“Who?” Jackson demanded.
“My father,” Mick said. “Warren’s been visiting him in prison. They’ve gotten close. Too fucking close,” he spat out.
“Warren visits a lot of prisoners for the podcast,” Avery pointed out.
Mick shook his head. “That’s not it. He wasn’t researching anything. He was planning. Haver used him. They talked about you, Avery. About what you did to him. My father saw a way to hurt you from the inside out, and Warren gave him exactly what he needed.”
Jackson felt a cold weight settle in his gut. “You’re saying Haver Barker’s running this from prison?”
Mick met his eyes. “He never stopped.”
The van went quiet except for the hum of the tires on wet asphalt. Avery turned toward the window, her reflection pale in the glass. Jackson knew what she was thinking. If Mick was right, this wasn’t just revenge.
It was a war Haver had started years ago, and Avery was still the main target.
Jackson kept his eyes on Mick, studying him in the dim light of the van. Every word coming out of Mick’s mouth could be the truth. Or another layer of lies. Avery looked skeptical, too, her brows drawn tight, but Jackson knew they couldn’t afford to dismiss what Mick was saying. Not yet.
Still, something didn’t sit right.
“Say you’re telling the truth,” Jackson said slowly. “Say Warren really did sell Avery out to your father. That still doesn’t explain the hostages.”
Mick lifted his head, pain etched deep into his face. “It was leverage. Warren wants her, and my father wants her dead. Taking hostages made both goals possible.”
Jackson didn’t respond right away. The theory made sense, but it also felt too easy. Too clean.
He glanced at Avery. “There’s another angle we need to consider.”
Her gaze met his, wary. “You think Mick’s lying.”
Jackson nodded. “Could be. Warren might have sold you out, sure. But taking the hostages could be about more than leverage. It could be about control. If someone inside the Brotherhood wants power, this is how they’d get it.”
Mick frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe this isn’t Haver or Warren pulling the strings,” Jackson said evenly. “Maybe it’s you.”
Mick’s eyes went wide. “You think I’m the one behind this?”
Jackson held his stare. “You could be. You’ve said you hate the Brotherhood for what they did to Melissa, but that could be an act. Maybe you’re not trying to destroy them.
“Maybe you’re leading them, Mick,” Avery added, the anger in her voice.
For several tense seconds, the van was silent except for the low rumble of the road.
“You’ve got it wrong,” Mick finally whispered.
“Maybe,” Jackson said. “But until we prove it, you stay in protective custody.”
Because in his experience, the ones who swore they’d turned their backs on the darkness were often the ones still feeding it.
The van rolled to a stop in front of Crossfire Creek Hospital, tires splashing through the rainwater that had accumulated on the road. The small-town facility looked calm from the outside, but Jackson knew Noah had already turned it into a fortress. Security men were stationed near every door, their weapons discreet but ready.
Sheriff Arden Chase and Noah were waiting just outside the entrance. Her badge glinted under the overcast sky, her stance sharp and no-nonsense. She didn’t waste time.
“I want to question him,” she said, nodding toward Mick.
Jackson stepped aside as the security team helped Mick out of the van. Mick looked half-dead, but his eyes still dartedaround, taking everything in. The sheriff fell in beside him, already firing off questions as they headed into the hospital.
That left Noah, Jackson, Avery, Isla, Cal, and Garrett standing by the van. The tension hadn’t eased a bit.
