38. Hotel Rooms, Knives, and Bullets

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Crystal's POV

"Are you even helping?" I hissed out between clenched teeth as I struggled to hold up Branson's weight.

"Are you going to believe whatever answer I give you?" Jackson questioned.

I turned to peer around Branson's body and glared at Jackson. Each of us had one of Branson's arms thrown over our shoulders and we were trying-unsuccessfully thus far-to get him to the hotel room.

His hotel room. Not ours. Jackson did have some brains after all, thank god.

Noah had ditched us to return the ambulance before anyone noticed it was gone. Personally, I thought he was just avoiding having to help carry Branson's dead weight.

"This plan of yours better work," I muttered as I continued to trudge forward with Branson.

"I give you my word," Jackson said.

I let out a scoff. "Oh yes," I said sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better. That totally solves everything."

"I'm sensing some hostility."

"Just shut up," I said.

"And deprive you of my sweet voice?"

I wanted to hit him. Actually, I wanted to shoot him, now that that option was back on the table. "Your voice isn't all that great."

"The lady at the front desk seems to think so."

"I still don't know how to talked your way around this," I grumbled as I thought back to when we were trying to get Branson through the lobby.

"I'm a charming person."

"That can't be it."

Jackson laughed as we maneuvered Branson onto the elevator.

I turned to look at Jackson once more. "In your infinite wisdom, you didn't think to get a hold of a wheelchair, a luggage cart, or anything to move him."

Jackson was eerily quiet.

I looked at him questioningly. "Well?" I pressed.

"If I'm being honest-" He started.

"I already know I'm not going to like this answer."

"-I didn't think we'd actually manage to get him tonight."

I shot him another glare. "Are you kidding me? So what you mean to tell me is that you're completely unprepared."

"I did not say that."

"Close enough."

"You really need to get laid."

That comment threw me off so much, I nearly tripped over my own feet and dropped Branson as we stepped off the elevator.

"Excuse me?" I questioned incredulously.

"You heard me," Jackson stated. "You need a distraction. Need to release some of that pent-up tension."

"And a massage wouldn't do that?"

"Babe," Jackson said seriously. "that would not be nearly as much fun."

"We're dragging an unconscious killer to an empty hotel room after drugging him and putting his little . . . psychotic friend in the hospital and you're thinking about getting laid? I'm really beginning to question your sanity."

Jackson laughed loudly. "You're only just now beginning to question my sanity?"

I grimaced. "Fair point," I muttered as we arrived at Branson's room.

Jackson took on Branson's full weight long enough for me to kick the door open. We dragged him in and then deposited him unceremoniously into an armchair.

I sucked in a deep breath and then let it out as I looked at Branson. Even though he was unconscious-and appeared to be snoring-my skin was crawling from being that close to him. I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. And I really didn't want to be around when he woke up.

Jackson's hand suddenly grabbed hold of my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I had been so focused on Branson, I'd forgotten Jackson was there.

"Go," Jackson said.

I looked around. "Go where?" I questioned.

He shrugged. "To the bar. To the room. Your home. I don't care which," He said. He locked eyes with me. "You held up your end of the bargain. So you can take your SD card and leave."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Just like that?" I asked him. "You're letting me walk away just like that?"

"I'm a man of my word," He said but he was no longer looking at me. His gaze was intently focused on Branson. "I said you could walk away after you'd helped to track down Branson and you have. So I no longer need your services."

I crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "It really is that easy?" I questioned. "And you're not going to tell my father about what I've been doing?"

He glanced at me briefly out of the corner of his eyes. "I will not breathe a word of your intentions to anyone," He stated. "not your father, or anyone else."

I continued to look at him doubtfully.

He must have felt my stare burning a hole in the side of his head, noticed that I didn't move, or was just actually a mind reader because he turned back to me.

"Is there something else you wanted to say?" He asked me. The look in his eyes was intense. He watched me closely, focus now solely on me. But there was a look in his eyes. Like he wanted me to say something, but at the same time, he was silently begging me not to.

I finally shook my head. "No," I replied. "I'm just surprised is all." I stared back at him, my eyes locked on his. "Is there something you wanted to say?"

For a moment, just a moment, I saw something in his eyes. On his face. Noticed how his eyes lingered on my lips for a split second before moving back to mine. And then, like I'd seen nearly every other time Jackson Storm got just a little human, the guarded look came back over his face.

He shut down. His walls went up. I could see it in his eyes as he pulled away, and I hadn't even noticed he'd moved closer. I don't think he did either. I could see it in the way he tensed up. How he began to turn his body away from me.

His gaze strayed away, over my shoulder and a look of alarm crossed over his face. I was grabbed, pulled into him as he spun us around, but evidently not fast enough.

Something sliced into my arm and I let out a hiss of pain. I was shoved into the wall behind Jackson and I turned to look just in time to see Jackson catch Branson's wrist as he tried to stab the knife into the side of Jackson's neck.

I watched as Jackson ducked under Branson's arm, still holding on his wrist, twisting the arm painfully behind his back, and then slamming Branson into the nearest wall.

"Now would be a good time to pull out your gun," Jackson growled as he struggled to hold on to Branson.

Branson's leg kicked out, hitting Jackson in the shin. Jackson swore but kept his hold on Branson until Branson threw his head back and it collided with Jackson's face.

Jackson's grip let up as he clutched at his nose, and in the next second, he was on the ground with Branson peering over him.

I pulled my gun and turned the safety off as Branson turned to me. I aimed it at his chest as he began moving toward me.

I'd never actually killed anyone. That was true. And maybe later I'd feel bad about taking a life . . . though, I doubted it. Right now it was him or me and I was choosing me. To hell with whatever Jackson wanted from him.

He could invest in an Ouija board and get answers out of Branson after I killed him.

Except, when I pulled the trigger, there was only a clicking noise. No bullet.

I barely managed to duck under Branson as he swung a knife right where my head had previously been. I grabbed the lamp from the nearby table and shattered it against his head.

He let out a hiss of pain but continued to swing the knife out at me. I jumped to the side, away from the wall, and continued to dodge his strikes.

I was so focused on the knife, that I didn't see his next blow coming until it was too late. His leg struck out and swept my legs out from under me. I fell backward into the wooden coffee table which broke under the sudden weight.

In the next second, Branson was looming over me, the knife coming down straight toward my face. I brought my arms up and caught his just before the knife would have gone into my eye.

He was stronger than me though-by a lot-and I struggled to keep him from bringing the knife down any further.

I wanted to let go. Just for a moment. To grab hold of something-anything. Probably a broken piece of the coffee table, but if I did, I'd be dead. Just as the tip of the knife touched my cheek, Branson was suddenly pulled off me.

I rolled away as they both struggled over the knife. I pushed myself to my feet and watched as Jackson and Branson continued to fight. Though the fight mostly consisted of Branson striking out and Jackson dodging. Since Jackson didn't have a weapon and Branson did. They moved further into the bedroom area as Jackson continued to dodge Branson's attacks.

Jackson pulled down one of the long curtains, and when Branson came at him with the knife again, Jackson wrapped Branson's arm up in the curtain like it was a rope. Once again he twisted Branson's arm around behind his back, only this time he managed to dislodge the knife from Branson's grasp.

Branson then brought up his leg and kicked Jackson in the chest. Jackson fell backward into the flimsy bathroom door, crashing through it onto the floor.

"Look out!" I shouted as Branson pulled a gun from the nightstand and began shooting.

I dove behind the couch nearby just as bullets sprayed up the wall where I had been standing. More bullets hit the couch and I ducked down lower.

I could hear footsteps. Could hear shouting from the hallways since you know, someone was shooting. And then the gunfire ceased.

I looked cautiously over the top of the couch. Branson was gone, the door to the hotel room was wide open, and the hotel room was a mess.

My heart was beating fast in my chest and I felt like if I tried to get up I would just fall over. So I stayed on the ground, with my back against the couch. I tried to get my breathing under control. Tried to steady my racing heart.

"You dead Conniving Bastard?!" I shouted.

"You wish."

I nearly jumped out of my skin and my heart started racing once again when his voice sounded right next to me. He came and sat next to me on the floor. I picked up the gun I'd discarded, aimed it at him, and pulled the trigger. Nothing but a clicking sound.

Jackson grimaced. "I may have forgotten to give you back the bullets."

"I really wish this thing was actually loaded."

"I'm sure you do."

I let out a sigh and rubbed at my head. "I thought you searched him for weapons."

"I did," Jackson said. "He pulled the knife from under the armchair. Must have had it stashed there."

I covered my face with my arm and just closed my eyes, wanting this to be over.

I hissed out a breath when Jackson poked at my arm. "Ow," I said.

"You're bleeding," He said as he held my arm surprisingly gentle in his hand.

I looked at him and then noticed something. "So are you," I said as I gestured to his arm.

He looked down at his arm and made a face as he pulled at the sleeve of his suit jacket. He frowned. "Well, now I have to throw this out. I liked this jacket."

"Your concern is for the jacket?"

He shrugged. "I heal. To my knowledge at least." He shook his head. "What a waste," He muttered as he continued to pick at the sleeve of the jacket.

"And here I thought I'd be the one to shoot you."

Jackson shook his head. "I didn't get shot," He said simply as he pushed to his feet. "So, there is still time for that." He winked before holding out a hand for me and I took it, allowing him to pull me up so I was standing beside him.

"I didn't realize he'd got you with the knife," I muttered as I looked at my own arm. There was blood yes, but not that much. It had already stopped bleeding. The wound wasn't that deep and if it wasn't so long I could have just slapped a small band-aid over it. Jackson's however, had soaked his jacket all around the wound and still appeared to be bleeding.

I let out a sigh. "Now what?" I questioned. "The police are likely on the way and Branson's in the wind." I grimaced as I glanced around the hotel room. "And this is . . . a disaster."

Jackson looked around at the destruction we had caused. The coffee table lay in splinters, the lamp shattered, the couch had bullet holes in it, the curtains had been torn from the hooks, there were several holes of various sizes in the walls, and the door to the bathroom was hanging on by one hinge.

"Well," He finally said. "This isn't our room, so I'm not seeing a problem." With that being said, he quickly grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me out of the room. "He's definitely not getting the deposit back on that."

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