Page 37 of Property of Booker

They grab Jerome by the ankles, his head bouncing with a sickening, dull sound against the floor. They shove him into the maw of the furnace. Then they grab Patrick; he’s lighter, wasted away from minimal nutrients. They toss him in on top of the man who ruined everything. I grab a shovel, taking care of the job that’s usually assigned to Shade. There’s a dark pool on the floor reflecting the flicker of my light. I scrub at it, but the stone is thirsty and drinks the red, leaving a stain that will never truly wash away. I slam the incinerator door shut and throw the massive bolt. Icer hits the ignition. The machine roars to life, a deep mechanical growl that fills the chamber. It’s the sound of everything vanishing—the arrogance, the cruelty, the lies, all turning to dust and ash. We stand there as the dials climb. The room gets hotter, and the acrid smell of burning drifts from the seams, causing a few of us to gag and cover our noses with the hem of our shirts. It is the pungent odor of a closed chapter.

“It’s done,” Indiana says, his voice muffled from being covered by his shirt.

“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s finished.”

Turning away, we trudge out and leave that furnace to devour what’s left of those lives. We scale the stone steps toward the surface, shedding the oppressive, dampness of the crypt. My palms feel stained and my clothing is heavy with the acrid stench of the furnace, but the second we breach the upper-level of the cemetery and breath in the night air, the knot in my gut finally dissipates. I drag in a deep breath, letting the clean scent of damp soil wash away the rot that’d settled into my nostrils.

Those bastards are finally erased, and that’s the only truth worth holding onto. A fresh sunrise is coming, one where the shadows no longer dictate our path. Starting tomorrow, we fortify this club until our walls are bulletproof, ensuring no imbecile with evil intent ever gets close enough to threaten what’s ours again.

“The conflict is finally over, Book,” Rip grunts, his heavy hand settling on my shoulder. “Time to head back and scrub the stench of death off of our skin. We earned a drink, and the peace of knowing those bastards are never coming back to haunt this club again.”

Raising my hand, I ball my fingers into a tight fist. A surge of satisfaction hits me when he meets the gesture without hesitation or leaving me hanging. As our knuckles collide in a solid bump, I grin and repeat the club’s sacred oath, “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”

Smiling at me, he tacks on, “Not if they want to live to see another day.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Kendall

Ever since the guys took care of business a few days ago, a quiet relief has settled over me. I never asked for any of the dark details, nor did I want to know them, but deep down, I can feel that Jerome is gone for good. With that threat finally erased, the suffocating weight that’s been crushing me for so long has lifted, letting me breathe easy at last. Watching Kolter thrive within the schoolhouse walls is like witnessing a miracle in real-time, especially since he and Elodie have become practically inseparable. Every afternoon, he wanders home with his fingers stained in vibrant streaks of paint and dustings of chalk, his voice never dropping as he excitedly recounts their latest playground conquests. Seeing him laugh with such pure, unburdened joy alongside another child, after the nightmare we only just escaped, is a balm for my soul. It brings me a deep, grounding sense of peace to realize he is finally building a foundation of happy memories instead of constantly scanning the shadows for a threat that no longer exists.

The morning air is crisp as I trek back from the schoolhouse after seeing Kolter off, my heart feeling a little lighter with every step. I’m barely onto the clubhouse porch when Booker appears, his large frame leaning against the railing as he waits for me. He closes the distance between us, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips that sends a familiar spark through my chest. “I’ve got something I want to show you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that promises something special.

“Do I need to grab my riding gear?” I ask, hopeful because riding on the back of his bike has become a new addiction of mine.

“Not today,” he says, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. “What I want to show you is right here on the compound. How about a stroll?” He extends his hand, waiting for me to lace my fingers with his. As soon as I do, he tugs me closer, draping a heavy, protective arm around my shoulders.

We walk toward the rise of the hill, and the moment we crest the top, my breath hitches at the sight waiting on the other side. “Who lives there? It’s stunning,” I gush, my gaze lingering on the alabaster silhouette of the building. It perches on the ridge with a quiet authority. A sprawling, wrap-around porch encircles the entire structure, offering a safe haven where a person could finally let the day’s tension bleed away while the sun dips low. The siding is pristine against the verdant hill, and the glass panes mirror the golden hour with a radiance that makes my heart swell. “It’s a farmhouse made of windows.”

“That right there is my vision of a dream,” he admits, gently guiding me forward from where I'd frozen in place, utterly captivated by the view. “When the rest of the brothers began putting down roots, we all got to claim a parcel of the land to start building. I chose this ridge because I've always been a fan of natural light. It's a hell of a relief on my eyes after staring at the blue light of those monitors for hours on end.”

“This is yours?” I ask, my voice full of awe.

“It is,” he says, turning around to face me, he says, “Yeah. I realize how fast things are moving, but I brought you here because I want it to belong to both of us.”

“Both of us.” His words hang in the air, and the world outside fades. Booker relaxes as he studies the house, like he’s picturing a future waiting inside those walls. His usual guard drops, showing me the man he was when we first started flirting behind the screens.

Holding my hand tightly, almost fiercely, as if afraid I’ll disappear, he raises his head to look at me, his eyes brimming with raw emotion. “I’m not skilled with words,” he admits, his voice rough against the quiet. “I’ve spent my whole life focused solely on making it through the day, never giving a thought to the future, just trying to endure whatever hit was coming next. But looking at you, Kendall, I see something far beyond basic survival.” He pauses, jaw clenched, striving to articulate the feelings tangled inside him. “I want to be the one who creates a home for us. Not for the club, not for any mission, just for you and me. I want to wake up here knowing you’re right beside me, and I want Kolter to grow up in a home where he never has to live in fear.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “It’s complicated, and I’m far from perfect. But I’m fully committed. If you’re ready to take a leap with someone who’s lived in the background for so long, I’m ready to hand over everything I have.”

“I’d say you’re pretty damn good at this,” I contend as I face the house and imagine the future he was just talking about. “For someone who claims he isn’t good with words, you managed to articulate everything my heart needed to hear.” I turn back to him, reaching up to lay my hand gently against the stubble of his cheek. The quiet strength radiating from him grounds me, banishing the last lingering doubts that have held me back. The white farmhouse on the ridge, bathed in the soft glow of the sun, isn't just a building anymore—it's a promise of safety and a real home for Kolter and me. “We’ve both spent far too long just trying to survive,” I murmur, meeting his intense, searching gaze with complete certainty. “I’m ready to stop running, Booker. I’m ready to take that leap with you and build a life right here.”

He guides me along the path toward the main entrance, his hand remaining firm against the small of my back. The porch boards creak under our feet as we move, a solid, honest sound that feels right. He stops at the threshold and digs into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. His fingers brush against my wrist, and I shiver, though the air is warm. He finds the right one, sliding it into the lock with a click that echoes as it unlatches.

“Ready?” he asks, his gaze searching mine.

“I'm ready,” I whisper, and I truly mean it.

He turns the knob and shoves the door wide. It swings open with a soft, effortless glide, revealing the inside of the home he's built. I step over the threshold, my breath catching in my throat as I take it all in. The entire space is open, flooded with midmorning light. Every exterior wall seems to be made of glass. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, pulling the outside world in, turning the rolling green hills and the sky into living art. Dust motes dance in the shafts of light, drifting like tiny stars.

I walk slowly into the center of the room, my hand trailing along the smooth surface of the wall. It feels solid, real. There are no shadows here, just open space and possibility. The air smells like fresh pine and sunlight. It’s refreshing since I’ve become accustomed to smelling sweaty men and stale alcohol.

“It's breathtaking,” I murmur, my voice echoing slightly in the empty space. “I've never seen anything like it.”

Booker moves up behind me, stopping just a few feet away. He doesn't crowd me, just watches as I explore the room. “I wanted a place where I could see what's coming,” he announces, his voice low and steady. “I spent too long living in the dark, watching monitors, waiting for the worst to happen. I built this so that whenever I look up, I see nothing but the horizon. I see you.”

I turn to face him, the light catching his features, softening the hard lines of his face. He looks less like the man who guards the clubhouse and more like the man who builds a future.