Page 8 of Twisted Devotion

Who am I kidding? This place is stunning.

I was placed in some really rough homes, but my last family—the one I lost—was well off enough. Nowherenearas wealthy as this guy, though.

After finding a place to park between two identical black Escalades, I cut the engine and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white, and then force myself to let go. Glancing in the rearview at my bags, I decide to get my bearings before hauling my things inside. I’ll have plenty of time this afternoon once my coffee kicks in and my urge to get the hell out of here fades.

Here’s hoping it does.

I wanted to get out of Rockdale—and technically, I have—but on my own terms, controlling where I went and when. Now, I’m stuck again, which just makes it harder to get out of the car and face my assignment.

I walk up the steps and stop in front of the set of frosted glass doors, where I knock twice. Admittedly, the luxury of this place is rather intimidating; somehow more so than what I’m here to do. It’s ridiculous, considering I’m used to spending time at the Westbrook Hotel. But this place is next-level fancy.

I clench my hands into fists and then let them go, shaking them out to release the tension.

It doesn’t do a whole lot the first time, but before I can do it again, the door opens, and Jackson Hawthorne smirks at me.

My eyes drop from his mouth to his bare chest and stick there.

Does he often answer the door half-naked? And with sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips? Jesus.

“Long time no see, Red.” His voice is as smooth and warm as caramel.

After another second of admiring his lean, tight muscles, I meet his gaze and blink. His eyes—how could I forget how stunning they are?Melted honey with flecks of amber that pull you in. I want to believe they’re fake—costume contact lenses or something—but they’re completely real. They put my green eyes to shame.

Jackson leans in the doorway, those annoyingly captivating eyes roaming over my face as they glimmer with faint amusement. “Last I checked, Tristan and Aurora were the only ones who experienced fae amnesia. You good?”

I snap out of it and force a nod. “I’m fine. Hi, Jackson.”

Granted, I’ve only seen this guy a handful of times during The Experiment takedown—none of which involved him actually participating in the fight. But somehow, I forgot about his ridiculously charismatic personality. Perhaps if he’d fought with us instead of hiding, I would have gotten to know him better.

You will now, a voice sings in my head, and I fight the urge to scowl This guy got off scot-free and has been profiting from the deal Nik and Sky were essentially forced to make. Resentment isn’t an emotion I enjoy—feeding on or experiencing first-hand—but I’d be more comfortable protecting Jackson’s life if he’d risked it like the rest of us did ours. That thought prompts the wall to go up around my emotions, blocking my aura from view. Even though I don’t enjoy hiding it, I’d much rather Jackson not be able to see it.

He grins at me, clearly unaware of my distain, and far too chipper for this hour. I suppose it’s partially my fault for showing up so early.

“Please, come inside. Make yourself at home. Yada, yada, yada.” He glances behind me. “Did you bring anything? A change of clothes, perhaps?”

“It’s in the car.” Shrugging, I add, “I’ll grab it later.”

Nodding, he walks away, leaving the door open for me to enter the foyer.

I follow him inside, closing the door behind me. “Is Skylar here yet?” I glance around but don’t see or hear anyone else. “She said she’d meet me here this morning.”

“Are you kidding?” Jackson’s voice comes from the other room, and I follow the sound into the kitchen. “It’s barely daylight. Sky ain’t going to pull her ass out of bed until she absolutely has to. Nik would keep her there all day if he could.” He winks at me before tossing a blueberry into his mouth.

I stop in the doorway; my arrival interrupted his breakfast.

He must pick up on my reservation because he waves me into the room. “Coffee is fresh,” he murmurs, pointing behind him. “If you’re hungry, Gloria can make you pretty much whatever you want. She’s here a few days a week to cook and clean.”

My eyes widen, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he has staff here. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Jackson nods, cutting into what looks like a ham and cheese omelet.

In the silence, my gaze can’t help but venture back to his very well-maintained stomach. I just need to get my fill of the delicious, taut muscles there, and then it won’t affect me anymore. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Jackson laughs deeply, and my cheeks go red. “See something you like?”

I narrow my eyes, but I can’t deny it. “Your house too expensive for you to afford a shirt?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

His eyes sparkle, and he drops his gaze to his bare chest then back to me. “Nah, this is your welcome gift.”

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