Chapter 15
Boone
Sloane breaks in my arms. It’s like something inside her finally gave way under too much pressure.
I catch her before she can fall, pulling her against me, one arm wrapped tight around her back, the other coming up to cradle her head as she presses into my chest like she’s trying to anchor herself to something solid.
Her shoulders shake, and her breath comes in short, sharp pulls that don’t quite make it all the way in.
“Sloane,” I murmur, low, steady, the way I used to calm rookies who hadn’t seen combat before. “Hey. I’ve got you.”
Her hands clutch at my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. “They took her,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Those monsters took my baby—”
“I know.” The words come out rougher than I mean them to because I’m feeling what she’s feeling, not the same, it could never equate, but it’s close enough.
The thought of Jessy alone and scared, in someone else’s hands makes something ugly, something cold and violent that’s lain dormant for a long time, rise in my chest. I push it down. It’s not useful right now, but later, when we find the bastards, it will be.
“We’re getting her back,” I say firmly. “You hear me? We’re getting her back.”
She shakes her head once against my chest, like she doesn’t believe it or she can’t let herself believe it, only to have the last shred of hope ripped away.
I tighten my hold on her. “You trust me?” I ask quietly.
She doesn’t hesitate for long before answering. “Yes.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough.
“Then we’re getting her back,” I repeat.
Her breathing starts to steady as she regains her composure and control in a way that only Sloane can. She quickly pulls away, as if she caught herself slipping, and refuses to let it happen again. Her hands come up to wipe at her face, dragging away tears with the back of her wrist.
Just like that, she’s back. The sharp, focused, and sometimes a little bit terrifying woman that we need right now. Sloane, the lawyer, not the mom. “Inside,” she orders.
We don’t hesitate; there’s no need to discuss, we need to move.
The clubhouse erupts into a frenzy of movement and chaos.
The room fills with raised, angry voices overlapping, and the sounds of chairs scraping, boots hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the walls.
The men are enraged and ready to fight, their questions overlapping, the answers few and far between.
“Who took her—”
“How the hell did this happen—”
“Lock the gates—”
Cruz looks defeated, Rook overwhelmed, frozen with concern for Sloane, the only time I’ve ever seen him fail to take charge.
It’s pure, uncontrolled chaos. For a moment, I fear it’s going to stay that way, and we’ll never achieve anything like this, but then Sloane moves, gliding with purpose through the scramble of people.
Halfway across the room, right in the center of the madness, she stops.
But the expression on her face isn’t lost or scared; it’s determined, the face of a leader about to command their troops.
“Meeting room,” she says. She doesn’t need to shout, but her voice carries, cutting through the noise and uncertainty.
People shift, glancing over at Rook, our leader, who echoes Sloane’s command, pointing out who should join us and who should wait here and prepare the weapons. With a decision made, everyone follows without question.
Seconds later we’re in the room where we hold church, the door slamming shut behind us, muffling the chaos outside just enough to think.
Sloane doesn’t sit. Without hesitation, she opens her laptop and dumps a stack of files onto the table, spreading them out with quick, precise movements.
“We can assume that Briggs is the one who took her,” she says. “This isn’t random or simply revenge,” she adds, already pulling up documents, maps, diagrams.
Rook comes to stand beside her, and Cruz moves in on her other side. “The kidnapping seemed planned, organized.”
Sloane nods, as if this confirmed what she already suspected.
“I know how men like him think,” she replies.
“It’s all about power, control, assets, and money.
Emotions don’t factor into their decisions.
” Her fingers fly over the keyboard. “Jessy is leverage,” she continues.
“Not a target. He’s taken her because he wants something from me.
If he…” she breaks off for a moment and gets herself under control again.
“If he wanted her dead, he would have killed her there and then. The fact that he didn’t means he wants to negotiate. ”
“So why hasn’t he called?” I ask.
Sloane shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe by visiting his office I forced his hand and he hasn’t decided his next move yet?”
My jaw tightens. “So where would he take her?”
She doesn’t answer right away, engrossed in cross-referencing, pulling up maps, property records, and acquisition logs, reading them quicker than I can take them in, only needing to glance at the familiar documents to find what she’s looking for.
“She’s not far,” she says finally. “Briggs wouldn’t risk moving her too far, not yet.
It would be too risky. I know you asked the school to hold off calling the cops, but they will.
A child went missing while in their care, they can’t not call in law enforcement.
He’s relying on us to stay quiet and wait by the phone for a ransom call.
He knows we won’t trust the cops, that we’d rather settle this ourselves.
But he’s not expecting us to come to him. ”
She zooms in on a map and points. “Here,” she says, tapping the screen.
It shows a warehouse, approximately ten miles out. He owns it through a shell company, one he no doubt thought wouldn’t be traced back to him.
Rook leans in, brow furrowed as he studies the map. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” There’s no doubt in her voice. She can’t allow room for doubt, not when the stakes are so high. “She’s there,” Sloane says, jaw firm with determination. “She has to be.”
“We roll now,” Rook says without hesitation.
Sloane shoots him a look of pleased surprise that he’s trusted her without question.
A week ago, they’d have been at each other’s throats, arguing over the best course of action, but things have changed, and they’re on the same team now.
They both know there’s no time for indecision or disagreement.
Everyone shifts at once, listening closely as Rook barks his orders, articulating a plan in seconds, letting everyone know their positions. Once they’re up to speed, he dismisses them, and Cruz leaves with them to pass on the orders to the rest.
“You’re staying here,” Rook adds, turning to Sloane.
She looks up, her eyes steely with determination. “No,” she says, her voice cold and blunt.
“It’s not safe. This could be a trap designed for you. Briggs already tried to kill you more than once. You’re not walking into a firefight—”
“You need me on comms,” she cuts in, voice sharp enough to slice through steel. “And she’s my daughter.”
Rook steps closer. He tries to hide his concern for her, but it’s clear to me that he’s terrified of losing her, that he just wants to keep her safe. “This isn’t—”
“I’m not staying behind,” she says. Her voice is not loud or emotional, just certain and unwavering. Her expression is fierce and unmovable, a lioness protecting her cub. We couldn’t stop her coming even if we tried.
Rook sees it, and for once, he doesn’t argue or push the point. “Fine,” he grunts. He doesn’t like it, but by now he knows Sloane is too stubborn to listen, and arguing would only waste time.
Everything moves quickly after that. The men mobilize, the mood shifting from chaotic to purposeful as the engines roar to life.
Sloane sets up in the truck, laptop open, headset on, already pulling schematics as the door slides shut.
Hogg drives the van, and we flank it on all sides as we ride to the warehouse.
The journey isn’t long, but time seems to stretch out endlessly until I start to worry we’ve taken a wrong turn and missed it. But then the warehouse looms ahead, materializing on the horizon. It’s quiet, seemingly empty, suspiciously so.
“I’ve got the building blueprints,” Sloane says as we pull up a safe distance away, out of sight, her voice steady through the comms. “Main entrance, two side exits. Office section on the north side.”
The silence is loud as we cut our engines. The warehouse is in a remote area. There’s no reason why anyone would be out here. The only sound is the distant hum of traffic on the nearby freeway, visible just in the distance.
Over the comms, I hear Sloane’s voice. “It’s Briggs, he’s calling to make his demands.”
We freeze, wondering if he’s somehow seen us arrive. Sloane keeps the line open as she talks to him. “Where is my daughter?”
My heart swells with pride at her composure and fearlessness. We don’t hear Briggs’ reply, but from Sloane’s response, we know Jessy is okay, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Prove it, let me speak to her.” There’s a brief moment before the phone is passed over, and then Sloane’s voice changes, breaking slightly as she speaks to her daughter. “Jessy, it’s okay, momma’s coming for you.” She laughs slightly at something Jessy says. “Yes, we have your T. rex, he’s okay.”
The phone must be taken from Jessy again as there’s a brief pause where Briggs makes his demands. Sloane’s reply is as cold as ice and makes me grin savagely. “Fuck your demands, and fuck you, you messed with the wrong family.”
She hangs up the phone, directing her next words to all of us. “Go get my daughter.”
Rook gestures, silently directing us into position. We spread out, surrounding the building, weapons drawn. When everyone is in place, Rook gives the order. “Move.”