Page 115 of Finding His Redemption

“What changed?” Jax asked.

Nessie’s face went pale. “I found out what he really did for a living. The restaurants were just a front. He was involved in human trafficking, moving girls who looked just like I had when I was eighteen. Young, naive, desperate for a break.”

Human trafficking. Jesus Christ. It was so much worse than he’d suspected.

She shook her head. “Now, I know I was meant to be another victim, just another girl to ship off God knows where, but for whatever reason, he kept me instead. But at the time, I thought part of him loved me, so I confronted him about it. Told him I was taking Oliver and leaving. He laughed at me. Said I belonged to him, that Oliver belonged to him, and if I ever tried to leave, he’d make sure I disappeared just like the girls who tried to run from his operations.”

Jax’s vision went red around the edges, that familiar darkness creeping in—the one that whispered about violence, justice, and making things right with his fists. But he forced himself to breathe, to stay present. This wasn’t about him. This was about Nessie, about the hell she’d survived.

“But you did leave,” he said when he could trust himself to speak.

She nodded. “I had help. One of the federal agents investigating Alek’s operation approached me. Agent Brandt. He offered me a deal to testify against Alek in exchange for protection. A new life for me and Oliver.”

“And you took it.”

“I was terrified,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t let Oliver grow up in that world. I couldn’t let him think that’s what love looked like.”

The apartment fell silent except for the sound of their breathing and the hum of the refrigerator.

Jax stared at his hands, at the bruises on his knuckles that were turning ugly shades of yellow. The woman he’d fallen for—because that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? He’d fallen for her completely—had survived unimaginable violence. And he’d punched a cop in front of her. He’d shown her the exact kind of violence she’d spent four years running from.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nessie. When I hit that deputy, when you saw me like that?—”

“You’re not him,” she said quickly. “You’re nothing like him.”

“How can you be sure?” The question tore out of him. “You know my history. I snapped once before so completely I couldn’t tell reality from the fucked-up fictions in my head. So how can you know I won’t?—”

“Because Alek never apologized. Never felt guilty. Never tried to be better.” She moved to the couch and sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers. She rubbed her fingers over his bruises. “You hate the violence in yourself. He celebrated it.”

Jax looked at her, this woman who’d survived hell and still found the strength to be kind, to build a life for her son, to see good in a broken man like him.

“I scared you,” he said. “When I punched Murdock. I saw it in your eyes.”

“You did,” she admitted. “But not because I thought you’d hurt me. Because I thought you’d hurt yourself. That you’d end up back in prison, and Oliver would lose someone else he cares about.”

The words hit him harder than any physical blow.

Oliver would lose someone else.

Not just her—Oliver. The kid who drew imaginary pets because he was too lonely for real ones had somehow decided Jax was worth caring about.

Tears suddenly burned in his eyes. “I don’t know what that kid sees in me.”

“I do.” She shifted closer, and before he realized her intention, her lips brushed his. “I know exactly what he sees, because I see it, too.”

chapter

thirty-four

She knewit was probably a mistake, but she no longer cared.

She kissed him softly at first, tentatively, but when Jax’s hands came up to frame her face, she plunged her tongue into his mouth, pouring four years of fear and loneliness and desperate hope into the connection between them. He groaned deep in his throat and took control, slanting his mouth across hers with a hunger that made her shiver.

God, she wanted this. Had dreamed about it too many times since meeting him, waking up so hot and aching that her vibrator did nothing to take the edge off.

Nessie pulled back just enough to look at him, her breath coming in short gasps. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and she could see the war playing out across his expression—want battling with restraint.

“Nessie,” he whispered, and her name on his lips sounded like a prayer.

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