"Nah." Jack releases a frustrated exhale. "Law enforcement knew they would never get Bullet on the arms dealing. His operation is too well-run. They did their usual thing of trying to get the bastard on something else, something they could make stick.”
“She wasn’t a witness?” I feel dread prick at the inside of my chest.
Jack’s jaw locks, a familiar spike of anger wrenching across his face. “No,” he says more forcefully than I think he means to. “She was just a girl who went to the wrong house party. Bullethurther, and—" He stops abruptly, clearly needing a second or two of controlled breathing to reign in his temper. "She was willing to let them use it as an excuse to send him down."
I put all my willpower into not flinching at the implications of both what Bullet did to the girl, and also what Jack was told he had to do. "He ordered you to kill her?"
Jack closes his eyes, like maybe he's afraid of what he'll see on my face in reaction to the truth. "Yes."
I don't want to ask, but it feels wrong not to, like I'm hiding from what's real the way Jack has been accusing me of. If I want him to trust me, to properly trust me, I can't pretend this part of Jack's life never happened. "And did you?"
Jack lets out an unsteady exhalation of air, the sound juddering painfully out of him. He grasps hold of the duvet, fisting it. His hand tightens until his knuckles turn white. Whatever Jack might say about feeling no regrets over his past actions, it's clear he feels immense shame aboutthis.
"She was the mission." He opens his eyes, and I'm shocked by the extreme level of emotion in them. "I didn't want to do it. I really fucking didn't want to." His voice breaks in the middle of his sentence. "But OI said it was either the girl or Dan, and I—" He cuts himself off, turning his face into the pillow, body twisted so tight he's like a coiled spring.
"What was her name?"
"Veronica," Jack answers immediately, voice muffled by the pillow. He chokes out a barbed laugh, his self-disgust evident on his face when he looks at me again. "She thought I was just some lost kid," he mutters harshly. I'm not sure if it's to me or to himself.
A kid, though? If Veronica was young herself, he must have been even younger, for her to think he was a child.
"How old were you?"
Jack shrugs. "About nine or ten. Don't remember. Time blurred together a lot back then." He sounds just as flippant as he always does when he talks about his time as a child-assassin. He's never seemed to grasp just how much of a headfuck it is for other people who didn't grow up like he did to think about a nine-year-old killing at all, let alone professionally.
"JesusChrist," I murmur to myself, trying to imagine what that would have been like for Jack and utterly failing. He would have been so little and probably scared as hell of losing Dan, his only source of comfort and protection. How must it feel to Jack now that Dan is dead, after all the years he spent committing horrific acts just to keep his brother alive and by his side? Does it feel like a waste? Does it make his regret over what happened with Veronica dig in twice as deeply?
"That isn't an excuse," Jack bites out at me. "I knew exactly what I was doing. I lured her away from her guards by pretending to be hurt and afraid. Told her I was searching for my parents." Jack sounds like he's offended that I'd give him any leeway for what he did, and I realise he must think I'm excusing his behaviour again, not listening to him, closing my eyes to the reality of who he is.
"I'm not excusing what you did," I promise Jack, covering the hand he still has fisted in the duvet and squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm just not condemning you for it either. Same as when I found out about Rohan's mother. You did what you did, and it's not my place to withhold or offer forgiveness. Only you can do that for yourself, babe."
Jack's brows crease in consternation. He gives his head a small shake, dismissing the idea of forgiving himself for things he views as unforgivable or at least thinks himself unworthy of.
I don't pressure him by insisting he is deserving of a second chance at living his own life, this time with the freedom to make his own choices. You can't force that kind of acceptance on a person. All I can do is show him what he's worth to me as a friend and partner.
As hurt as I was after the meeting with Bullet, I regret how I reacted to what Jack did to those extremists. He looked so hurt and angry when I backed away from him. I'm certain that's what instigated him to come at me so violently.
I still wish he hadn't run off and committedmass murder, but he is right that we got the information from Bullet because of it, and at this point, we need to move forward with what we have.
Jack doesn't seem inclined to speak again, his emotions likely spent after revealing the truth about Veronica and his hatred for Bullet. I completely understand why Jack feels so strongly towards the man. The thought of him ordering child Jack to murder an innocent girl, who he assaulted, makes me want to find Bullet again and kick the shit out of him. If I ever get the chance to help put him behind bars, I’ll snatch it up with both hands.
It feels like I should be offering something in return for Jack's honesty. I know that's not how it works with trusting people; it isn't a tit-for-tat kind of deal. So maybe it's more about wanting Jack to know me better and possibly realising I'm not as shiny and softhearted as he thinks I am. He already seems to have grasped some of the damage my mother and her alcoholism has done to me, but he doesn't know how much more there is to it.
I fill the silence with a topic less fraught with nightmare-inducing horror, but it’s still a truth I haven't shared with him. One that, arguably, Jack has every right to know. I draw in a long breath to steady myself. "My dad worked for Obsidian Inc."
Jack blinks at me like a startled owl for a handful of seconds, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times, as if he's forgotten how talking works.
"Your dad … was an OI agent?" he manages eventually. I can't get a good read on his tone. He sounds unsure but not entirely shocked by the information. I don't know if that's because he's hiding his reaction on purpose, or if he's preparing for worse news.
"Yeah. He joined up young," I tell him, like it's some kind of excuse. It couldn't possibly be to Jack. He doesn’t think it matters that he wasninewhen he did unspeakable things for OI. "My uncle Alex did too. But Alex left and became a FISA scientist after my cousin Rex was born."
"But your dad stayed with OI?" Jack looks more curious than angry, peering at me like he's trying to place someone in his memory who resembles me. "What was his name?"
It feels strange to be talking about my father to someone. I haven't so much as spoken his name to anyone in years. The only time I hear it is when Mum is astoundingly drunk and curses him out. "Roux. Roux Nova."
Jack's eyes widen slightly with recognition. "I knew him.” A small frown creases his brows as he nods to himself. "He was my handler for a while."
It's even worse than I imagined. The thought of my father mistreating Jack, condoning the imprisonment and torture of a child, and then coming home to me and my mum is profoundly disturbing. "I'm so sorry, Jack." I try to pull my hand away from his, shame flooding through me in a tsunamic-level rush.
