Chapter Eight
“Oh, God,” Avery whispered, her chest tightening at the sound of Mick’s shout.
Charlotte and Darian.
They were coming here.
Mick jumped into his truck, slammed the door, and gunned the engine. The tires spun on the wet gravel before catching, throwing mud behind him as he tore away from the house.
He couldn’t go back down the main road, not without running head-on into Charlotte and Darian.
Instead, he veered off toward a side trail that cut through the trees.
Avery’s heart pounded as she watched the taillights vanish into the rain.
The narrow track looked almost identical to the one she and Jackson had used to escape the grenade attack.
If they needed to run, that trail could be their way out.
Jackson didn’t waste a second. He grabbed her arm, his voice urgent and in command. “Get in the SUV.”
She hesitated, glancing toward Warren, who stood frozen in the doorway, pale and useless.
“Now, Avery,” Jackson barked.
She ran with him through the rain, the cold cutting through her clothes as water splashed around her boots. The headlights from the approaching vehicle glowed faintly through the curtain of rain, growing brighter by the second.
Jackson yanked open the passenger door and pushed her toward it. “The SUV’s bullet-resistant,” he said. “It’s safer than the house. Stay low and don’t move until I tell you.”
Avery climbed in, her hands trembling as she gripped the seat. She watched through the windshield as Jackson backed away from the door, his weapon already in hand, his focus locked on the approaching lights down the drive.
Her throat tightened. He wasn’t getting in. He was staying out there.
“Jackson, get in!” Avery shouted, her voice barely carrying over the rain.
He shook his head, his gaze locked on the approaching lights down the drive. “I can’t. I need to deal with Charlotte and Darian first.”
She leaned out the open door, rain pelting her face. “You can’t take them on by yourself!”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “I’m not dragging Warren into that SUV with us, and I can’t leave him here alone. If they came to execute him, I need to keep him alive long enough to find out why.”
“Jackson—”
He cut her off with a sharp look. “Avery, get in the SUV.” His voice dropped, calm but commanding. He handed her the keys. “Start the engine and be ready to move. If this turns into a fight, you get the hell out of here. Understand?”
Avery hesitated, her throat tightening. Every part of her wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes told her not to waste time.
She nodded once, hard, and climbed fully into the SUV. Her hands were slick with rain as she shoved the key into the ignition. The engine came to life with a deep growl that filled the night.
Through the windshield, she saw the glare of headlights breaking through the rain. A dark van was coming fast, the beam cutting across the wet road.
A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Whoever was inside had definitely seen her.
Avery tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her heart hammering.
Jackson was still out there, standing between her and whatever threat was about to hit them head-on.
She kept the engine running, her hands trembling on the wheel.
The low rumble filled the air, steady and ready.
She kept her gun close, resting it on her thigh, but she had no intention of driving off. Not without Jackson.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, she could see him hurrying back to the porch where Warren hovered near the door.
Warren’s face was pale, his eyes wide with panic. “I can’t be out here,” he said, voice cracking. “They’ll kill me!”
He tried to move back toward the house, but Jackson stepped in front of him. “Stay put,” Jackson said, his tone like steel. Avery could tell he wasn’t taking any chances on Warren grabbing a weapon or pulling something stupid.
Avery’s pulse pounded as she glanced toward the drive. The glow of headlights grew brighter through the sheets of rain until the dark shape of a van came into view. It slowed, then stopped behind the SUV, close enough for her to make out the driver.
Darian Locke.
Even through the rain, she recognized his sharp features, that cold focus that had made him so dangerous.
The passenger door opened, and Charlotte stepped out. She was calm, too calm, like someone arriving for a meeting instead of a confrontation.
No weapon in sight.
She carried an umbrella, holding it with both hands as she walked toward the house, her steps slow and deliberate.
The black fabric gleamed under the rain, and for a moment, Avery couldn’t shake the thought that it looked less like protection and more like a prop for whatever trap Charlotte planned to spring next.
Avery’s grip tightened on the gun. Every instinct she had screamed that the umbrella wasn’t just an umbrella.
And she knew Jackson was thinking the same thing.
Charlotte came closer, stopping just short of the porch steps. Rain slid off her umbrella in a steady curtain, pooling at her feet. She lifted her chin and smiled, her voice smooth and polite.
“Warren,” she said, as if greeting an old friend. “It’s good to see you again.”
Avery’s pulse jumped. Again.
Charlotte tilted her head, still smiling. “I should probably apologize for using an alias the last time I saw you. I didn’t think it was a good idea to give you my real name. I’m sure you understand.”
Avery stayed low in the SUV, watching through the rain-streaked window.
She wasn’t sure she believed Charlotte’s little apology for a second.
It sounded too neat, too rehearsed. Maybe Charlotte was giving Warren an out in front of Jackson.
Maybe Warren had known exactly who she was back then and had gone along with it.
Her stomach twisted at the thought. Warren had sworn he didn’t sell her out, but his reaction now told a different story. He looked frozen, his mouth working but no words coming out, and his eyes wouldn’t meet Charlotte’s.
Charlotte’s gaze shifted, her eyes drifting toward the SUV. Even through the rain, Avery could feel the weight of it.
“So,” Charlotte said, her voice smooth and cold, “Avery’s alive.”
The words slid through the air like a blade. It wasn’t surprise in her tone. It was a threat.
Jackson’s snarl cut through the rain. “What the fuck do you want?”
Charlotte’s smile didn’t waver. “I only want to have a word with the woman responsible for locking my husband away.”
The fury hit Avery like a punch. She gripped the steering wheel until her fingers ached, her jaw tight as memories flooded in. Haver Barker’s face. The sound of the gunshot. Evan falling.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might be sick. Every part of her wanted to throw the door open and face Charlotte head-on, to remind her that her husband wasn’t the victim here. Evan had been.
But she couldn’t.
She forced herself to stay still, to breathe. If she stepped out now, Darian could take the shot, and Jackson would have no choice but to fire back. One spark, and the whole thing would explode into blood and chaos.
So she stayed put, trembling with anger she couldn’t release.
Charlotte’s voice carried easily over the rain, calm and cruel. Avery could almost feel her smile, satisfied and sure she had the upper hand.
Not for long, Avery thought. Not if she could help it.
Jackson’s voice was tight as a wire. “Did you put a tracker on her?”
Charlotte tilted her head, the rain beading on her umbrella. “No. I didn’t get a chance to do that.”
Avery felt the chill of those words more than the rain. Jackson’s eyes bored into Charlotte, not trusting for a second.
Charlotte’s smile stayed, slow and confident. “I had my son followed,” she said. “Mick led us here.”
Jackson’s jaw worked. “You wanted him to lead you here so you could kill him?”
For a heartbeat Charlotte looked almost surprised at the claim, as if she’d never heard it before. Then the smile returned, but it had a different edge now.
“No,” she replied, voice smooth. “I don’t want him dead. I want him to do his duty to the organization. The Brotherhood is his legacy.”
Avery watched Jackson, felt the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled on the weapon.
She wanted to believe Charlotte was bluffing.
She wanted to believe Mick had tricked them and he was safe.
But Charlotte’s calm certainty made that hope feel like a child’s toy, fragile and easily broken.
Jackson’s tone hardened. “A legacy he clearly doesn’t want.”
Charlotte’s eyes flickered, but her smile never slipped.
“And you had someone shoot at him,” Jackson added, his voice cutting through the rain.
Charlotte gave a soft laugh, tilting her head just slightly. “I didn’t do any such thing.”
Avery could almost hear the lie in her voice.
“And the grenades?” Jackson pressed. “The ones that leveled my house and nearly killed us both?”
Charlotte’s lips curved again, but it wasn’t amusement. It was arrogance. “That wasn’t me either,” she said lightly. “You know how stories get twisted.”
Avery’s stomach turned. The woman’s tone told her everything she needed to know. Charlotte was lying. She had ordered the attack. She just didn’t care enough to deny it convincingly.
Jackson huffed, his patience clearly running out. “If you’re not gunning for us, then why show up here? You could have had this conversation with Avery over the phone.”
Charlotte shifted the umbrella slightly, her gaze sliding back to the SUV where Avery sat. “Because I wanted to do it face to face,” she said.
The words sent a shiver through Avery. They weren’t an invitation. They were a warning.
Charlotte hesitated, her smile faltering for the first time. She gave a quick, nervous glance over her shoulder toward the van where Darian still sat behind the wheel. When she turned back, her tone was softer, almost weary.
“There are things beyond my control,” she said.
Avery narrowed her eyes. Was that the truth or another performance? Charlotte Barker wasn’t the type to admit weakness. Maybe it was a lie meant to buy sympathy, or maybe Darian really did have a hold on her.
Before Avery could decide, the sound of a window lowering cut through the rain. Darian leaned toward the open gap, his voice sharp. “Charlotte. Get back in the van.”
It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
Charlotte froze, her grip tightening on the umbrella. For a moment, Avery thought she might defy him. Then, with a quick breath, Charlotte turned and walked back to the van.
Avery watched closely, her gut twisting. Was this real tension between them, or were they staging it? Maybe it was just another ploy to make Jackson and her question who was really pulling the strings.
Charlotte opened the passenger door and climbed in. Before the door shut, she looked back at Avery through the rain, her expression strange, pleading, almost desperate.
Then Darian’s hand came up fast, striking her across the face.
Avery gasped. The door slammed, and with the van’s tires spitting mud, it sped back down the road.
For a long moment, the only sound left was the rain hammering against the SUV.
Avery sat frozen, heart pounding, trying to decide what she’d just seen.
Was Charlotte a victim? Or still the most dangerous woman alive?
The moment the van disappeared down the driveway, Jackson sprinted toward the SUV. Mud splashed around his boots as he yanked open the door. Behind him, Warren bolted for his house without a word.
Jackson leaned in, rain dripping from his hair and jacket. “Did you see Darian slap Charlotte?” she blurted.
“Yeah.” But it was obvious from his tone that his attention wasn’t on that. “Strip off your clothes,” he ordered. “Now.”
Avery blinked, startled. “What?”
“You might have a tracker on you,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’m not taking chances. Get in the backseat. There’s a go-bag under the seat with clothes. Change and then we’ll throw your clothes away.”
His voice left no room for argument.
Avery’s pulse spiked, but she nodded. “All right.”
She climbed over the console into the backseat, her knees catching on the leather. The air inside the SUV felt thick from the rain and the heat of adrenaline. She reached under the seat and found the bag, unzipping it with shaking hands.
Outside, Jackson kept scanning the woods, his eyes sharp and restless. The rain poured harder, hammering against the roof.
Avery pulled off the jacket Jackson had given her. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, and every movement felt clumsy. She kept glancing toward the window, afraid they’d see the van’s headlights again before she was done.
She dug into the bag and found a T-shirt and a pair of sweats, both clearly Jackson’s. The thought barely registered. She just needed to get the wet, possibly tagged clothes off and be ready to move.
Jackson hadn’t looked back, but his voice came through the rain, steady and low. “Make it fast, Avery. We’re not staying here another minute.”
Avery’s stomach twisted. The thought of carrying a tracker all this time made her skin crawl. “You think they’ve been tracking me since Houston?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“It’s possible,” Jackson said. He was still watching the woods, his hand on his weapon. “They’ve been one step ahead too many times for it to be luck.”
She pulled off the last of her wet clothes and grabbed the dry ones from the bag, her hands trembling. “But I washed these clothes,” she said, her voice rising. “Wouldn’t that have killed the tracker?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “Depends on the kind they used. Some are waterproof. Some are sewn right into the fabric.”
Avery swallowed hard, the words making her heart pound faster. “Oh, God.”
When she finished dressing, she shoved the bundle of wet clothes toward him. Jackson took them without hesitation, opened the window, and threw them out into the rain.
“Hold on,” he said.
The SUV lurched forward, tires spinning in the mud before catching traction. Avery turned to look back, the glow of Warren’s porch light fading into the storm.
Jackson didn’t slow as they reached the end of the driveway. He leaned forward slightly, scanning the road.
Then the sound hit—a sharp, deafening crack.
Bullets slammed into the side of the SUV.