* JACKSON'S P.O.V*

I stood staring at the door leading to the bathroom for far too long. The water's running in the shower. Good. I need to leave before she gets out but—what is this feeling in my chest?

I've...never felt that before.

The shower stopped. Damn, I gotta leave now. She's been in there for about an hour I don't know why I just stood staring at her door. Thinking about the past thinking about all the moments we shared...I wish we had some more.

I frowned down at the note I wrote her with instructions and peek at the bathroom door one last time before slipping out into the hallways.

First things first, I thought, Supplies ...and maybe some coffee.

I can't stay in this Hotel any longer because i'm certain Ashley is going come sprinting through our room any second. I see the owner of the Hotel on the first floor and approach him.

"Frank" I spoke in what Ashley likes to call my 'Mafia Voice'. My eyes shut sharply, there's that feeling again.

" S-Sir?" Frank is a short round guy who likes gambling and stippers a little more than his wife and twin daughters —who will become whores from The Girls Room when they turn 18. He smells like bacon.

"In about fifteen minutes a young girl with dark hair and slightly tan skin will franticly run out here..."

~~~

I threw the empty coffee container into the trash and pop my the trunk. Quickly I pull off my shirt which began sticking to my body when it started drizzling. The woman in the parking lot next to me blush a dangerous red. It makes me think of her again.

Ignoring the looks I throw on a black tank and my leather Jacket, it has a hood so I can be discreet if need be. I always wear black shoes but I change into my fighting boots. Looking around I make sure no one's paying attention before slipping a handgun in my waistband and moving the case with my weapons to the front —I have a feeling this is going to be a full blown war.

My phone vibrates and I ignore it.

My chest aches again. Am I sick?

I slip on my black gloves with the fingers cut out and tilt my head so my aviators drop over my eyes from its resting position on my head.

I touch my skull tattoo for good luck and push back the feeling in my chest one last time before revving my engine covering the onlookers in smoke.

" Sorry ladies!," I yelled. " It's a racecar"

They smile through their concerning coughs.

I connect my bluetooth and a cop who was just grabbing lunch —by the look of the box of doughnut he's holding— glances at my car then the sign that says speed limit 35. I'm going 70. He looks a way.

" Good boy Markus" I mutter to myself. Another one who's in debt to the Mafia unfortunately. Or is it fortunate that even higher ups have secrets they'll turn a blind eye to keep?

" Bring her home Jackson" Jeff snaps as a greeting to my phone call.

" Is Aiden okay?" I grit my teeth.

He laughs. " Are you crazy? did you really think I would kill my own men? no...he'll be punished —so will you— but Jackson i'm sick...really sick and you will take over so I can't kill you for defiling my daughter"

I say nothing.

" My fault really, for not training everyone as well as I trained you" he continued.

" You call that training?," I yell. " I suffered because of y—"

" No, you naive boy" He wheezes. " You...I have to tell you the truth before I die. Come to me my successor. You know where I am."

The line goes blank and i'm left to wonder. Is he really dying? but how? was he in battle? The only time he's ever been to the hospital was...

Holy. Shit.

" Vanilla bean," I breathe. " I am so sorry"

I've been cruising on these roads way too long. Skipping past cars I slip onto the highway.

I accelerate to 100.

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