Chapter 16
Sloane
It’s past midnight when we finally get home from the police station. The clubhouse is silent, empty for the first time since I arrived. Everything feels slowed down and too sharp at the same time, like my body hasn’t decided whether to crash or keep running.
Jessy is asleep upstairs, the sway of the police car that drove us home finally lulled her to sleep, curled into my side until her breathing evened out, her small hand still twisted in the front of my shirt like she didn’t trust the world not to take her again if she let go.
Boone carefully carried her upstairs, gentle as if he were holding a dormouse.
She didn’t stir when he softly laid her on the bed and pulled the comforter up around her.
We stood in silence, watching the rise and fall of her chest for a moment before Boone took my hand and guided me away.
Even now, I can still feel the ghost of her grip, and I resist the urge to go to her room and check on her, to make sure she’s really here, fearful she’ll disappear again if I take my eye off her for a second.
I stand just outside the main room in the clubhouse, staring at nothing in particular, the weight of the day settling into my bones in a way exhaustion never quite does.
I just got a call from the detective who’s handling the case, and I still can’t believe it.
The lights hum faintly overhead, only half of them on, casting a small circle of light in the otherwise dark room.
A bottle clinks softly somewhere behind me.
We’ve graduated from coffee onto harder stuff.
“You should sit,” Boone says, his voice low, close behind me. I didn’t hear him walking up.
I don’t argue, I don’t have the energy for it.
He guides me carefully toward the couch, as if I might break if he moves too fast. His hand stays at my back, steady and grounding, until I sink into the worn leather couch; it creaks under my weight.
The safe, solid warmth of it envelops me, reassuringly familiar.
Rook is pacing in tight, controlled lines near the table, his jaw locked so hard I can see the tension in his neck.
Cruz leans against the bar, one hand braced on the surface, the other wrapped around a glass he hasn’t taken a sip from.
All three of them look like they’re holding something back. I feel the same.
“So what did Alvarez want?” Rook asks.
“He’s going to get away with it,” I say, my voice flat and distant, the words feel like they belong to someone else. Saying it out loud after my phone call with Detective Alvarez makes it real.
Rook stops pacing. “What?”
“Briggs,” I clarify. “He’s being released.”
Silence drops hard into the room like a penny in a fountain. “That’s not possible,” Cruz says.
“It is.” I drag a hand over my face, the skin still too tight from dried tears. “He’s claiming he had no involvement,” I continue. “Says the men acted alone. Broke into his warehouse. He was only there because the alarm tripped.”
Cruz lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Rook’s eyes are on me, dark, focused, furious. “And the police bought that?”
“They don’t have enough evidence to contradict it,” I say. “There’s no direct evidence tying Briggs to the kidnapping. He was too smart for that, had his lackeys do the dirty work.”
Boone’s hand tightens slightly at my back. “But we found her in his building.”
“Yes.” I try to push away the thought of how afraid my little girl must have been, how brave and smart she was, trying to leave us clues to find her, and how absolute her faith in us was. How close it came to crushing that faith.
Cruz throws his hands up, spilling his whiskey as it sloshes over the side. “And that’s not enough?”
“Not without proof that he put her there.”
“What about the call?”
“Private number. I should have recorded it, but I wasn’t thinking straight, I—”
“Don’t go there,” Rook says. “This is all on Briggs.”
“I hate that the cops can’t do anything,” I say. The words taste bitter. I’d always trusted in justice, in the word of law being infallible, but now I see just how flawed it is, how it protects the guilty as much as the innocent, perhaps more.
Rook’s jaw flexes. “That’s bullshit.”
“Yes,” I say. “It is.”
Cruz pushes off the bar, pacing now, agitation rolling off him in sharp, restless waves. “What about the men?” he asks. “The ones we took down?”
“One’s in a coma,” I say. “The other isn’t talking.”
Cruz rolls his eyes. “Of course he’s not.”
“Briggs is claiming he hid during the firefight and called the police.”
Cruz scoffs. “Convenient.”
“Very.” I lean forward slightly, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. The wood grain blurs as fresh tears spring to my eyes. I didn’t think I had any left in me. “He’s also filing a civil suit,” I add. “Against all of you, the club.”
“For what?” Rook asks, voice dangerously quiet.
“Assault. Harassment. Property damage.” I look at Boone, hating having to tell him.
“He’s claiming you assaulted him as he was trying to escape the premises during the attack.
He says you attacked him without provocation, that he feared for his life, and believed you were a burglar who had broken into his warehouse. ”
Boone nods but says nothing, processing the information in his usual stoic manner.
Cruz laughs again, harsher this time. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were.” I reach out and rest my hand on Boone’s, silently conveying that I’m here for him.
The room feels smaller, like the walls are closing in. We did everything right, and it still doesn’t matter. I close my eyes briefly. I can still hear Detective Alvarez’s voice. “Off the record? I believe you.” But belief isn’t evidence. Evidence is everything in a court of law.
Rook shifts closer. “Does Alvarez agree with this bullshit?”
I shake my head. “He knows Briggs is dirty.”
He slams his hands down on the table, the noise cracking through the room like a gunshot and making me flinch. “Then why the hell—”
“Because he can’t prove it,” I cut in. “Not yet.”
Silence, heavy and unavoidable, there’s nothing we can do. My hands curl into fists in my lap. I hate this part. The waiting, knowing the truth yet unable to act. Knowing that the perp could get away or cause more people harm before you can nail them. “I should have built the case first,” I mutter.
“You didn’t know,” Boone says quietly.
“I did,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. “I knew enough. I thought I’d had enough. I should never have gone to Briggs’ offices. I just—” I break off.
The truth of my mistakes hits me like a ton of bricks.
I rushed, reacted too fast, and Jessy paid for it.
If I’d waited, if I’d done it the right way from the start, if I’d built my case and let the cops handle the rest, Briggs would never have taken Jessy.
We wouldn’t have had to rush in to rescue her, giving Briggs the perfect opportunity to frame us as the aggressors.
Of course, the police will believe a respected businessman over a motorcycle club that operates in the gray areas.
It’s not even like we can claim there’s no one else who might have a motive to kidnap Jessy, as a prosecutor, there are lots of disgruntled cons who might want to hurt me, and even more that might want to hurt Iron Vale MC.
If Briggs hurt Jessy… it would be entirely my fault.
Boone’s hand slides from my back to my shoulder, steady pressure grounding me. “She’s safe,” he says, as always knowing exactly what’s going through my mind.
“I know.” But the image won’t leave my head. Jessy, alone and afraid, without even her plushie for comfort, waiting for me. My chest tightens. “She shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place,” I say.
“No,” Rook agrees. His voice is quieter now. “She shouldn’t have.”
I look up at him closely; the anger is still there, but underneath it, there’s fear. He’s feeling the same thing I felt. The same thing I’m still feeling.
Cruz stops pacing and leans against the table again. “What’s our next move?” he asks—a man of action, not one to give up that easily.
His words light the fire within me. I straighten slowly. This part I understand. This part I can control. “We build the case,” I say. “We don’t let that bastard get away with this.”
Rook’s eyes sharpen. “How?”
“The way I always do.” I push to my feet, energy coming back in sharp, focused bursts now that I have something to aim it at.
“Briggs didn’t just start this,” I continue.
“This operation has structure, a history. He can’t hide the financial trails, not completely.
I’ve already got enough to convince us, now I just need enough to convince the cops.
” I move to the table, grabbing a legal pad, already writing.
“He’s careful,” I say. “But no one is perfect. There will be mistakes, patterns, overlaps.”
Cruz watches me, something like a grin pulling at his mouth. “There she is.”
I ignore him. “We trace every company,” I continue. “Every transaction. Every property.”
Boone steps closer. “What do you need?”
“Time,” I say. “Access. No one interrupts me unless it’s urgent.”
Rook nods once. “You’ve got it.”
I meet his gaze. “This ends with him in prison.”
Not maybe. Not hopefully. Definitely. As much as we might want Briggs dead, he deserves to rot in jail. His victims deserve justice.
Rook holds my eyes. “Good,” he says, understanding without me needing to explain why this is so important that we do things right.
Taking down Briggs isn’t just about justice anymore.
It’s about making sure he can never touch us again.
I turn back to the table, flipping open my laptop, the screen lighting up in the dim room.
The familiar glow steadies me and centers me.
This is where I fight best. Not with weapons, or force, but with facts, with proof, with precision.
I pull up the files and start building the case, brick by brick, making sure that this time, the foundations won’t crumble under scrutiny.
I’m not going to move until I can bury him completely. I won’t stop until I do.
Briggs may have won the battle, but I will win the war.