Page 17 of Property of Booker

“It's hard to trust people you don’t know and have been programmed to hate and fear,” he states.

“They’ve saved people before from Jerome and the Dragons, Branson,” I remind him.

“That’s because it was personal for them, Kendall. This isn’t.”

“You don’t think innocent people being held against their will and being used as leverage to force us to comply with taking them down isn’t personal for them, Branson?”

He pauses, and I hear his frantic typing in the background. “It’s personal now,” he finally concludes. “Because you made it personal. You gave them a reason to care about us when they have no real connection. That is the variable I can’t account for.”

“It’s because I gave them what they wanted most, a direct line to Jerome and his hideouts. I didn’t think I’d ever get the opportunity to come face-to-face with one of their leaders so it took a lot longer than I’d have liked to have that conversation with them. I just got lucky that Jerome let me off my leash long enough to make that connection,” I inform him.

“You couldn’t have done that through your digital connection with Booker because I was always watching you,” he grumbles. “Fuck, if I hadn’t been Jerome’s lap dog, this whole thing could’ve already been done and over with.”

“You didn’t know and it’s not like I reached out, Branson. It wasn’t until I was desperate that I took that leap and informed you of what I had set into motion.”

“I’m just glad that I’d been tracking you beforehand and watching your every move. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have believed anything you had to say,” he admits.

As I go to respond, I notice the guys wearing their night goggles and sneaking through the tree line. “They’re closing in,” I whisper.

I trace the screen with my finger. The four heat signatures move like sleuths through the Texas brush. Slayer takes the lead. He moves with that predatory grace I have come to admire. Shade follows close behind, scanning the darkness with his weapon raised. Ozzie and Booker bring up the rear, their movements perfectly synced.

I flip the audio channel to their local comms. It is mostly static and breathless.

Slayer whispers into his mic, “Stay low. We are almost at the perimeter.”

Shade replies, “I have movement near the porch. Two guards.”

“Take them out quietly,” Slayer says.

I watch Ozzie and Booker peel off to the right. They slide through the tall grass toward the side entrance. Booker stops and pulls a small device from his cut. He taps at it, his fingers moving with frantic speed.

Booker says, “I’m killing the exterior feed now. You have ten seconds of blind coverage.”

“Copy that,” Slayer murmurs.

They move in a blur of motion. Shade drops into a crouch, his movements efficient. He closes the distance to the porch with terrifying speed. I hold my breath as he levels his rifle. A soft thud echoes in my ears, and the heat signatures near the porch go limp.

Slayer moves to the door. “Entry in three. Two. One.”

He kicks the door inward. It does not creak. It just gives way. They flood the room. I track their progress as they clear the living area. It is tactical, brutal, and fast.

“Kitchen is clear,” Ozzie announces.

“Bedroom is clear,” Shade adds.

“I’m at the main server,” Booker says, his voice sounding breathless. “This thing is a beast. Give me a minute to bypass the secondary lockout.” I should be gleeful that he’s having a hard time bypassing something I created, but in this instance, it’s heart attack inducing.

“You have thirty seconds,” Slayer growls.

I watch them fan out, checking corners and shadows. They are professionals. They don’t leave a single stone unturned. The farmhouse is supposed to be Jerome's secret dungeon. Now, it is just another piece of territory they’re claiming.

“Security grid is down,” Booker announces a moment later. “I have visual on the holding cell.”

“Move,” Slayer commands.

They shift toward the back of the house. My heart is hammering as it would if I was watching a horror flick. From my intel, Kolter is in that back room. I need them to hurry.

“I see them,” Ozzie says. “Three guards. Heavily armed.”