Page 20 of Property of Booker

“We don't have the luxury of being picky about who we take out,” Slayer interrupts, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He steps closer, his eyes scanning each of us. “Jerome doesn’t hire innocent people to watch his back. Anyone standing between us and those two is an enemy combatant. Act accordingly.”

I tighten my jaw, forcing myself to accept the reality of the situation. It’s a bitter pill, but arguing further wastes time we don't have. “Understood,” I mutter, turning back toward the supplies.

Ozzie nudges my shoulder, his expression hardening. “Look, we get in, we do the job, and we get out. Focus on that. We'll handle the rest when we have your woman secure.”

I nod, grabbing my gear and checking the chamber on my sidearm. The weight of the metal feels grounding in my palm. I glance back toward where Kolter sits, watching us with those wide, haunting eyes. I owe it to him to get his mother back, no matter who I have to go through to make that happen. “Let's move,” I say, stepping into the night.

Hurrying back to Kolter, I inform him that we are preparing to leave so he can finally see his mom again. Seeing the sheer excitement light up his eyes gives me the focus I need. I’m determined not to fail either of them—before the night is through, they will be together just as they ought to have been all these years.

As we ride, a wave of shame washes over me. I understand what Slayer was trying to say, and I have to admit he has a point. Jerome isn’t the type to just let anyone guard him unless they have earned his absolute trust. Reflecting on it further, I become certain that these guards are simply at the bottom of the hierarchy within his crew. They are merely doing their time to work their way up the ranks of the Dragons.

The vibration of the bike travels through my boots and up my spine. It’s a steady, jarring rhythm that matches the frantic thumping of my heart. I keep my eyes fixed on the taillights ahead. Slayer leads, and he doesn’t waver.

Ozzie slows his machine to match my pace. He leans over and glances at me through his visor, speaking to me through our coms. “You’re quiet back there. Still thinking about what Slayer said?”

I shift my grip on the handlebars and nod. “Yeah, what he said, it’s settling in.”

“Good,” Ozzie replies, his voice barely audible over the wind. “We don't have room for doubt tonight.”

He twists his throttle and surges forward. I watch him go and realize he’s right. My hesitation serves no one. If I’m going to get this job done, I need to leave my conscience at the door. I let the realization wash over me. These men we’re heading toward are deep in the mix. They aren’t innocent bystanders in a ring of fire. They’ve made their choices, and now, they’ll have to live with the consequences of standing on the wrong side of this fight. That thought finally quiets the churning in my gut.

My focus sharpens, centering completely on Kendall as the reality of our first actual meeting draws near. If I were the kind of person who gets butterflies in their stomach, an entire monarchy kingdom of them would be swirling inside me right now. Nerves aren’t usually something I deal with, but the anticipation of finally looking into her eyes and reaching out to touch her has me feeling an unfamiliar flutter dangerously close to anxiety.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Kendall

Time seems to stretch endlessly. In the cramped confines of the windowless room, the air feels increasingly heavy as the wait drags on. To burn off the restless anxiety clawing deep in my chest, I pace back and forth across the concrete floor until a dull ache sets into my feet. Across the room, Branson sits slumped in the corner with his head propped against the wall, looking completely drained. After we finally released the latches on the secured rooms knowing Jerome wasn’t going to come and check on us, he came straight to my quarters so we could wait it out together.

“Did you hear something?” he asks, his voice sounding thin and raspy.

Freezing in place, I hold my breath and strain to catch any noise filtering in from the outside. The silence around us is heavy, broken only by the steady rush of the wind whistling against the building’s metal siding. “No,” I reply, brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face. “Still nothing.”

“They aren’t coming for us, Kendall. We need to quit holding out for a miracle.”

I shoot him a sharp glare, absolutely refusing to entertain his defeatist attitude. “They are on their way. Booker gave me his word.”

A hollow, cynical laugh escapes Branson’s lips. “And what exactly is his promise worth right now? We’re stuck in this miserable hole while he’s out there playing soldier.”

“He isn't playing,” I snap back. The irritation flares hot in my stomach, but I force it down. Getting angry won’t change our situation. I walk over and sit on the floor beside him. “He knows where we are. They all know.”

“If they don’t get here soon,” Branson mutters, closing his eyes, “it won't matter. Jerome’s men will retaliate and we’ll be their first stop.”

I lean my head back against the wall. My pulse hammers in my throat. I want to believe he’s wrong. I have to believe they’re on their way like they promised they’d be. I grip my knees and listen for the sound of an engine or a door kicking open. Anything to break this silence.

“Jerome's known for not checking in frequently,” I remind him. “And the Kings will be here to get us before they realize something's wrong.”

Branson shifts, his eyes fixed on the door. “I hope you’re right.”

A low rumble vibrates through the floorboards. At first, I think it’s just the wind, but it grows too consistent, too thunderous, and too pulsing to be the weather. It’s the unmistakable roar of engines. My heart skips a beat, and I scramble to my feet.

“Do you hear that?” I ask, unable to hide the sudden spark of excitement in my voice.

Branson tilts his head, listening intently. “Yeah. It sounds like bikes.”

Before he even finishes the sentence, an abrupt crack echoes through the building. It's gunfire. My breath hitches, but then the staccato pop of more shots rings out, followed by the shouting of men outside. The chaos is music to my ears.