocking the rest of the whisky back. Then she slammed the glass back down on the table.

  “I am worth it,” she said aloud to the empty bar. “I’m a warrior fucking princess.”

  She was. And warrior fucking princesses got everything they wanted.

  Including their princes.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jacob walked into his clifftop house and it felt like a stranger’s. He’d bought it because he’d liked the security, plus the view of the ocean was good. It was also nice that he couldn’t see his neighbors.

  But right now all he was conscious of was the fact that it was empty. So very empty of the woman who’d once lived there.

  The woman he’d walked away from earlier that day and would in all likelihood never see again.

  Which was good, wasn’t it? That’s what he wanted. That’s what his decision had all been about.

  Keep her safe. Keep the rest of the team safe. Keep everyone safe.

  From him.

  Starting afresh in another country was what he should have done five years earlier, but he hadn’t. Because he’d wanted to track Joshua down, and now that had happened and . . . Well, it had all turned to shit.

  Just like what had happened with his team.

  Yeah, it was a good thing he was going. A very good thing.

  And he didn’t know why he should feel so very shitty about it, but he did.

  Maybe something to do with the fact that you told her she didn’t deserve to have you?

  A crappy thing to say to her and a dick move. But he’d had to say something to get her to go, hadn’t he?

  He walked into the big living area with the plate glass windows that looked out over the darkened sea. It was night outside and he didn’t bother with the lights, so he didn’t see the woman sitting in the armchair by the window.

  Not until she abruptly switched on the light.

  He stilled, staring at her.

  The lamp bathed her in light, glossing her long black hair and illuminating her creamy skin. Glinting off the necklace she wore at her throat.

  A phoenix on a chain. The one he’d bought Faith a few months ago.

  His heart gave one hard beat.

  Her face was pale, the light making the midnight blue of her eyes glow, and there was a very familiar expression in them.

  Determination.

  “What are you doing here?” It was an effort to keep his voice level. “How did you get in?”

  “You never changed the codes to the locks,” she said calmly. “And I’m here because we haven’t finished our conversation.”

  “Yes. We have.” He moved over to the liquor cabinet that stood in one corner because he had to do something with the strange heat and fury that was filling him.

  And yes, it was fury. He’d made a decision and it hadn’t been an easy one. But it was for the good of everyone around him and for the good of himself, too. And he was comfortable with that.

  So why the fuck she was here he had no idea. He wasn’t going to change his mind if that’s what she was hoping.

  Getting a bottle of his favorite brandy out of the liquor cabinet and a crystal tumbler, he poured himself a measure, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. “And I thought I’d made my position clear.” He put the bottle down and straightened. “I’m not changing my mind, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

  She didn’t answer, an assessing look in her eyes, as if he were a fortress
she was preparing to mount an assault on and was studying his defenses.

  Anger twisted inside him, hot and desperate, along with that ache in his chest that just wouldn’t fucking go away.

  Yes, she was his and he would always view her as such, but he couldn’t give himself to her in the same way. Which meant he couldn’t keep her. She had such a loving, generous spirit, while his . . .

  His was stunted. Suffocated. And that was for the best. Jake Foster was nothing but rage and she deserved more from him than that.

  She was a woman with a vulnerable heart at the center of her core of strength, something that had struck him hard when he’d seen her in HQ earlier that day. She’d been sitting on the couch, all pale and bandaged up, injuries that were his fault, and yet she’d looked at him with such hope. As if she was expecting something from him, something good.

  He’d known in that moment that he couldn’t give her whatever it was that she wanted. There was too much anger in his heart to leave room for any other kind of emotion. Especially the kind of emotions she needed and deserved.

  He wasn’t that type of man. Maybe once he had been, but that had been before he’d lost everything.

  Which had made his decision to leave an easy one.

  He had to stay Jacob Night. And Jacob Night worked best as a lone wolf.

  “Your position,” she said, finally, “is bullshit.”

  She was sitting there in that chair, so very calm, so very together. Everything that he wasn’t, and he could feel the man he’d used to be straining at the cage he’d set around him. Roaring. Clawing at the bars to get to her.

  Jake Foster remembered what it was like to have someone. And now he wanted Faith Beasley. Wanted her so badly. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Strong. Ballsy. Intelligent. Warm. Generous. Protective.

  But Jacob Night remembered what it was like to lose someone. And he wasn’t doing that again. Anger was the only thing no one had ever been able to take from him and he was keeping that.

  It was all that kept him going.

  “I suggest you leave.” He was aware he was holding his glass far too tightly and if he put any more pressure on it, it would shatter. “I have nothing more to say on the matter.”