Jackson's finger stopped at the corner of the jagged ridge, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. It wasn't the scar that bothered him. It was what the scar represented, the notion that one individual had the power to commit such a revolting act, to affect a person so entirely. He'd killed before. He had slaughtered more than he could count, checking each off on his to-do list because that was his job. To kill.

But he'd never been with a woman out of violence. He had never forced himself upon anybody. He'd pretended, he had made women think that he was capable of rape. But he had had to force himself to do so.

Looking down at the mark on Lisa Reisert's chest, Jackson wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. Disgust? Anger? And God how he hated to admit it, but…jealousy? Was he envious of some man who had had the experience of sex with this beautiful woman? Jackson refused to admit that he was feeling anything. He made an effort to wipe himself clean of any thoughts other than those about how this information would affect his job. So Lisa was a broken woman. Her early morning scrambled eggs, her cat lady persona, her hesitation to date, everything, everything that made her such a wonderfully fucked up person was because of this traumatic experience. In a way he wanted to kill the fucker because it made Jackson's job harder. Who knew what was going through Lisa's mind right now?

"So that's what it is," he murmured again, meeting her eyes. They had filled with tears. In all of his time watching her, he had never seen her cry. He'd thought she was stronger than that. She wriggled beneath him, grinding against his hips. Jackson was positive that she wasn't aware of how arousing the movement was. He closed his legs more tightly around her to keep her still. "You were raped."

"Don't," she whined. "Don't say that word."

"Well, what, Lisa?" he snapped, shaking her face with his hands. "What the fuck would you call it? I sure as hell don't call it a walk in a field full of flowers. Some asshole forced himself on you because he was a pig who wasn't good enough to get you to willingly sleep with him. He probably roofied you so much you didn't even know what your fucking name was."

Lisa just stared at him for a moment before looking away, watching the wall with a blank expression before squeezing her eyes shut. She clenched her lips together and shuddered deeply. "Am I right, Leese?" he muttered to her. She didn't want to talk about it, that much was clear. He wasn't sure why he was torturing her like this, other than that something within him was driving him to it. He wanted to watch her suffer. It did something for him. "Did you fight back? Could you have fought back?"

"Screw you," she whispered to him. Jackson refrained from any puns. "It's none of your goddamn business."

"Yes, it is," he corrected her. His grip slackened on her cheek, from a tight hold to a gentle caress. "Because you and I are going to get very intimate tonight, whether you like it or not."

Lisa made a small noise, a cross between a whimper and a sob, as her body went rigid beneath him. "Get off me. Get off me right now."

Jackson was not going to let her off this easily. "Tell me, Lisa, or we can lay like this all night. I don't know about you, but I'm perfectly comfortable. Did you fight him? Did you push at him like you're pushing at me?"

Another wave of fear crossed her eyes, disappearing as she tried to hide it. She was afraid that he was going to violate her. She'd already been hurt like that one time too many. "I-I didn't fight him, but…I could have. I wasn't drugged."

"Why didn't you fight him?"

Lisa opened her mouth to respond and then closed it, hesitating. He could tell she wanted to lie to him. She wasn't going to tell him the whole truth if she could avoid it. And she was a horrible liar.

Suddenly, she lifted her knee to his groin and slammed it against him. He had never been hit that hard. Dazed, he collapsed, white stars fluttering across his vision. He briefly clutched himself to make sure they were still attached as she bolted for the door. Jackson didn't know how he did it, but he managed to get to his feet and, his legs miles longer than hers, cut her off before she reached the knob.

He slammed her head off the wall, forcing her skull to collide brutally with the plywood several times before he decided he'd punished her enough. If this woman made it out of this apartment without brain damage he'd owe her a medal of endurance. Lisa screamed before Jackson could cover her small mouth with his hand. "Shut the fuck up," he whispered harshly to her. "I've had about enough of this from you. Why are you so afraid? What could I possibly do to you that hasn't been done before, hm? Kill you? That's not going to happen, Leese, not when we're this close to completing our goal."

"Our goal," she hissed bravely at him. "Our goal, right. Like killing Keefe is something we've endeavored to do forever. The only way you'll kill Keefe is if I die first."

"Those are awfully brave words for a woman in your predicament," Jackson told her. "You know, it's almost as if you don't care if your father dies."

Lisa froze, her voice wavering and slow. "Don't even pretend that you know what I'm going through. Don't act like you know how much I care about my father. Unlike you, Jack, I have a soul."

Jack. His father called him Jack. The name sent ripples of anger through Jackson's veins and without thinking his fingers formed a fist as he drove them into Lisa's stomach. She grunted and slid to the floor, clutching her abdomen. He kicked her once and then straddled her as she lay there, her eyelids fluttering and tears streaming down her face.

"I don't care about my father, Lisa? You know, you're probably right. You know why?"

She didn't respond, looking away from him. He gripped her chin and pulled her face to his, stretching her neck. "Answer me. Do you know why I have no fucking relationship with my father?"

She licked her lips. Blood had formed in a crack on her lip. "B-because he knows what a monster you are."

Jackson threw her back to the floor, holding her shoulders down so she couldn't wriggle. "No, Leese. I have no relationship with him because I killed him. I killed him way back when you were still probably playing with Barbie dolls because I knew what a filthy cocksucker he was and I wanted to save every other woman on the planet from him."

Lisa stared up at him. She looked almost drunk and ready to pass out. Her eyes were dilated and her mouth hung slightly open. He didn't want to think about the agony she was in right now. He actually didn't want to think at all. He wasn't thinking, and as he came to this revelation wanted to hit himself in the nuts again. He was letting his memories and his emotions take over. He wasn't used to being this out of control. Lisa didn't need to know his weaknesses. She didn't need to see him angry. He needed her to make that call, and he needed to not kill her before she could make it. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, which he thought would be a successful effort until she opened her mouth again. "Like father, like son. I'm sure he'd be so proud of his-"

That did it. Lisa lay on the floor, her tangled, messy auburn curls splayed out behind her like a puddle of blood, and all he could think of was his father when he'd shot him. Jackson pushed his lips against Lisa's, trying to shut her up, to get her to stop talking so he could think. He began to feel aroused, wondering if her punishment should continue further. She squirmed against him and bit his tongue. He dug into his jacket for his knife, pressing it against her milky white collarbone as he pulled his mouth away. Lisa sucked in a breath and stopped moving, stopped talking, stopped being Lisa.

"I don't….Jackson, please," she croaked, her voice husky from the kiss. Jackson didn't know if he could call it a kiss, not even in his mind. It certainly wasn't for Lisa. It was a warning, if anything at all. He took a deep breath but held the knife steady, pressing it slightly to her chest. "Please don't do this, please…"

She was begging. Why was she so terrified now? The knife?

"What's wrong, Leese?" he crooned, relieved to be in control again. "Afraid of this old thing? It's not that bad, I promise."

Lisa studied him, her eyes suddenly mournful. "That's….that's why I didn't fight back."

Jackson wasn't sure why he allowed it, but he suddenly felt guilty, more so for kissing her than for the knife. He was not a rapist. He could not allow himself to lose control. He opened his mouth to say something, not to apologize, but to offer gentler words, as a loud crash of thunder sounded outside. They were next to the window, so Jackson leaned forward to peer out at the coast. He was worried by what he saw. The water was rising, and it was rising fast. He made a quick decision. His Miami house was more landlocked than Lisa's. He could take her there to finish the job. All he needed was a phone call, and it didn't have to be made from Lisa's house. His brakes were not actually dead, as he'd led Lisa to believe, and he had four wheel drive that would hopefully carry them through this squall.

"Come on," he tucked his knife away abruptly and pulled Lisa roughly to her feet. She made a noise of protest as he tugged at her, seeming surprised that his aura had changed so quickly. "We're leaving. I'm not going to let my job be compromised by this weather. Jesus, Lisa, why would you buy a house so close to the shore in a hurricane zone anyway?"

She didn't answer. He was glad. He didn't allow her to take her purse or anything else for that matter, but grabbed his keys and pulled her out the door. He was stunned when she tried to lock the door behind her. Logical Lisa, always on the ball even when being threatened by an assassin.

"Leave the fucking door alone," Jackson snarled at her. "You'll be lucky if your house even makes it out of this shit."

They ran down the stairs to his car, and Jackson was thinking about how he was going to get Lisa to get into the car willingly when he stopped dead in his tracks.

A large palmetto lay on his car, crushing the hood so that the vehicle was almost completely unrecognizable. Even worse, he had parked right next to Lisa, and the thick trunk had extended to smash hers as well. He could not have made worse luck for himself if he had tried. He looked at Lisa and couldn't read her face in the pitch black night.

He looked back at the apartment building, realizing that the much of the commotion he'd heard during his fights with Lisa hadn't just been the two of them and the storm. It had been people abandoning the building because of the rain.

They were royally screwed. They had to stay. It was either that or become further drenched by the storm as they stood outside hemming and hawing. He dragged her back inside and up the stairs.

"What are we doing?" she yelled to him. She sounded like a small child, terrified and anxious and looking for guidance.

"Staying here," he responded. "Do you have any emergency supplies?"

"Um, yeah, I guess. Why?"

As they reached her door, he swung it open and frowned down at her. "Because it looks like it's just the two of us now, and I think it's going to be a long night."