He’d seen enough death in his time to recognize the kind that stayed with you. This wasn’t war. It was the aftermath of one man’s arrogance, of a bastard who’d decided he was judge, jury, and executioner.
Warren lay still in the mud, and Darian sat nearby, bleeding and silent. Mick stood over both of them, staring at his hands as if he didn’t know what they were anymore.
Jackson’s gaze drifted past the carnage to the one thing that made any of this matter.
Avery.
She stood a few yards away, the rain plastering her hair to her face, eyes locked on Warren’s body. There was shock in her expression, raw and hollow, but beneath it, something else too. Relief. Exhaustion. The slow realization that it was finally, undeniably over.
Jackson walked to her, his boots sinking into the mud. She turned as he reached her, and before she could speak, he pulled her into his arms.
She didn’t resist. She just folded against him, her hands gripping the front of his vest, her face pressed to his shoulder.
He held her tight, one hand at the back of her head, the other around her waist, grounding them both against the ruin surrounding them.
“It’s over,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
She nodded against him, a shaky breath leaving her chest.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Jackson believed it.
It was over.
And she was finally safe.
Epilogue
One Month Later
Avery couldn’t see a thing.
The blindfold was snug, tied by Jackson’s own hands before he’d helped her into the SUV. Every few minutes she pretended to reach up and tug it loose, just to hear the quiet chuckle rumble from the driver’s seat.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, amusement thick in his voice.
She smiled and leaned back against the seat, feeling the hum of the engine beneath her. “I’m not thinking. I’m wondering.”
“Wondering is allowed,” he said. “Peeking is not.”
His tone was light, easy, so different from the gravel and exhaustion she’d grown used to in his voice after the chaos a month ago. It had been four weeks since the gunfire, the explosions, the screams. A month since she’d thought she might not live long enough to see another sunrise.
But she had. They all had.
The team was healing. Riley and Megan were home, safe with their families. Darian was in custody, and Mick had agreed to testify in exchange for a plea bargain that would see him charged with voluntary manslaughter rather than murder. The Brotherhood was gone, what was left of it scattered and broken.
Avery had slept in fits for the first week, waking to echoes of gunfire that weren’t there. But Jackson was patient, always beside her. Sometimes that meant talking until she drifted off.Sometimes it just meant his hand over hers until the world stopped spinning.
She’d learned the sound of his laugh again. The real one. It came easier now.
“Are we close?” she asked, her lips curving.
“Almost.”
The SUV slowed, gravel crunching under the tires. The engine idled, and then Jackson cut it off. The sudden silence felt wide and open, broken only by wind and the faint call of a meadowlark somewhere nearby.
She heard the creak of his door, then his boots hitting the ground. Her own door opened, and a rush of chilly winter air brushed her face.
“Come on,” he said, his hand warm around hers as he helped her out. “Careful. Watch your step.”
