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“We need to be smart about this,” I counter. “Dexter's playing chess, not checkers. He’s laid out traps, waiting for us to take the bait.”
Damien drums his fingers on the table, his sharp gaze bouncing between Andres and me. “Ethan’s got a point. A direct assault could give them the very ammunition they're looking to pin on us.”
Landon's quiet during this exchange, watching with those penetrating blue eyes that miss nothing. “What do you propose then?” he asks.
I hesitate for a moment, the edges of my plan still formulating.
“We fight this battle under the radar,” I start. “We use our connections, our influence—gather information and hit where it hurts most: Dexter's reputation and resources.”
Dexter and Brandon are circling, sharks scenting blood in the water. But what they don't realize is that we're not just prey. We're hunters in our own right.
I lean in, lowering my voice to a hush that only we can hear. “We need eyes on them. Everywhere they go, every call they make—I want to know about it.” I can see the gears turning in Landon's head, his mind already racing with the possibilities.
“Consider it done,” he says with a nod. He taps away at his tablet, pulling up camera feeds and cross-referencing data. “I'll patch into the city's grid—traffic cams, ATMs, anything that can give us a visual.”
Landon's a wizard with tech, always has been. If anyone can rig up a surveillance net to catch our enemies' movements, it's him.
Jackson leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “And I'll talk to my contacts on the force. See what chatter they've picked up on Dexter and Brandon.” He doesn't trust easily, but his instincts are sharp—a valuable asset when navigating these murky waters.
“I'll head the social circles. The rich can't keep their mouths closed. He's trying to fuck us, which means he's done it before. I'll find out everything, all without sweating in my tuxedo.” Damien handles marketing and entertainment. He's on the guest lists for everything from Broadway openings to hip-hop concerts.
Andres taps his finger against his lip thoughtfully. “I'll reach out to some old... acquaintances,” he says carefully. “They have a way of finding out things that others prefer kept in the dark.”
His connections are deep, and his reach far—perfect for a task like this. And he knows how to play in the gray areas when necessary.
I nod at each of them in turn. It's a start—a way to regain control of this twisted game we've been forced into playing. But I keep my ace tucked close to my chest. There's more to my plan than surveillance. It's a strategy that needs to simmer in the shadows until it's ready to be unleashed.
As I step away from the group, I let my gaze linger on Kristine’s image on the screen once more—a silent promise etched into every line of my face.
“And Brandon?” Jackson probes.
I feel a surge of protectiveness at the mention of Kristine's ex-husband—the man who's made her life hell and put my club in jeopardy.
I can't forget Kristine and Asher need protection from these wolves that stalk their every move. It's no longer just about safeguarding what’s mine. It’s about shielding them from this world.
“Brandon is mine to deal with,” I say, more harshly than I intend.
Andres stops pacing and stares at me with intensity. “You're keeping cards close to your chest, Ethan.”
“Because they need to be,” I reply without flinching. “Trust me on this—I have a plan. The less you know, the better.”
The room falls silent again, everyone lost in their own calculations. Damien nods slowly. Landon follows suit with a shrug that speaks volumes of his trust in me despite his doubts.
Jackson eyes me for a long moment before giving a curt nod. “Fine,” he says finally. “But if this goes south?—”
“It won't,” I cut him off with more confidence than I feel.
Andres exhales sharply but concedes with a nod of his head. “All right Ethan, we play it your way—for now.”
I take in their faces one by one and see the unspoken bond that ties us together—trust hard-earned through years of shared battles.
“Let's get to work,” I say with finality, leaving no room for doubt or fear. The hunt is on—and we're not the ones who should be afraid.
As they filter out of the room to set their parts of our strategy into motion. I stay behind, staring at Kristine's image on the screen. She's dancing with Haley, Jackson's wife.
Kristine is carrying the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders and has become the anchor I never knew I needed.
I'll keep her safe. I'll bring her son home.
