Paradise Falling (ONC 2024)

22 -- Heart-to-Heart

Houston, Texas

June 2024

~~~~

Being shifted from one vehicle to another, I lose all sense of time and direction. Our latest stop appears to be underground; it's cooler without even the slightest draft but sticky at the same time by the way the trapped air clings as a layer of sweat to my skin. The ground under my bare feet is smooth and warm like the driveway at home. I'm pulled by my arm; a ping and sliding doors give me hope that we have reached our final destination.

Time to get some goddamn answers.

The ride in the elevator takes forever and grinds my already frayed nerves. My heart is pounding and I'm nauseous with fear, but I'm also fucking mad that these assholes snatched me from right under Bastian's nose. Where was fucking Anton who was meant to secure the perimeters or Falk with his tech gimmicks that could allegedly track me anywhere. I rub my thumb over the sore spot from this morning. At least they didn't find the little device and I can only hope the rough search didn't damage it. If I'm going to come face to face with Jackson Pierce and Falk is online, the pairing thing might still work.

The elevator dings and I'm pulled forward once again. This time, the flooring is cold. Tiles. A quick look down confirms that they are terracotta and well lit. Someone's residence. My body quivers with anticipation—the uncertainty of what I'll be facing is worse than staring into the barrel of a gun.

A door gives access to the outside; a slow breeze fills the air with freshness. The burlap bag is pulled off and I blink to adjust my eyes to my surroundings. Judging by the neighboring buildings, I'm standing somewhere high up on a small balcony surrounded by glass. Jackson Pierce has claimed a table perched in a corner with his back to the wall; a filled dinner plate and a flute of red wine sit in front of him. Soft jazz music melts with the humming of the city life many floors below.

Head crooked to the side, Jackson takes his time looking me over. His resemblance to Marcel is undeniable. He is a few tones darker, which could be attributed to him spending more time in the sun, but his nose spots the same freckles. He has the same pronounced lips and fine facial features, just his eyes are a different shade. Marcel's deep brown was barely distinguishable from the black of his pupils while Jackson's color reminds me of the leathery whiskey my dad used to drink.

"Tell me about Hong Kong." His voice is a deep rumble that gives me goosebumps. He cuts a piece of the red-pink steak and places it in his mouth. As he chews, one of his brows is arched, demanding that I don't waste his precious time.

Folding my arms, I raise my chin in defiance. "Marcel's past caught up with him. One morning, when I was on my way to work, I found the windshield of our car covered in blood, but before it could even register what that meant, a couple of thugs grabbed me."

"And how was that Marcel's fault?"

"He left the house not even five minutes before me and was supposed to take the car. Instead, he must have caught on that he had been made and disappeared. Without any warning to me or our son. We walked right into a trap, and Marcel fucking knew what these goons would do to us. They tortured me for hours and then"—tears burn in my eyes—"they killed Sean. Marcel just abandoned us, no shits given."

"Let me assure you, he regrets this deeply."

"How would you know?"

"I spoke to him after you approached me today." Jackson's icy glare pricks like needles on my skin. "Had to make sure you are who you claimed you are. The pictures he sent were flattering. You look much older and kind of plain."

Why, thank you.

If he had his head drenched in some sort of chemical solution and were forced to wear these crappy clothes that are two sizes too big, he'd look fucked-up, too. "So you know where Marcel is?"

"No." He takes another bite of his steak and washes it down with a mouthful of wine.

"But you know how to contact him?"

"Obviously." A crack of a smile tugs at Jackson's lips as he gazes at me from over the rim of the glass. "He asked me to give you a message. The money is gone, so stop looking for him."

I snort with bitterness. "It's not about the money."

"Let me guess. You want to tell him that he ruined your marriage. How shit your life has turned out. That he took everything from you."

The burning sensation in my eyes turns into resentment. "Something like that."

"Trust me, this type of conversation doesn't go anywhere. Your and Marcel's stance on the matter is so far apart that you'd never find a common ground. When it comes to survival, people act out of instinct, and Marcel did what he thought to be his only option. You and your son were unfortunate casualties, but tracking Marcel down now to tell him that everything was his fault will never change the past."

It could still bring me closure. "Okay, if you don't let me talk to him, how about I tell you that you aren't any better than him since you inadvertently caused Sean's death."

The little amiability is sucked from the space. Jackson's body tenses. "That's a pretty big accusation, one I do not appreciate."

A hostility in his posture warns that I overstepped the limits. The woman who kidnapped me and who has stood silently by the door takes a step forward, but just like this afternoon, one slight shake of Jackson's head reels her in.

I take a deep breath to keep the tremble from my voice. "When Marcel decided to leave the Disciples to start a new life in Hong Kong, we needed new identities. None of his usual contacts could be trusted, so he had to locate a forger out of his network. Someone he couldn't have found without your connections . . ." A muscle in Jackson's jaw jumps and I press on. "And then, when he sold the intel he stole from the Disciples, he needed even better contacts with sufficiently deep pockets. Without your help, Marcel couldn't have pulled that off, so from where I stand, you are at least partially to blame."

The tension left in the wake of my allegations weighs heavily in the air. Seconds tick down in excruciating silence. Jackson finishes the last of his steak, his full focus fixed on the task. When he turns his head and dabs his lips with a napkin, the few emotions have drained from his face. "Nico Dessler."

"Excuse me?"

"That's the man you should be looking for. He's the one who shot your son, and he happens to work for Bastian Artino, so Artino is the last person you should trust. The Crimson Disciples are a disgrace to the profession, they groom their recruits from when they are children to force their loyalty, and they manipulated and molded Marcel into the man who abandoned you, something he would've never done before they got their hooks into him. They are the true enemy and helping them to find Marcel brings dishonor to your son."

I drop my gaze. If he only knew . . .

Jackson gets up and walks over to me. Cupping my chin, he lifts my head. His eyes are vacant; he's a man who has seen so much death and violence in his lifetime that he has become immune. He will kill without a second thought. "The way this works is that I give you a little and you give me a little. For your part, I need to know how you and Artino found me this afternoon."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'm afraid you won't be going home."

WP total word count: 24,268

So the secret is out; Jackson Pierce was behind Chelsea's kidnapping. Now that you met him, what type of impression did he leave? Did their conversation put things more into perspective of what went down in Hong Kong? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks to annkreeves , Jackson will get his own story once Paradise Falling has concluded (though you might get a teaser chapter early -- let me know in the comments if that's something you would like to read).

Please consider giving his chapter a vote if you found it deserving and/or drop me a comment. Thanks for reading and sticking with the story.