The stairs creaked as I climbed to Lizzie's second-floor apartment, fire building inside me.
I remembered her pale skin, her small perky breasts, that beautiful face any man would want to possess. The old Jack had indulged but never satisfied her, never taken control the way she wanted.
Now my intentions were different. To dominate. To own. To make her surrender willingly.
She opened the door in a lace outfit that left little to the imagination.
Our eyes met. She knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Drinks?" she asked as I walked in.
"Yes. A drink would be nice."
We clinked glasses as our gazes met over the rim. The tension thickened between us, unspoken but undeniable.
The haze of lust peaked. I set my glass down, closed the distance, and grabbed her hard—easily hoisting her into my arms. I kissed her like I was trying to devour her soul through her mouth, claiming what I wanted.
Our tongues clashed, both desperate, both surrendering to the raw need between us.
She wrapped her legs around my waist as I pressed her against the wall, her breath hitching as I kissed down her neck, biting hard enough to make her gasp.
My hands roamed her body—one sliding up to grip her throat gently, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers, the other pulling at the lace until it tore away.
She moaned into my mouth, arching against me, and I could feel how wet she already was through the thin fabric.
"Jack," she breathed, her voice breaking with need, and I tightened my grip slightly, watching her eyes go hazy with desire.
I wanted her to remember this—remember who was in control now.
I carried her to the bed and threw her down, watching as she looked up at me with that mix of anticipation and surrender that made my blood pound.
I stripped off my shirt, unbuckled my belt, and she bit her lip, spreading her legs in invitation.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, skin still flushed and damp with sweat.
Lizzie was draped across my chest, her breathing finally slowing, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my ribs.
The room smelled like sex and cigarettes—hers, not mine.
She looked up at me with those dark eyes, something softer there now, something almost vulnerable.
"You really are different," she whispered, voice still rough.
I ran my hand through her hair, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle between us.
This wasn't just release anymore. This was leverage. Connection. She'd given herself over completely, and we both knew it.
"Told you I was better," I said quietly, and she laughed—a low, satisfied sound that vibrated against my chest.
For a moment, Birmingham felt far away. But only for a moment.
Because even here, in the warmth of her bed, my mind was already turning. Already calculating what came next.
Lizzie shifted, propping herself on one elbow, cigarette glowing between her fingers.
"So what is it you actually want, Jack?" she asked—like she knew it wasn't just the sex.
"I've got an office now," I said. "A proper one. I'll be doing legitimate business soon. Paperwork. Phones. Messages. Men coming and going. And I need someone behind the desk who can read a room and keep their mouth shut."
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
"You want a secretary," she said, half amused.
"I want you," I replied, simple.
Lizzie let the smoke out slow.
"And what happens to me, then? I just… stop?"
"You stop," I said. "No more standing around waiting for some drunk to think he owns you. You'll have a wage. You'll have a key. You'll have my name on you as protection."
She watched me for a long beat, weighing it like every other deal she'd ever been offered.
"And the price?" she asked quietly.
I leaned in just enough for her to feel the meaning behind my words.
"If I'm paying to keep you safe, you're not belonging to half of Small Heath," I said. "You're with me. Exclusive. You work for me, you live clean, and if anyone bothers you—anyone—then they answer to me."
Lizzie's mouth twitched. Not scared. Not shy. Just sharp.
"And what do I get besides safety?" she said. "Because I'm not your charity, Jack."
"You'll get paid," I said. "Proper. More than this. And you'll be looked at different. You'll be close to the work—close to decisions. You'll never have to go back."
She held my gaze a moment longer, then nodded once—slow, like she'd decided it was her idea.
"Alright," she said. "Secretary, then."
I let out a quiet breath. "Good."
She tapped ash into a saucer and looked at me sideways.
"But if your 'legitimate business' is just another lie men tell women to keep them sweet…"
"It isn't," I said.
Lizzie smiled like she didn't fully believe anyone—but she wanted to.
"Then we'll see," she murmured. "Won't we?"