Page 63 of Reclaimed

I should probably go to the guest room. Or the couch. Even the fucking floor. Anywhere but in that bed beside her.

I’ve never laid with a girl when my cock wasn’t inside her. Never taken one home, never stayed the night. I don't do cuddles, or aftercare, or whispered words of affirmation.

I don’t think I’m even programmed to know how.

But as Jersey lies curled on her side in the middle of my bed, swallowed by my shirt, my fingers fucking twitch.

I want to touch her.

Not fuck her.

Just–

Hold her.

The thought dredges deep, unearthing memories I thought I’d buried for good. Broken pieces from the days after the dickhead that sired me left my mother.

Before he cut her off, she’d sometimes use me as a threat to blow up the image that tool had spent decades crafting, angling for drug money. She’d get high enough that basic necessities were ignored– we’d run out of food, or sometimes she’d be gone for days on end. It was the worst when those two things occurred simultaneously. Whenever she was done numbing the parts of her brain that constantly drew comparisons to the life she wanted and the life she had, she’d come find me.

She disappeared less often after my father ghosted us, but she was always sad. Sadder than usual, anyway.

She’d curl into bed behind me and wrap her arms around my little body, holding me against her chest while I lay there stiff and confused, never knowing what I was supposed to do with affection when someone gave it to me. It always felt foreign. Wrong.

But in those few stolen moments, I could almost see another life waiting for us. One where she wasn’t constantly strung out and chasing after a married man who only ever used her as a hole to fill.

One where maybe we knew how to wield love as something other than a weapon.

The memory disappears as quickly as it came.

I stare at Jersey, fingers still twitching at my sides.

Fuck it.

I slide in underneath the sheets behind her, my arm banding around her waist to pull her flush against me. Her body tenses at first, and so does mine. Then, with a sleepy exhale, she melts against me.

Something in my chest goes strangely quiet. Her head fits perfectly beneath my chin, muscles slackening as her breathing evens out. The crisp citrus scent of my soap clings to her skin, mixing with something distinctly her, and for once there’s no restless fucking itch beneath mine. Just this strange and unfamiliar calm.

Somehow, it feels fucking right.

I should leave, but I can’t.

I shouldn’t sleep, but I do.

“Did you see the new assignment on Exchange?” Slade asks, absently scrolling on his phone rather than actually spotting me on the weight bench.

“Not interested,” I grumble, dropping the bar back onto the rack before curling up to sit.

I woke up well-rested, filled with this buzzing energy that needed an outlet. I hadn’t planned to come back to the compound quite yet, but Jersey will be fine at the cabin on her own. I fucked her into a coma– she was still out cold when I left, and even if she comes to, I doubt she’ll try to run again. If she does, an alert from my security system will prevent her from getting far.

“Oh, I think you’ll be interested in this one,” Slade muses.

I hold out my hand with a huff, and he slaps his phone into my waiting palm. When I glance down to read the screen, my jaw instantly tightens.

Repossession of Asset A311.

The dollar amount attached to it is ludicrous, and I quickly find it’s because she’s been reclassified to black tier.

“Came in this morning,” Slade says, sliding another weight plate onto the bar and adjusting the pin. “The guys have been talking about it.”