Chapter Eighteen
Avery blinked awake, the room washed in the amber glow of a single lamp. For a second she couldn’t place where she was. Then the warmth beside her registered. The solid weight of Jackson’s arm across her waist, his steady breathing brushing her shoulder.
She was naked. So was he. The sheets tangled around them, warm from shared heat. Her muscles felt liquid, the ache that had lived in her body finally eased.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually slept. Not a doze on a couch or a few restless hours between nightmares. Real sleep. The kind that left her heavy and boneless.
Noah had been right. They’d needed the rest.
Apparently, sex—good sex—could do what adrenaline and caffeine couldn’t. But the thought carried a bitter edge. The warmth couldn’t reach past the walls of Jackson’s bedroom. It couldn’t find Megan and Riley. It couldn’t name the person who’d put a target on her back.
It couldn’t change what any of them had already lost.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling while Jackson’s heartbeat thudded against her spine, and let herself feel the weight of the quiet. It was a rare, stolen peace, fragile and fleeting, and she knew the second they stepped back into the world, it would shatter.
Avery turned onto her back, careful not to wake Jackson. The sheets slipped down her chest, the cool air brushing against skin still marked by him.
For a moment, she just breathed. Then, as always, Evan’s face surfaced, his crooked grin, his voice when he’d tell her to slow down, breathe, live a little.
She waited for the guilt to come. It didn’t.
The ache was still there, a quiet pulse deep inside her, but it wasn’t sharp anymore.
She would always love Evan. That part of her life had shaped everything that came after.
But lying here, with Jackson’s warmth beside her and his scent still clinging to her skin, she realized maybe love wasn’t meant to stay frozen in grief.
Maybe it could change, grow, shift into something new.
It startled her to admit it, even silently.
Maybe it was time to move on.
But that kind of peace was a luxury she didn’t have yet. Not while two hostages were still missing. Not while someone out there wanted her dead.
She exhaled, her hand brushing Jackson’s arm as he murmured something in his sleep. They couldn’t move forward until it was safe. And heaven knew when that would be.
So she let herself have this moment, just one heartbeat of stillness, before the storm came again.
Jackson stirred beside her, his arm tightening around her waist. A low sound rumbled in his chest as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Avery smiled faintly. “That loud, huh?”
He shifted closer, his breath warm against her neck. “Loud enough. You got regrets about this?”
She turned her head until their eyes met in the dim light. There was nothing hesitant in his gaze, no trace of the guarded man he’d been before.
“No,” she said. Her voice came out quiet but steady. “Not a single one.”
He kissed her then, slow at first, then deeper. The heat that had pulled them under earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. She felt it in the slide of his mouth, the way his hand skimmed her hip, pulling her closer.
The sharp buzz of his phone shattered the moment.
Jackson exhaled, forehead resting against hers for a beat before he reached for the phone on the nightstand. “Crossfire Ops, Ward.”
A pause. His jaw went tight. “Put it through.”
Avery sat up, heart sinking at the sound of Mick’s voice on the other end. It was raw, breaking.
“Jacks…” Mick’s breath hitched. “I just found out about my mom. She’s gone. She’s dead.”
The silence that followed cut straight through the room. Avery’s stomach turned cold. Jackson’s hand went still, the phone pressed against his ear as the weight of Mick’s words settled like stone between them.
Avery leaned closer to the phone. “Mick,” she said softly. “You always said you hated your mother.”
There was a shaky breath on the other end. “Yeah. I did.” His voice cracked, anger and grief tangled together. “But I didn’t want her dead, Avery. I just—” Another breath, rough and wet. “I didn’t want her in my life. That’s different.”
Jackson stayed silent, giving him space, but Avery could hear the sound of Mick pacing, his footsteps sharp against tile.
“She didn’t just die,” Mick went on. “They said she was murdered. This is them. Darian or Warren. One of them did this to get to me.”
Maybe.
Avery met Jackson’s eyes over the phone, something uneasy curling low in her stomach. Mick hadn’t mentioned Charlotte was an informant. Not once. If he didn’t know, then he’d have another shock coming when he found out. If he did know, that was worse.
Her pulse kicked harder as she listened to him swear revenge, voice shaking. She couldn’t tell yet if she was hearing a son mourning or a man hiding something.
Either way, one truth threaded through her mind like ice: if Mick didn’t kill her mother, he might still know who did.
Jackson’s voice cut through the heavy silence. “Mick, aren’t you still in the hospital?”
“Yeah,” Mick said, his words uneven but steadier now. “They’ve got me on observation, but my injuries aren’t that serious. I’m fine.”
Avery could hear the rustle of movement on the other end. He was already up, probably pulling out IV lines and ignoring the nurses.
“Mick,” Jackson warned, tone sharp, “you need to stay put—”
“I think I know where they are,” Mick interrupted.
His voice cracked again, but this time it was with conviction, not grief.
“When the sheriff told me about Mom, she told me where they found her body. It was off County Road 19, near the old timber cut. Darian used to run survivalist training out that way.”
Avery’s pulse kicked. She knew that area from research she’d done on the Brotherhood. It was a patch of rough land about thirty miles outside Crossfire Creek—dense woods, uneven terrain, and plenty of places to hide things you didn’t want found.
“Darian has a whole setup out there,” Mick went on.
“Obstacle courses, concealed trails, live-fire training. He built it like a prepper compound—dozens of traps, camouflaged pits, the works. But there’s more.
About a mile south of the main clearing, there’s an old underground bunker.
It was part of a Cold War shelter project or something, concrete reinforced, no cell signal.
You could keep someone down there for weeks and nobody’d ever know. ”
Avery’s hand tightened around the phone. “And you think that’s where Megan and Riley are.”
“I know it is.”
“Then let us handle it,” Jackson said, and it wasn’t a suggestion.
Mick’s voice came back low and strained. “No. I’m not sitting here while they’re out there. I’m getting dressed and heading that way.”
Avery could picture it. Mick moving fast, adrenaline masking the pain, a storm of rage and guilt pushing him forward.
“Mick,” she said carefully, “don’t do anything until we get there. If that place is wired like you say, it’s a death trap.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” he said, and the line went dead.
Jackson lowered the phone, his jaw locked tight.
Jackson was already on his feet, grabbing for his jeans as he punched Noah’s number into his phone. Avery pulled the sheet around herself for a second before forcing herself to move. The calm of the last few hours had evaporated, replaced by the familiar thrum of adrenaline.
“Noah,” Jackson said when the call connected, his voice clipped. “We just got a call from Mick. He’s still at the hospital, but he says he knows where the hostages are, something about a training facility Darian built near County Road 19.”
Avery could hear Noah’s reply faintly through the speaker, his tone sharp and incredulous.
“Yeah,” Jackson replied. “He says there’s an old bunker out there. Claims that’s where Megan and Riley are being held.”
A pause. Then Noah said something that made Jackson’s mouth harden.
“Do it,” Jackson said. “Keep him there, whatever it takes.”
He ended the call and turned to Avery. “Noah’s going to look into the site and make sure Mick doesn’t walk out of that hospital.”
“Good,” Avery said, already pulling on her clothes. “Because if this is what I think it is, Mick could be walking us into a setup.”
They dressed fast, no words wasted, and crossed the compound to Jackson’s office. He powered up his computer, his fingers flying over the keys as Avery leaned over his shoulder.
A satellite map filled the screen. Miles of rough terrain.
“Darian really did build himself a fortress,” Jackson muttered.
Avery studied the image. The land was a maze of limestone bluffs and tangled trails. Pockets of dark caves pocked the terrain, and narrow gullies ran like veins through the woods. If someone didn’t know the layout, it’d be almost impossible to navigate, let alone stage a rescue.
“This looks like a nightmare for an extraction,” she said quietly.
“Exactly,” Jackson said. “Perfect place for a trap.”
Her phone buzzed. A text from Noah. On it. Sending someone out now. I’ll let you know what we find.
Jackson’s phone buzzed again, the shrill tone slicing through the low hum of the computers.
He frowned at the screen. “Dispatch again,” he muttered, then his brow furrowed. “Unknown number.”
Avery’s pulse kicked up. “Could be Mick.”
“Or worse,” Jackson said, and swiped to answer. “Ward.”
A small, shaky voice came through the speaker. “Jackson? This is Riley.”
Avery’s breath caught.
Jackson straightened, his tone instantly gentle but firm. “Riley, it’s me. Are you okay? Where’s Megan?”
There was a pause, a faint, wet sound, like a muffled sob, and then Riley’s voice came again. Flat. Controlled.
“I have a message,” she said.
Avery’s chest tightened. The way Riley spoke—it sounded rehearsed, the words coming in stilted bursts, like she was reading something she’d been forced to memorize.
“Riley,” Jackson said. “Just tell us where you are.”
“I…can’t,” Riley murmured. “They said to tell you…” She stopped, voice trembling, and when she spoke again, it was higher, faster as if she was trying to get the words out before someone stopped her. “The only way Megan and I can live is if Avery gives herself up.”
The words hit like a blow.
Jackson’s knuckles whitened around the phone. “Who told you that? Riley, are they there with you?”
Static filled the line. Avery could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“Riley, tell me where you are. Now,” he said, voice low and steady.
Riley’s voice came thin and rehearsed again. “The back of the Brotherhood’s old training facility.”
Mick had been right. That didn’t exactly feel comforting to Avery.
“There’s a washout and a collapsed culvert,” Riley went on. “You’ll see tire ruts that lead to a hollow with a concrete slab. Behind the slab is the service hatch to the bunker. That’s where we are.”
Avery felt the room tilt. She glanced at the map on Jackson’s computer screen, the narrow trail that forked off and dropped into a gully, the cluster of boulders that hid the hollow from casual view. It was exactly the kind of place you could bury someone and expect no one to find them.
“Who’s with you?” Jackson asked.
“Megan,” Riley said. The name was flat, like someone reading a line. “They’re watching us. They said—” Her voice snagged and smoothed. “They said the only way Megan and I live is if Avery gives herself up. You have to come alone or we die.”
Avery’s throat closed on the word alone. The room narrowed around her. Come alone. The demand tasted like leverage. It smelled like a trap.
Riley continued in that scripted cadence, reading instructions as if the words had been handed to her on a cue card.
“You will drive down County Road 19 until you reach the old logging gate. Leave your vehicle there. Walk the spur five hundred paces. Do not bring flashlights. Do not call anyone else. Do not use your radios. Knock three times on the concrete slab, then wait. They will—”
She broke off. There was a breath, a terrible, held breath, and then Riley’s voice changed. Not the practiced monotone now but thin, urgent, a tremor at the edges. “Don’t come,” she blurted. “It’s a trap.”
Something slammed through Riley’s voice then, a sound that was not words at all but terror. Sharp, animal, immediate. She screamed.
And the line went dead.