Page 58

W E HAVE BURGERS. I SPEND THE REST OF THE EVENING WITH Dash and Abigail, planning out the new heist.

It’s possibly the greatest burger I’ve ever had. I don’t even mourn the lack of ketchup in Miller’s Lodge. While I present my plan, Abigail hits me with weaknesses, questions, problems. Dash provides impressive insight and solutions. Midway through the meal, I realize I’m having fun.

In other families, camaraderie and collaboration probably look like working on class projects with dad or planning dream winter breaks with siblings. For us, it’s this. In devising my multimillion-dollar heist, I wonder whether I’ve found shards of the childhood I— we —never shared.

When we return to Volenvell, Abigail and I divide up the crew to explain the new scheme and distribute duties. Abigail heads toward Deonte and Kevin. I reconnect with Tom and Grace.

It’s midnight when I finally return to my room. Moonlight streams in my windows. I stand in front of the view, observing the silent snowscape—how the West Tower rises into the black sky.

My objective. My focus since I first received Leonie’s invitation back home in Rhode Island. It all ends there.

In one day, I’ll either have bested my grandmother and joined the Knives, or…

I don’t know. I remember my grandfather. I think of how easily Otto infiltrated Leonie’s castle, like a knife in the ribs. Of how Mia’s vault heist ended. Of how it could have ended.

Failure here might be deadly.

Soft knocking on my door interrupts my contemplation of the serene kingdom under my window. I pad over in the cozy socks Switzerland’s temperature necessitates, expecting Abigail coming to confirm everything is ready.

Instead, I find Jackson.

He… stayed up. Waiting for me.

He’s not dressed for bed, his hair un-mussed, his eyes clear. He’s wearing his white cable-knit sweater.

He’s holding red roses. “You’re back,” he says.

I open the door wider, welcoming him in while I retreat into the room. Jackson follows, closing the door behind him.

His expression holds no hint of judgment. No interrogation. No why didn’t you find me? How long have you been here? I feel guilty, nevertheless. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

It’s a lie. I wish I could say it would be my last.

“Here. These are for you.” He holds out the roses.

I take the bouquet, clutching it to my chest. I’m… not sure I’ve ever gotten flowers from a boy before. They’re lovely, the petals wet and perfectly pristine. A reminder they won’t last long. The kind of treasure one can’t preserve in a vault.

“What are these for?” I ask softly.

“You’ve brought me here on this trip. You’re wonderful. We’ve been back together for three months and ten days. Do I need more reasons? I can come up with more.” He smiles slyly.

Honestly, it’s heartless. I’m the expert on lawlessness, with larceny, extortion, and conspiracy to my name on multiple continents. Jackson Roese smiling slyly is definitely criminal, or should be.

“Where did you even get them?” I can’t help asking.

His smile slips, bashfulness in his expression. “I maybe asked Otto for help.”

The mention of the Knives chairman freezes my blood. I set the roses on my nightstand. “They’re beautiful. Don’t go out of your way to talk to Otto, though. I… have a bad feeling about him,” I say.

It’s not the warning I wish I could give, but it’s something.

I want to tell him, tell my crew, about Otto’s threats—about the danger they’re in.

But if they learn the only way to spare them is by signing myself up for a lifetime in the Knives, they’ll try to convince me otherwise.

I can’t risk what could happen to them. No, it’s a sacrifice I need to make in secret.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” His brows furrow.

“Never, Jackson,” I say honestly. I sit on the edge of the bed.

He’s devastatingly handsome in the moonlight. Since I’ve known him, he’s felt like the only safe part of my dangerous world.

And yet… when he comes closer, crossing the room to stand in front of where I’m seated, I feel a rogue thrill shoot through me. Like he’s walking toward me on the edge of those dark cliffs outside my window.

“I didn’t just bring flowers,” he says, his voice low.

“No?” I tug on his waist, bringing him near.

His lips twist, pleased. Seductive. “I had an idea.”

My fingers loosen. “An idea about what?”

Jackson’s dark eyes sparkle in the shadows. “Ernest. I spoke to some family members here. He woke up.”

Even quiet, Jackson’s voice courses with excitement. I’m surprised to realize he didn’t mean the sort of idea I had in mind. He’s… planning. Scheming, even.

“I was thinking—we go down to the hospital,” he says. “Your grandfather was a Knife. Surely someone in the same club might have information about his murder. Maybe Ernest is ready to talk after what happened to him.”

His strategy is a good one. Ernest has been cast out from the Knives.

What if I don’t have to work for Otto to get the name of Andrew’s murderer?

While I haven’t fully processed that Andrew isn’t biologically my grandfather, it doesn’t change the way I loved him.

It doesn’t change that I want revenge for what happened to him.

Flowers and revenge. Jackson really does know the way to my heart.

Jackson leans down to kiss me. I let him, swept up in the sudden sweetness.

As he’s done on dozens of wonderful nights, he continues leaning forward, pushing me with him, lying me down on the comforter.

It’s one of my favorite feelings, my favorite places, my favorite everything in the world—his frame suspended over me, his scent everywhere.

Exhilaration and comfort, promise and fulfillment in one. Everything Jackson is.

Which leaves me wondering whether I sustained a concussion in Mia’s explosion when I pause, halting him with my hand on his perfect chest.

“Jackson,” I say. “It’s not a good idea. I’ll find out what happened to Andrew… another way.” When I join the organization of his executioners , I don’t say.

Jackson stills. Questions fight past the want in his eyes. “Why? This is a real lead.”

In answer, I gently slant his head to the side.

The moonlight shows off the dark bruise on his cheek, purpling where Mia’s henchman hit him.

He was hurt today. It’s what getting involved in the Knives invites.

Very real, very inescapable danger. Even for ex-Knives like Ernest. Especially for future Knives , I think miserably.

When my gentle fingers meet the painful purple, Jackson hisses his breath out through his teeth. “I’m fine,” he preempts me, his voice comforting despite his wince.

“You’re not.”

“I play competitive sports, Olivia,” he reminds me. “This isn’t my first bruise.”

It doesn’t matter. Nothing he’s dealt with on the soccer field compares. “The explosives…,” I say. “Who knows what other weapons they had? We were in real danger today.”

“I’m not afraid,” Jackson insists.

The haste of his reassurance robs it of its power. He’s just saying what I want to hear. He does everything I want. If the Owens curse is ruining everything we hold dear, the Jackson Roese curse is welcoming the ruination.

I won’t let him. Enough half measures. Enough guilty condolences.

“I am,” I say firmly. “Leave Ernest and the Knives alone.”

His expression hardens. “Is that an order, King?” he asks. There’s no flirtation in the moniker now.

I press my palm to his chest. “Please, Jackson. I don’t want to be your heist leader right now. Just your girlfriend.”

I’m grateful when the reply has the desired effect. He relents, softening with damnable care.

“Did everything go okay with Dash today?” he ventures.

I nod. Jackson studies me, gently inquisitive.

“I…” I wet my lips, nervous, as I sit up.

“It went great. My dad is on our side. I don’t think he killed Andrew.

I think the Knives did because Leonie stole something from them.

But there’s one question I still can’t answer.

I get that Leonie is wary and hateful enough to suspect her son murdered her husband.

I also understand that on a deeper level, she can’t accept that it’s really her actions that endangered Andrew, so in a way she’s desperate to place that guilt on Dash.

What I don’t understand is why she’s trying to lure in Andrew’s killer now .

Ten years later. I don’t know who to trust in my family. ”

Jackson looks like the question is easy. He sits up and places his hand on my heart. On reflex, I lean into his touch.

“Trust yourself,” he says.

I withdraw. Trust myself? I want to repeat. I trust no one. Why would I ever start with the most cunning person I know—me?

I don’t want to force these reckonings on Jackson, though. Instead, I say the next closest thing. “Andrew isn’t Dash’s father. He’s not really my grandfather.” I skirt Jackson’s gaze. “No wonder I didn’t inherit any of his goodness.”

If the ancestral shocker of the day surprises Jackson, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, you did,” he insists. “It doesn’t matter if you share blood. You did inherit goodness.” He grips my hand on the comforter.

“My grandmother’s actions got my grandfather killed , Jackson.”

“You’re not her,” he assures me. Steadfast. Unflinching. “You’ll never be her. She’s a lonely, bitter woman. You didn’t come here by yourself. You came here with your friends.”

“I came here for revenge. How am I any better than the Knives? Than Leonie?” I ask desperately.

The note of pleading in my words is the intruder in my heart. I wish I really was only trying to prove how dangerous I am to him, instead of secretly seeking Jackson’s comfort, even now.

“You kept us all safe in the vault,” Jackson points out. “You won’t put anyone at risk, no matter what it costs you.”

I nod, feeling his efforts crumble into futility. Usually, Jackson’s words ease my nerves. Not tonight.

He leans down to kiss me again. “Do you want me to go? We should probably get some sleep,” he says softly.

Looking up, I find Jackson’s eyes. Lit with indefatigable courage, defying the dark. He looks like love made real, and he’s mine.

No. Words aren’t enough tonight. I can be selfish one last time before tomorrow. Before everything changes.

With the warm memory of his kiss still fresh on my lips, the pounding in my heart changes. Fear into desire. I imagine his hands on me, his kiss on my neck—his caress obliterating every danger and doubt. Just for one more night.

I shake my head.

“No,” I say. “Stay.”