Knox spoke first, not bothering with greetings. “We know where he’s staying.”
No need to say the name. We all heard it anyway.
“He’s not alone,” Ransom added, flicking his pen to underline a spot on the map that looked like a cluster of trailers outside town. “Picked up two more from the Deadwood crew, plus his usual idiot, Toad. They’re holed up here, running shifts at the bar and waiting for someone to make a move.”
Jo let out a slow breath, the sound cutting through the room.
Knox looked at me, then at Jo, then back at the map. “We hit them tomorrow. Early. Surprise, no fireworks.” He slid a second, smaller map across the table—satellite, with a hand-drawn perimeter marked in black. “You stay here with Ma and Grandma Minnie. If anything goes off the rails, you don’t come after us. You get in the truck and you go.”
My gut twisted. I wanted to argue, to insist that I could pull my own weight, but Jo’s hand on my hip was a warning: don’t.
He stepped forward, voice quiet but carrying. “We’re with you. But Bodean stays with me.”
The silence was instant. All three of my brothers looked at Jo like he’d just dropped a gun on the table.
Knox’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you can handle him?”
Jo didn’t flinch. “He’s not the problem.”
Ransom snorted, but the sound was more impressed than mocking. Harlow blinked, then looked away, cheeks going pink.
I realized then, standing in that cold, reeking shop, that nobody was going to fight over me this time. They were all just waiting for me to decide what I wanted—and it turned out I wanted exactly what Jo had just given me.
Knox nodded, sharp and final. “Fine. You two stay behind, keep the women safe. We’ll handle the rest.”
He turned back to the map, outlining the plan in short, precise words: who would drive, who’d cut the power, how long they’d wait before moving in. It was more military than criminal, and the longer I listened, the more I saw the pattern—the need to keep everyone alive, to avoid bloodshed unless there was no other option.
Jo stayed close the whole time, hand never leaving my body. Sometimes it was at my waist, sometimes on my lower back, sometimes just a steady pressure at the nape of my neck. Every touch said: You’re here. You matter. I won’t let anything take you out of this room.
Harlow wandered over to the little stove in the corner, feeding it logs and stirring the embers with a stick. He didn’t look at me, but I saw the way his shoulders relaxed every time I spoke up, like he was counting the evidence that I was still alive and not about to crack.
After a while, Knox finished. He looked at each of us, eyes hard but honest. “Any questions?”
Ransom shrugged. “Yeah. You want me to bring the shotgun or just the bat?”
“Both,” said Knox, without missing a beat.
They all grinned—tight, humorless, but real.
Knox leaned on the table, finally letting his gaze settle on me. “You good with this, Bo?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Jo beat me to it. “He’s good,” he said. “And he’s not going anywhere.”
Something shifted, then—a click, like a door unlocking. For the first time, the brothers didn’t just look at me; they looked at us, as a unit. I felt the weight of it land between my shoulder blades, but instead of crushing me, it made me stand straighter.
Knox nodded, accepting it with the same finality he brought to everything else. “Alright. We go tomorrow.”
The meeting broke up fast, everyone already halfway out the door before I realized what had happened.
Harlow gave me a quick, awkward hug before leaving, muttering something about coffee.
Ransom ruffled my hair and whispered, “You’re tougher than you look.”
Quiad just clapped me on the shoulder, a squeeze that lingered a few seconds longer than expected.
When it was just me and Jo left, the silence pressed in, thick with everything that hadn’t been said.
He turned me to face him, hands cupping my jaw. His eyes were serious, the smile gone. “You okay?”
