Page 23 of Property of Booker

“Hang on,” I yell through our helmets.

She’s already holding my cut like she’s scared I might vanish without a trace if she lets go. We lean into the winding backroads. Moonlight spills across the asphalt but I don’t give it much thought. It’s quiet out here compared to the chaos we just left. My heartbeat finally slows down and begins to beat in a steady rhythm.

Slayer waves for a turn and we pull onto the gravel drive. The clubhouse emerges ahead, a solid shape in the dark. As we park in the front, I kill the engine and say, “Home.”

She shifts against me, her voice soft over the engine hum. “Is he really in there?”

“Waiting for you, Kendall,” I promise. “You’re going to be together.”

She begins fumbling with the chin straps of her helmet, trying to rip free from it but her fingers get tangled and she huffs. Chuckling, I twist and start to unlatch it for her. “Patience, Kendall. He’s not going anywhere.” I leave off the thought about her sticking around for good too. That’s a talk for another time, once the dust finally settles and she sees her boy.

I lift the helmet off her head, setting it aside on the tank. Her hair falls loose, framing her face in the dim light. She blinks, getting used to the sudden change in the atmosphere. Her eyes dart toward the clubhouse door, hunger and desperation etched into every line of her expression.

“He’s inside,” I confirm, hopping off the bike. I reach up and take her hand, pulling her toward the entrance. We reach the heavy duty door, and I push it open. A blast of cold air from the air conditioner hits us in the face, cooling off our heated bodies.

Kolter is sitting in the worn leather chair by the front window. His knees are pulled up to his chest, and he’s staring at nothing. When the door clicks shut behind us, he jerks his head up. He freezes when he sees her. The room goes deadly quiet. He drops his feet, standing up slow like he’s afraid she’s just a dream that will disappear if he moves too fast.

“Mom?” he breathes, his voice barely making it out of his throat.

Kendall lets out a sound that is half sob and half gasp. She doesn’t wait for him to come to her. She crosses the room in three quick strides. They crash into each other, his small arms wrapping tight around her waist while she buries her face in his neck.

I stand by the door, feeling like an outsider peeking into something private. It is hard to watch without getting a lump in my throat. I see the tension drain out of her shoulders as she holds him. They look like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

“I’m here,” she murmurs into his hair, her hands shaking as she rubs his back. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise.” She turns her head, our eyes meet and she mouths the words, “Thank you.”

I give Kendall a quick nod and a wink before turning back toward the bar, wanting to give them some space to breathe and reconnect without a crowd of bikers tracking their every move. My brothers seem to have the same thought, turning away or finding work needing to be done so they don't look like intruders during such a charged moment.

Slayer is already there, perched on a stool with a bottle in his hand. I slide onto the seat next to him and grab a cold beer from the bucket behind the counter. The condensation feels like ice against my palms, and I take a long pull, letting the bitterness wash away the grit in my throat.

“You doing okay?” he asks, his voice low enough that it doesn't carry across the room. He doesn't look at me, just keeps his eyes on the label of his drink. “That was a hell of a lot of weight to carry on one ride.”

I lean back against the bar and exhale a long breath I feel like I've been holding since we first breached that perimeter. “It's done,” I say, glancing back toward the area where Kendall is still clutching her boy. “That's the only thing that matters. Seeing them together like that, it makes the rest of the noise disappear. I didn't know if we'd actually pull it off without someone catching a bullet, but they're safe now.”

He nods and taps his bottle against mine with a soft clink. “You did right by them, Booker. Get some shut-eye when you're able. There's still trash to haul away before this whole thing is behind us.”

My thoughts drift to the Dallas syndicate and the threat my brother thinks they still pose to the Kings. I lean toward Slayer and give him snippets of the conversation I had with Kendall before we were raided and made our move. “I talked to Kendall,” I tell him. “She’s certain they aren’t coming after us. The intel she fed them points in a different direction. They believe the councilwoman, Patrick, and Jerome are the ones who duped them. That puts the target squarely on those three. We’re off the hook.”

He grunts, a curt sound of approval. “Good. Let them tear each other apart. It saves us the trouble.”

“Except the only ones they have a chance of getting their hands on is the councilwoman since we have Patrick and Jerome in the catacombs,” I point out.

“But they don’t know that,” he counters.

“And hopefully, they never do,” I muse.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Kendall

Britton, LoneStar’s woman, leads the way up the stairs with keys jingling against her hip, showing us to our accommodations. I walk down the hallway behind her, dragging my feet a bit while Kolter stays attached to my side. He holds my hand in a tight grip, acting as if I'm going to disappear into thin air if he lets go. When she reaches the third door, she flings it open to reveal a basic, quiet space that looks immaculate. “This one’s yours,” she says. “I aired it out earlier. It’s clean and the lock works fine.” I’m not sure how she knew I needed to know that tidbit, but the fact that she voices it has my shoulders slumping in relief.

I step inside, and my shoulders finally drop. The tension that’s been knotted in my neck for weeks starts to unravel. I turn back to the doorway and see Booker leaning against the frame, his arms crossed. He’s watching us with those steady eyes, looking like he’s never going to let anything reach us again. “You two good?” he asks as Britton scuttles around him, giving me a soothing smile as she makes her retreat.

I let go of Kolter just long enough to brush his hair off his forehead. He looks exhausted, but he’s here. I pull his hand back into mine, needing the contact as much as he does. “We’re fine,” I promise. “Better than fine.”

Booker nods, his expression unreadable but kind. “I’m right down the hall if you need anything. I’m the third door to the left from y’all.” He knocks his knuckles against the door jamb and steps back.