Page 14 of Property of Booker

“They haven’t found anything yet,” I point out.

“You hoping they get cleared? You going against me, Kendall?” Jerome repeats, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He twists a handful of my hair, forcing my head back until my neck aches.

“I'm not hoping for anything,” I gasp, blinking against the sharp pull of his grip. “I'm just observing. They haven't found a single thing yet. If they come up empty, they walk away clean. That's just how the law works.”

He sneers, his free hand tightening around my jaw. His thumb digs into my skin, hard enough to bruise. “You're getting bold, little bird. You think I don't see how your pulse skips when you look at that screen?”

“My pulse is just as tired of this as I am,” I say, my voice straining. “I've been staring at these monitors for hours. My eyes are burning. My head is pounding. I'm not playing sides. I just want this over.”

He stares at me for a long, suffocating moment, searching my face for the lie. He doesn't find it, or maybe he just decides it doesn't matter yet. He shoves me forward, releasing my hair with a rough jerk that leaves me stumbling against the desk.

“See that they don't,” he snaps, turning his back on me to pace the room. “I want that evidence planted. If you mess this up, you know what happens to Kolter.”

“The setup is complete,” I tell him, forcing my voice to remain level. “I left a clear trail for the search team to follow. Once they uncover the stashed weapons and the records Branson and I faked, the Kings won't stand a chance. Those bikers will be behind bars before the day ends.”

Jerome stops pacing and looks at me, his eyes narrowing as he tries to gauge my sincerity. The room feels claustrophobic, the silence stretching between us like a thin wire. He needs to believe this, or my cover is blown.

“Make sure they don't miss it,” he warns, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “I don't want any excuses when I turn on the news tonight.”

“They won't miss a thing if they’re smart,” I promise, meeting his gaze with everything I have. “It's all laid out for them.”

“Trusting other people to do things for you is annoying because if you want something done right, you do it yourself,” he drones. He grabs his jacket from the chair and stalks toward the door.

My blood runs cold. “You’re going there?”

He pauses with his hand on the knob. He turns to look at me, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I want to see the looks on their faces when they realize they’re finished. Plus, I want to make sure you don't pull a fast one on me.”

I struggle to keep my face neutral. “You don't need to be there,” I argue, my heart hammering against my ribs. “If you show your face, you risk everything. You stay in the shadows. That’s your power.”

He laughs, a body shivering sound. “My power is what I decide it is, Kendall.” He opens the door. “Stay here. If I come back and find out you betrayed me, don't worry about yourself. Worry about the boy.”

He slams the door and the lock clicks into place. I am alone. I stare at the monitors, panic clawing at my throat. I have to warn them. I have to signal Booker before Jerome arrives and finds the truth.

I watch with bated breath as the authorities search the premises, finding absolutely nothing incriminating enough to lock the Kings away. Knowing that Icer and Indiana thoroughly swept the property and uncovered every single item that was planted before they left town, I realize Jerome is going to be absolutely furious.

“He’s gonna blame this failure on me,” I mutter. My voice sounds small in the hollow quiet of the room. I shove the chair back and start pacing. Every step feels like a countdown to my own funeral. I can’t sit still when my life is hanging by a thread.

I need to send the signal to Booker before Jerome arrives. If Jerome walks through those doors and realizes I set him up, Kolter won’t survive the day. I reach for the keys again, my fingers clumsy and shaking. I have to make this count.

I send an encrypted message, one he can open at a later time once they’ve put the clubhouse back to rights. My fingers fly across the board, dropping the hidden data package into the secure relay. I map out the grid coordinates of the safehouse where Jerome is stashing Kolter and Branson's family, detailing the guard shifts and the perimeter fence blind spots we flagged earlier. I type out a final warning, telling Booker that Jerome is completely unhinged and on his way to the compound right now to check the results of the failed raid himself. With my chest tight and my breath hitching against my cracked ribs, I hit send and watch the progress bar tick to completion, knowing this single burst of static is the only lifeline my boy and I have left before the storm hits.

I conclude the message with a final, urgent plea for him to gather his crew and launch a coordinated strike on the target locations I provided, mobilizing the Kings of Anarchy brothers to hit the safehouses. They need to extract my five-year-old son, Kolter, along with Branson's captive twin sister and the rest of their family from the guards before Jerome realizes we failed to execute his plan and he sends them orders to end their lives. Everyone must be rescued safely and quickly, before Jerome uncovers our deception and returns to this place.

The sheer terror of what Jerome might do once he discovers the empty hands of the authorities presses down on my chest, making every shallow breath agonizing. The countdown has begun, and the margin for error has shrunk to nothing. I know the exact moment the realization hits his twisted mind, the retaliation will be swift and merciless. My hands shake as I close out the terminal window, my fingers lingering on the cold plastic keys. I have given the Kings everything they need—the blueprints, the guard schedules, the structural blind spots that took months to map out. Now, their survival, and the survival of the innocent blood held in those hidden rooms, rests entirely on Booker deciphering the data stream before the clock runs out.

I can handle whatever punishment comes my way. It isn't the first time I’ve taken a hit. My ribs scream in protest, it’s a familiar, ugly landscape of pain, a price I’ve paid a thousand times over just to keep my boy breathing.

Let him walk back through that door.

Let him bring his fists and his mindless fury.

As long as the distraction holds and the brothers reach those target locations, I’ll take every beating he dishes out. I’ll look him dead in his vile, hateful eyes and swallow the pain without giving him a single truth. He thinks he owns me, but he doesn't see the fire still burning inside of me. He doesn't see that I'm already halfway out the door. He’s going to return to a room full of silence and defiance, and for the first time in five years, I won't be afraid.

CHAPTER

NINE

Booker