Help...My Wife is a Spy

Halia walked out holding the folded pajamas like it was a cake with a cherry on top, except the thing that sat on top was no cherry.

"Jackson! Take the underwear and put it on yourself," Halia shoved the pile in her hand towards Jackson, refusing to touch his underwear.

Jackson laughed as he ran over and sat on the bed. "Come on, nurse, my arm is injured," he teased.

"You managed to take it off, why can't you put it back on?" she asked with an annoyed pout.

Jackson looked at the adorable woman in front of him and felt his heart melt. "Fine, I was just teasing you. Leave it here and I'll put it on myself. Just help me put on my top first," he chuckled.

Halia dropped the pile on the bed beside the man and grabbed the pajama top.

With an angry glare, she slowly inched the pajama sleeve up Jackson's left arm, carefully avoiding his wounds.

Jackson watched with a slight smile. She was annoyed, yet she couldn't help but care about him. Women were never straightforward like men.

As she finished with his left arm, she wrapped the top around his back.

"Arm!" she ordered as she reached his right side.

Jackson obediently slipped his right arm into the remaining sleeve and watched as Halia proceeded to button his top.

"This seems familiar..." Jackson commented. "I think the roles have been reversed."

Halia looked up and saw the man's cheeky smile. Immediately, she realized what he was referring to. That time...in the warehouse...

She had almost forgotten about it...

"To be fair, you saw my underwear today too."

"You pervert!" she yelled as she stormed out of the room.

Jackson laughed.

...

It took Jackson a while to put on his underwear and pants. After all, he only had one hand.

By the time he walked out of his bedroom, Halia had already placed his blood-soaked coat in the laundry and disposed of his torn up shirt. She also packed away his first aid kit and cleaned up the blood stains on his floor.

As he approached the sofa, he realized the woman had fallen asleep. Jackson looked up at his clock and realized it was already 5am. He then glanced out his window, the storm had stopped and the sun was already beginning to rise. She must have been exhausted.

He looked back down at the woman and sighed. If both his arms were fine, he would carry her into his room and lay her on the bed, but that wasn't possible. So, he went inside and fetched her a blanket and pillow.

As he gently covered Halia with the blanket and propped her head up on the pillow, he brushed her hair out of her face and sighed. What was this woman doing in his home? If she knew how dangerous he was, would she still be lying there so carelessly?

He had enjoyed spending the night with her and getting to know her better. But, he knew that tonight was an exception. There was a reason why he chose to live a life of solitude all these years and the injury on his arm was proof that he had made the right choice. If Halia was there when he got hurt, if she saw what happened, how would she feel about him? Would she be frightened? Would she have been injured too?

Jackson looked down at Halia one last time. He had saved her three times, but she helped him stitch up three wounds tonight. Were they even now? Maybe it was time to keep his distance. Sure, he wanted to protect her from the club because it was dangerous, but now that he thought about it, the club was nothing compared to him - he was much more dangerous! He shouldn't be keeping her away from the club, he should be keeping her away from him! Jackson sighed and returned to his room.

After Jackson left, Halia slowly opened her eyes; she had been pretending to be asleep. She then sat up and pulled out a napkin she was hiding. A moment ago, when she threw Jackson's torn shirt in the bin, she noticed a scrunched up napkin from her club sitting inside. As she glanced at it, she realized there was something written on it. But, before she looked at it properly, she heard Jackson getting ready to leave his room. In a panic, she quickly ran over to the sofa and pretended to have fallen asleep.

Now that Jackson was gone, she could finally look at the napkin properly.

On it, was the word, 'Vendredi' - the French word for Friday.

Halia stared at the word curiously. What was happening on Friday? And why was it written in French? Did it have something to do with Remy Durand?