The Broken One (Falcon Falls Security, #2)

by Brittney Sahin

Ella’s bright red lips parted to show her white teeth, one front tooth a tiny bit bigger than the other. An “imperfection,” as she liked to call it, but to him, she was perfection, currently wrapped in a tight dress. Sharing a room with his best friend’s little sister would not be perfect or ideal though.

He thought back to when she’d walked out of the bathroom in her outfit for the evening and did a little twirl. She’d called the one-shoulder dress she’d designed “New York candy apple red.” More like “siren” red, drawing the eyes of everyone with a pulse that night. And damn, did her dress have to have a bow at the waist? With Christmas next week, he’d thought a dozen times how much he’d like to unwrap her. But he wasn’t just any man. At least, he wasn’t the man she thought he was. And she wasn’t just any woman. She was a Hawkins. His best friend’s sister. Plus, she had three other brothers.

“Well, I guess I’m adding, ‘Keep Ella from drinking too much’ to my list of responsibilities tonight.” Jesse shook his head and took a small sip, deciding he ought to stay as sober as possible to keep an eye on the firecracker. Hell, it was the real reason he’d booked the last-minute flight to accompany her to New York for the weekend. Rory knew damn well he wouldn’t want Ella going to the big city alone. According to Rory, no one else was available to go with Ella. Yeah, he’d called bullshit from a mile away, and he was pretty sure he and Ella were being set up. Everyone in town, aside perhaps from the Hawkins brothers, had been rooting for them to get together for as long as he could remember.

He knew if he looked into her clear-as-an-Alabama-blue-sky-day eyes even for a split second, that it didn’t matter how shitty the lighting was in that club, she’d be able to read him. He’d done his best to be as unreadable as possible over the years when it came to how he felt about her, how he really felt about her—and for some reason, at that moment, his mask had slipped free.

“You okay? I feel like I lost you for a second.” “You never lost me,” he murmured. “You’ll always have me.” “What?” She stepped forward, a hand going to his bicep. “I didn’t hear you.”

In thirty seconds, head to the bar and tell that woman and the bartender about her drink and that they’ll find the man unconscious in the bathroom. They can call the police.” “Jesse.” Ella grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed. A request to back down? When he met her eyes, she let go of a shaky breath and relented. “Okay.”

He stood alongside her and removed his hand from her back. “Rory planned this, didn’t she?” Ella whispered a few minutes later. “Her birthday was recently, so I thought she meant this to be a Christmas-slash-birthday celebration weekend, but the stomach bug is fake, isn’t it?” “I’m thinking so,” he answered honestly, and she turned to face him, her cheeks becoming rosier the longer they stayed out in the cold. “Why does she keep trying to set us up?” When he didn’t reply, because what would he say, she went on, “Rory’s my best friend. She knows you’ve rejected me on a few occasions, so I don’t know why she keeps pressing the idea we’ll end up together. You don’t see me that way.” Her tone was soft, a little sad. And it broke his heart. “Reject you? When did I . . .” He cupped his jaw, trying to sort through the past, searching through blurry memories. He’d worked hard to forget a lot of shit, including all the pain and suffering he’d witnessed in the war. “You talking about the kiss, and well, the other thing?” Your virginity. She nodded, her eyes moving to his hand still settled on his jaw.

“That wasn’t rejection,” he finally spoke his thoughts, feeling the need to defend himself. “I asked you to be my first kiss. You said no.”

“It sure felt like rejection to me.” Ella shrugged. “And by the way, I was drunk because you were enlisting.” As he processed her admission, a strange, achy sensation filled his gut, then he muttered, “You were still too young. And also, a Hawkins.”

“Is that how you’ll always see me? A Hawkins?” No, in his eyes, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. With the biggest heart on the planet. He saw her as so much more than he could possibly put into words, and yeah, maybe she was far too special and too sweet for him . . . but that still wasn’t what held him back. This wasn’t some fairy tale where he was only mistaken as the villain, and the princess would somehow turn Jesse back into the prince she deserved.

“Regardless, there were a lot of reasons for me to behave, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want you. That I rejected you.” Fuck. Was that the first time in his life he admitted to this woman he had wanted her? Was that the first time he’d let the words slip free from his normally locked lips?

“Okay.” Her soft voice floated into the crisp December air. “I think I’d like to go back to the hotel. I’m tired.” She faked a smile, one lacking her teeth. “I didn’t have a nap like you did.” “Ella,” he called out after her since she’d barely finished her words before starting to walk away. He’d messed up. Somehow ruined her night. And he’d be getting an earful from his sister via text in the morning. But more importantly, he hated seeing Ella sad. “Ella,” he said again once catching up with her. When she spun around to face him, she had tears in her eyes and didn’t that make him feel like an asshole. “It’s the cold air making them water.” She swiped at her cheeks, but the little break in her voice gave her away.

He forced his gaze back to her, then blinked in surprise to see her tossing her tee onto the bed. “Go ahead. Reject me again,” she whispered, standing boldly in only a red thong, and Jesse nearly cracked his back teeth as he clenched, resisting the urge to erase the space between them and take her into his arms. “For a third time. And I barely had anything to drink. I’m way over age. And you’ve been out of the Army for a few years. So, what excuse will you come up with this time to try and hide the fact you really just don’t want me?” Jesse’s gaze remained riveted to her full breasts that lifted when she inhaled sharply as if her nerves were catching up to her boldness. He turned to the side and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Every part of him wanted to take her. To make her his. To forget all the reasons why he knew he couldn’t be with her.

“Jesse, I’ve wanted you since as far back as I can remember. I’ve always wanted you, and you have to know that.” Any bit of sass was now buried beneath her soft voice. I want you too. I’ll always want you. But I can’t have you. “Then tonight would be a mistake,” he said while slowly turning at the feel of her hand on his arm. And he used every ounce of restraint he had to keep his eyes on her face. To not set his hands on her hips and work them around to her ass and squeeze. “Because I can’t be the man you need.” He shook his head, worried she was about to protest. “You deserve to be with someone whole, Ella Mae. And I’m about as broken as they come. Far too many pieces for me to ask you to try and help put me back together.”

“I can’t be with you,” he reiterated. “I don’t want you to try and fix me. To think I can be . . . fixed,” he added, stumbling through his words, feeling as though he might drown in those blue eyes of hers. “You have to promise me you’ll move on.” He didn’t want to think about that. To imagine her with any other man. But it was time she let go. Her. Rory. Everyone. They had to let go. “Please.” Ella closed her eyes, took a breath, but nodded. “I have to hear you say it. I need to look into your eyes when you do.” He had to make sure this night wouldn’t break her. Hurt her. He knew it’d fucking break him, but what difference would it make? He was already so fucked. Her lids slowly parted, and her blue eyes held his. “I promise. I’ll move on.”

Did his heartbeat quicken at the fact Thatcher knew this information? Not really. And was he surprised that Thatcher knew Jesse had recently joined a security firm? Nope. Or was he shocked by the fact Thatcher even knew the firm existed since there was zero online footprint? Hardly. This was Thatcher. Thatcher knew everything. It was his job to know everything.

He’d given almost five years to Thatcher. Five years too many. And for what? More buried secrets than he cared to think about, secrets he could never unearth. God, every time he looked Ella in the eyes, he felt like he deserved a bullet to the back of the head. Her pure heart would turn to dust if she knew all the things he’d done.

“If you’re back, you’re back with us. Your assignment is in there.” He tilted his head toward the 8x11 envelope and set the card on top of it. Thatcher’s order caused the blood to drain from Jesse’s face, but only for a moment. That short-lived fear was quickly replaced with a white-hot rage that burned through his entire body. “You agreed to let me walk if I gave you one more year. And I actually gave you eighteen months.” “You gave me those extra six months because Ella Hawkins got engaged,” Thatcher said smugly, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. Jesse had never shared that with the man, but Thatcher knew everything, so. After his weekend with Ella in New York City, Jesse had resolved to walk away from Thatcher and his job. To turn his cover story into his real story and learn to be the kind of man Ella deserved. But Thatcher made him give one more year of his life as a trade for getting “out” without complications. And over the course of that year, Ella had moved on, just as Jesse had instructed her to do. She’d announced her engagement exactly one year after their New York Christmas, which was two days before Jesse had planned to walk away from Thatcher.

“Take the file with you. I’ll burn it. I said I’m done, and I’m done.” Thatcher shook his head. “And if I told you what’s in that file is linked to the last assignment you took?” He paused, allowing Jesse a second to absorb the news. “Are you so stubborn you’re willing to put Ella’s life in danger?”

somehow a risk to Ella. Jesse picked up the envelope, and it trembled in his hand as he broke the seal. A manilla folder was inside, and when he scanned the contents, his breath hitched, and his entire body went cold. An overwhelming feeling of dread swelled within him. Death knocking on his door, there to collect his soul and take him back to his old life.

Jesse stirred frustration inside her when he was nearby, and anger was easier to manage than sadness. And whenever she looked at the man, her blood boiled. But when they were apart . . . It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Teacups. Candy corn,” Ella began, speaking to the bookshelf, “overly sweet-smelling perfume. Fake smiles. The Jetsons. And oh yeah, Jesse McAdams.” She worked up the nerve to turn and face her friends, catching a whiff of the espresso she desperately needed. “That’s my list of things I hate. Although, I think Jesse ranks above teacups.”

“We made a deal not to tell anyone. But yeah, it happened then. And only then,” Ella admitted, wanting to cross her arms, feeling a bit defensive. “Wow, okay. And here I thought you two had never even kissed,” Savanna said softly, blinking a few times. “Uhm, actually, we haven’t kissed.” Ella squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the reactions to come flying. But the café was eerily quiet. She hesitantly opened one eye to see Savanna and Rory sitting there like statues.

“Every time he’s shown me a shred of hope, he immediately yanks it away. It makes me crazy. And it’s why every other day I feel like . . . like I’m losing my mind.” She drew in a ragged breath and freed it, hoping to get rid of her negative energy along with it. “He keeps breaking my heart. Smashing it into pieces as if he wants me to be damn near as broken as he claims to be,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she sank onto the stool again. Her friends reached across the table, each taking one of Ella’s hands between their own. Savanna’s touch was gentle, like a mother comforting her child, while Rory’s grasp was firm and tight. Ella figured she was probably imagining her hand around Jesse’s neck. “I’m so sorry, and sorry you felt you couldn’t share this with us. I can’t imagine how difficult the last three years have been for you,” Savanna softly said. “Have you tried talking to him about what happened in New York?” Rory asked, still keeping a firm grip on Ella’s hand. “Or was that part of the deal? Not talk about it with each other either?” “Part of the deal. Not that I didn’t try to talk to him, but he refused to acknowledge it ever happened,” Ella whispered, worried her tears would escape. And Jesse didn’t deserve her tears. “He won’t be with you, but he doesn’t want you with anyone else.” Rory released her, leaned back, and tousled her hair.

“It’s my fault. I asked him to. I, um, pretty much threw myself at him.” Ella’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. “The rules were all my idea. Sex. As well as the deal to not talk about it afterward or to tell anyone. All my ideas. It sounds pathetic when I say it, but I wanted him so much. And I know it was a mistake. A horrible mistake, because what if I can’t ever move on? I tried and failed.” “Jesse shouldn’t have said yes,” Rory quickly replied. “He knew how you felt. He knew that no deal or pact, or whatever you want to call it, would change that. For either of you.” “All I know is that I’m thirty-five, and I’ve spent most of my life in love with a man who I can’t be with, and somehow, someway, I have to get over him.” She sniffled. “I really do hate him, even though . . .” I still love him.

“My mum moved abroad after marrying my British father. She remained a fan of all things Southern, and well, my parents are retiring in June on her birthday, and my father, sister, and I have decided to surprise Mum with a special project.” “A project,” Ella said under her breath, still clueless as to what that had to do with her. “We’re calling it, Hidden Gems of the South. It’ll be an event that takes place in Charleston, where she was born. My sister and I are personally picking out these gems since this is for our mum.” He opened his palm toward her. “We’re looking for Southern women who possess an excellent eye for fashion as well as have a certain look my mother would love.”

“And your face, my love, is rather iconic.” Love? How very British. “You’re a blonde Audrey Hepburn with the body of Marilyn Monroe. My mum would love you. And your day job is a teacher.” His smile stretched, showing a dimple. “You are perfect.”

Henry took a sip of the espresso and tipped a nod of approval to Savanna. “My team will need you for the months leading up to the event. We’d like to have you design and showcase some of your own pieces. You’ll be working side by side with our people in Paris in preparation for the fashion show and Mum’s party. You’ll not only wear the designs in Charleston for the party, but they’ll be featured in our magazine and on our lifestyle blogs and such. You’ll also be on the cover of Mum’s final magazine in June along with the other five gems.” The cover. With Elizabeth Rochella. Did her heart just stop?

“Paris?” Ella sputtered, not sure if she actually heard anything he’d said correctly. Henry casually nodded as if this were no big deal. “We’ll need you there next week. The other five gems we selected will be arriving then as well.” “I’m just . . .” Ella turned to look at her best friends, who stared at her with equally stunned expressions. This isn’t real, is it? “We’d pay you for your time and designs, of course,” he commented. “Would you like me to give you the amount in private or?” “You can talk in front of them,” she said softly while facing him again. “Three hundred K. But we’d own your designs. Sell them worldwide. With possibilities to buy more down the road.” “Three hundred thousand dollars?” Ella almost choked on her words.

“The playground.” Ella swallowed. “The school needs a new one, and it’s over thirty grand. And the iPads are old.” She ran through a list of all the things she could buy for her school that lacked the budget to do so. “You’d spend your money at your place of employment?” he asked, sounding as shocked about that as she was at his offer. “You really are a hidden gem.” He offered his hand, and she tucked the business card in her pocket to accept it. “I’m not saying yes,” she said while his big, warm hand enveloped hers. “Just maybe.”

“Have a good day, ladies. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Ella Mae.” At the sound of her middle name rolling from his British tongue, she nearly melted. But then a twinge of guilt that had no right to be there cut through her. Because pretty much only her brothers or Jesse called her Ella Mae, and not all of the time, but when Jesse did it . . . I’m not Jesse’s. He’s not mine. And five or six months in Paris felt like not just the chance of a lifetime, but her opportunity to finally move on from Jesse.

“Just tell me something.” Her mom stepped forward and secured a hand around Ella’s jean-jacket-covered arm. “Are you hesitating because you think Jesse will finally get his head out of his rear end and kiss you if you stay?” “Tell me how you really feel,” Ella said with a laugh, more so to hide the pain that threatened to creep into her tone. “I think that ship has sailed, Mom. He’s never gonna come around.”

“You can’t exactly throw a stone anywhere in this town without hitting someone who thinks you two should be married. Or that it should have been Jesse’s ring on your finger instead of Brian’s,” her mom went on. “I don’t think that ship has sailed, sweetheart. I just think Jesse is moving slower than what even us Southerners would define as slow.” She frowned this time. “He refused to watch you marry Brian. The look on his face when he stormed out of the rehearsal dinner said volumes.”

“I think you should go to Paris. Give Jesse some time to miss you.” “The man has had more than half his life to miss me. Fourteen years in the Army, and even when he left the military and returned home, he was always coming and going.” She wasn’t sure where he disappeared to from time to time, but he always came back. And then, coincidence maybe, Jesse’s weird disappearance acts stopped the day Ella called off the wedding.

“Jesse didn’t have an easy life growing up,” her mom abruptly announced. “And you know his dad basically forced him into the Army at eighteen.” There was something in her mom’s eyes that said she knew more than she was letting on. “What is it?” Ella lowered her hand from Lady and closed the bit of space between her and her mom. “Rory would have said something if . . . well, if there was something to say.” She gulped, searching her brain for childhood memories that would’ve been a red flag for this “not an easy life” Jesse might have experienced.

“Ella, this is important.” Jesse’s growly voice stole her attention from the past. “I have something important to share too. But you can hear the news at supper with everyone else.” At that moment, she had two choices. Go to Paris until June or stay in Alabama and pine for a man who’d never commit. So, she’d accept Henry’s offer and somehow make the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity work with her teaching job. “What news? Tell me now.” There was desperation in his voice, and it was only then that she noticed something was off. More off than normal too. He looked . . . scared. That wasn’t a look she was used to seeing him wear. He approached her mare again, and Ella was grateful the stables were empty of any of the ranch hands right now. Or her brothers.

Of course, Jesse was barebacking it. No saddle. Jesse had the skills to ride like that, but it’d quickly fatigue both him and the horse. Right now, she cared a lot more about the horse than the jerk riding him. “What do you think, Lady? Do we stop and see what that jackass wants?” At least her anger was back. Her preferred mood when dealing with said jackass. Ella slowed and had Lady quickly turn and stop in her tracks to face Jesse closing in on them. “You act like I’m in danger. I grew up around cowboys. I know how to ride,” she said once he closed the gap. “I’m safe.” “No, you’re not safe,” he damn near barked out, and why did she get the feeling he wasn’t talking about riding right now.

“Did Rory tell you about Paris?” Ella sputtered. “Did she tell you about Henry?” That had to be why he was acting like a lunatic. Maybe Rory had an angry encounter with her brother, and it accidentally slipped out? “Paris?” Jesse slowly pulled his hand back, removed his hat, and clutched it to his chest as if he’d just learned someone had unexpectedly died, a solemn look crossing his face. Until that look transformed into one of anger. “Who the hell is Henry?” Ella let go of a deep exhalation, patted Lady’s neck, and swung her right leg over the saddle to step down. But when Jesse’s hands landed on her hips to assist her, she went still. “Please don’t touch me,” she said softly. Her anger had suddenly morphed into uncertainty, and she hated that it made her sound weak. Jesse released her and waited for her to face him. “I need to know what you’re talking about now. Not at supper.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you of all people ought to know you lost the right to even offer your input into my life a long time ago.” Keep your shit together. Don’t let him see your tears. He’s not worth it. “As of today,” he continued, his ice-blue eyes trained on her face, “I’m in charge of your safety. Every move you make will be subject to my approval. And you’re sure as hell not going to Paris. End of story.”

“You’re not in charge of me in any aspect. You don’t get to tell me what to do. And I am going to Paris. End of fucking story.” “Ella Mae,” he said through clenched teeth as he reached out and cupped her chin, “you don’t have any idea what I’m capable of, and you don’t want to find out.”

“Why would I care what Jesse thinks?” Ella finally answered A.J. “You guys will meet Henry Rochella at the New Year’s Eve party. Hopefully, that will ease your Paris-worries.” Ella made prayer hands. “Just please don’t scare him. No interrogations.” Shep and A.J. exchanged a quick look that said it all. They had every intention of giving the billionaire the third degree.

Before A.J. had a chance to toss back a response that’d most likely piss Ella off, the kitchen door swung open, and Jesse was there with his gaze sharp on Ella. That fierce intensity set in his blue eyes had her gulping. “A.J.,” Jesse began, even though he’d yet to rip his focus from Ella, “I need to talk to you. Now.”

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Had he accepted the job? Yes and no. He told Thatcher he’d handle the problem but that he’d be acting independently from the Agency. No longer would he take kill orders without participating in the intelligence-gathering process. Not

“I gathered as much.” A.J. set his back to the side of his truck and folded his arms. They’d been best friends for as long as Jesse could remember, but would that friendship come to a crashing end tonight? “This have anything to do with Ella and Paris?” Jesse stood before him, leaving enough space between them so that if A.J. came at him swinging, he’d have a chance to duck. Or maybe I let him hit me?

Jesse swept his gaze left and right, searching for anyone outside, but from the looks of it, they were alone. “She can’t go to Paris. But that’s not what I have to tell you.” “Can’t, huh?” A.J.’s question was steeped in suspicion. The man could sense this was more than Jesse being possessive of Ella. “You know that big secret you’ve been keeping from everyone? That you didn’t really retire as a SEAL, and you run clandestine ops for POTUS?” Jesse let go of an uneasy breath, and A.J. straightened, his body going ramrod straight now. This was the first time Jesse confessed he knew the secret A.J. hadn’t revealed. “I’ve kept a secret myself.”

A.J. took a slow step forward, his eyes pinned to Jesse’s face. Clearly stunned Jesse knew his secret and most likely nervous about whatever Jesse was about to share. “From the time I got out of the Army up until July of last year, well, I worked for the CIA.” God, this was not how he planned to spill this news to his best friend. Actually, he’d never anticipated telling A.J. his secret, like he assumed A.J. hadn’t planned on telling him his. “But not in the typical sense. I wasn’t an agent or an officer.” “I’m sorry?” A.J. tilted his head, a confused look on his face, like Jesse had just spoken Klingon or something. “You’re going to have to spell this out for me. Because I’m sure I didn’t hear you right.” Jesse massaged the knot lodged between his neck and shoulder. “The CIA only used me for specific assignments. That’s why I’d come and go from here.” The words he was avoiding were stuck in his throat. Because, in all honesty, he felt sick whenever he stopped to think about who he’d been. What he’d done. “Were you working with DO or SAD?” A.J. sputtered the acronyms for the two elite clandestine arms within the Agency—Directorate of Operations and the Special Activities Division. “Neither. Well, I guess you could say I was sort of part of SAD. But I wasn’t with Ground Branch.”

The truth of it was, Jesse was more like a CIA ghost. A few top-secret clearance levels above the others in that division. A.J. closed the space between them and set a hand to Jesse’s chest as realization hit. “All that stuff Savanna was talking about the day you fought off those men in her place back in October. How you killed that guy in a heartbeat. She said you had moves like John Wick. I know you’re a good fighter, but I thought she was exaggerating.” A.J. dropped his hand from Jesse’s chest and took a step back. “You’re a fucking hitman? An assassin?” Jesse cursed under his breath, hating the way those words sounded coming from his best friend, especially when they were drenched in disappointment. “Surely you know the CIA has people like . . .” Me. “I’m not that guy anymore. Like I said, I quit last year. I was in for a little less than five years.” “Five years of contract killing is still five years of killing,” A.J. said in a low, steady tone. “I don’t understand why. How.” The look in his eyes damn near shredded Jesse. His best friend served as a mirror right about now. The expression cutting across his face was exactly how Jesse felt whenever he eyed his own reflection. Unworthy of . . . Ella. Extremely un-fucking-worthy of that woman with a pure heart.

“Fuck, Jesse. Why are you telling me now?” Jesse expected to be punched in the face any second, and he’d let his best friend (a friendship probably about to end) pummel him to his heart’s content. “My old boss paid me a visit today. Demanded I take one last job. I initially thought it was just because he heard I was working with Falcon, and that’s why he wanted me back. But then I opened the target package he left behind.” A.J. swiveled his way in the space of a heartbeat. “Target package,” he practically breathed out. “All this time, I thought you were making furniture, but you’ve been killing people.” His hands converted to fists at his sides, his jaw set in an angry line. “Who’s the target? What does the spook want you to do?”

Jesse quickly explained, dreading the moment when he reached the part that’d have A.J.’s head exploding. And punching him the way Jesse had torn apart the wall in his workshop earlier. “What went wrong?” A.J. asked, obviously aware there was yet another shoe to drop. Jesse scratched his jaw, the scruff he’d let grow for weeks rough beneath his palm. “The hit went down a week before Ella was to marry Brian. I may have been a little off my game. Distracted,” he admitted, not for the first time, though he’d never said the words aloud. “I hit my target as planned, but what I didn’t know until this morning because I quit after that day is that he didn’t die.” Jesse’s heart thudded furiously. “The day of the hit, his men had rushed him away. His people must have bypassed normal medical help and taken him off the grid. Most likely in a coma.” “Let me guess, he woke up,” A.J. grumbled. “I don’t know when or for sure what happened, but it’d stand to reason that’s why he’d lain low. He’d been, well, asleep.” “Get to the part that’s going to make me lose my mind,” A.J. gritted out.

“When I shot my mark, another shot rang out, killing the man’s wife. There was a second shooter.” “Please don’t tell me that this conversation is going to somehow connect to my fucking sister.” A.J. lunged toward Jesse, an angry, menacing look pointed his way. Just get this over with. “The Bulgarians used us to take this guy out, and for whatever reason, they wanted the wife dead, too, but they knew the Agency would refuse that hit,” Jesse explained what Thatcher had told him. “But they had a second shooter there at the same time. Most likely to make it look like I killed them both. Of course, they denied