Dishonoring Jack

Chapter Forty Two

Jack skidded onto the cobblestone streets when she was shoved, the rough stone scraping her skin raw as she landed hard on her shoulder. Bam. The gun went off. Jack squeezed her eyes shut at the sound for just a moment, an echo of all of her nightmares about Donovan's death. No. This couldn't happen now, not after she had finally found a way to save him. Jack rolled over on her back. Maybe he wasn't dead, she reasoned. Perhaps the bullet had caught him in the arm or the leg. When Jack looked over to where Donovan and Max had faced each other only moments ago, there was a body on the ground, but it wasn't Donovan's.

Max Slate had crumpled to the ground, his revolver discarded at his side, and a fresh bullet wound in his chest oozed red blood. Jack's eyes leapt from Max's body to Donovan, who remained standing in front of him, breathing hard. His hands hung empty by his sides, formed into fists. Jack clambered to her feet and her eyes scanned the crowd that had retreated from the scene though they watched with widened eyes. No gun.

Words came back to her: "This won't end until one of them is dead." She thought of Julius and the story he told her about his son's unjust execution, his quiet rage and impotence. She remembered him saying that he would hide on the roof of the newspaper with a gun just in case things went awry, which she had taken at the time to be a joke. Her eyes shifted to the newspaper building, but she could see nothing. There was no evidence of who had shot Titus, but Jack knew, and her heart swelled with gratitude. Julius.

Slowly the shock wore off from the crowd; they inched closer, and Jack awoke from her paralysis and looked to Donovan. The fists he had formed relaxed, and she saw a sadness on his face that she hadn't expected. How could he be sad, after everything Slate had done to them? How could he grieve the death of his greatest enemy? But when Jack looked at Max, crumpled on the ground with no life in his dark, shifting eyes, she understood. Donovan hadn't wanted him to die; he hadn't wanted anyone to die, but now all three of the Slate brothers and Titus were dead because of this undying hunger for greed and revenge. Jack hated Max Slate, but she had had enough death.

Donovan's eyes, webbed at the corners, turned to look at Jack as if finally remembering he and Max weren't alone, and he attempted a smile. His full lip was still split from the kidnapping, and he moved with the stiffness of a man twice his age thanks to the burns that riddled his body, but he was alive. Still, in his final moments when he thought Max was going to kill him, he pushed Jack out of the way. As much as Donovan's disregard for his own safety angered Jack, she now saw it for what it was: pure selflessness. Undying love.

He moved towards Jack with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and for the first time since they'd met just a few months earlier, nothing stood in his way. Jack felt an unfamiliar wave of anxiety. Would he still want her after everything that had happened, all of their arguments and disagreements, every time she disregarded her opinion? But there was no doubt in Donovan's eyes as he moved towards Jack and reached for her, pulling her against his chest. Jack clung to him, soaking in the moment that had been so absent since their fight and Donovan's days in the jail. His arms encircled Jack, and for a moment she forgot about all of it, everything that had filled her mind for the past months. It evaporated as Donovan held her, his hands clenching the loose material of her dress at her waist.

"Jack," he whispered. "You should have let me go."

Jack held him tighter, her head in the crevice between his shoulder and his jaw. She could never have let him go, and now she never would. They were free--finally--and Jack planned to hold on as tight as ever.

"Why would I do something that stupid?" Jack said, and she felt Donovan's chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"I should have known better," he said.