“Don’t,” Jackson warned.
Charlotte reached out and caught Darian’s arm before he could draw. Her eyes never left Jackson. She said something low to him and to Mick, words Jackson couldn’t make out. But from the way both men stopped moving, he figured she told them to stand down.
Charlotte smiled, slow and deliberate. “Jackson Ward. The mighty Crossfire Ops agent and former special ops hero. I heard about that mission where you banged yourself up.”
Her gaze slid over him, assessing, calculating. She was looking for weakness, trying to decide if he could still hold them off if it came to a fight.
He held his ground, the gun steady in his hand. “There’s nothing wrong with my aim,” he said coldly. “Now tell me what the hell you want.”
Charlotte’s smile widened just a fraction, but her eyes stayed cold.
Darian opened his mouth to speak, but Charlotte lifted a hand and stopped him. The way he fell silent told Jackson everything he needed to know. She was the one in charge here, not the man pretending to be.
Charlotte took a few steps forward, careful, measured. “We’re looking for someone,” she said. “A woman who might have come this way. The same woman who had my husband locked away.”
Jackson kept the gun trained on her. “And what makes you think she’s here?”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Call it a hunch.”
He didn’t move. “You won’t find her here.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But we’ll keep looking.”
“Not on my land you won’t.” Jackson’s voice dropped lower, his patience thinning. “Now get the fuck off my property. I don’t want thugs like you anywhere near it.”
That did it.
Darian’s face darkened with anger, and he took a hard step forward, his hand going back toward his weapon. Charlotte immediately stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Enough,” she said sharply, her tone snapping like a whip. She turned back to Jackson, her expression smooth again. “The Brotherhood isn’t what it used to be. We’re a legitimate organization now. We help victims rebuild their lives. We protect people who need it.”
Jackson almost laughed. “That so?”
She ignored the edge in his voice. “You’ll see for yourself, eventually.”
Behind her, Darian’s jaw clenched, his anger still simmering.
“Let’s go,” Charlotte said, motioning toward the SUV. She opened the passenger door, and after a few seconds of glaring at Jackson, Darian followed her in.
Mick didn’t get in the SUV right away. He lingered by the open door, eyes fixed on Jackson. For a second, neither of them spoke, the only sound the low purr of the engine and the wind cutting across the yard.
Then Mick stepped closer, voice low. “If you know where Avery Hastings is, tell her to be careful.”
The words caught Jackson off guard. They didn’t sound like a threat, but coming from a Barker, they sure as hell felt like one.
He studied the kid. Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three now. Old enough to know what his family really was, but young enough to still think he could fix it. Jackson couldn’t decide if Mick was trying to warn him or play the part of the reasonable one while his mother and Darian did the dirty work.
Mick’s jaw stiffened. “I get why she testified against my father,” he said quietly. “He went too far.”
Jackson’s grip on the Glock didn’t ease. “You think?”
Before Mick could answer, Charlotte’s voice cut across the yard, sharp with anger. “Mick! Get in the car.”
He flinched, glancing back at her. The expression on her face made it clear she didn’t appreciate him talking to the enemy.
Without another word, Mick climbed into the back seat and shut the door.
The SUV rolled backward, turned in the gravel drive, and disappeared down the road, sunlight glinting off its polished surface until it vanished behind the trees.
