Chapter 20
The fragile light of early dawn filtered softly through the farmhouse windows, stretching long shadows across worn floorboards. Outside, the world held its breath in the pale blue haze, trees and fields blurred into the morning mist.
Moose sat poised on the floor, leaning against the couch in the den, fully dressed and alert, muscles relaxed but ready to snap into action.
His gaze pierced the east-facing windows, watching the dark treeline with practiced intensity.
Across the living room, Bear rested low on the floor, eyes sharp beneath heavy lids, positioned to watch the front approach.
Then came the whisper—that unmistakable crackle of Shadow’s voice delivered through the near-invisible comm nestled deep inside Moose’s ear: “Movement to the west.”
Moose’s eyes snapped open instantly. The dim moonlight mingled with the growing dawn, casting pale outlines of Bear’s tensed figure nearby.
Without a second thought, Moose’s hand moved on its own, fingers instinctively brushing the grip of his gun. He rose smoothly, careful not to disturb the silence, and slipped toward the dining room where the west-facing windows framed the shadowed clearing.
Shadow had warned of movement to the west; perched high up in a tree near the roadway, he scanned with his night vision goggles, able to see both directions along the road clearly.
Moose knew the team outside—Jake, Thorn, Viper, and Jax—were already keyed in and ready, a promise of backup if things went south.
Moose keyed his mic softly, voice steady but encouraging. “Shadow, good eyes. Keep those goggles sweeping.”
The farm was alive in subtle ways: leaves rustling in the breeze, distant roosters crowing from Jim’s barn area—a faint herald of morning—but overlaid with a tense stillness gripping every muscle in Moose’s body. He slowed his breath, steadying himself, senses pulled taut like a drawn bowstring.
Earlier, Jake and Thorn had quietly patrolled the perimeter, boots muffled against dirt and gravel.
Shadow kept his sentinel watch from the tree near the road, night vision absorbing every detail in the darkness.
Viper and Jax rested in the barn loft but remained alert, ready for whatever might come.
Are they as restless as I am? Or am I just losing it?
He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts that kept resurfacing about Elena, a dangerous distraction he couldn’t afford.
She’s nearly half my age, for Christ’s sake.
It’s ridiculous. I need to keep my head in the game.
Moose keyed his comm, eyes narrowing as he scanned the clearing. Then Shadow’s calm whisper cut through the quiet, steady as a heartbeat. “Black van. Lights off, just creeping down the road.”
He pictured Shadow’s vantage high in the branches, his eyes glowing faintly behind the night vision goggles, sweeping the blackness with deadly precision. Moose’s pulse quickened at the mental image of an unwelcome visitor driving silently in the dark.
Shadow continued, “Passed the lane leading to the farmhouse, stopped. No brake lights, probably disconnected. Completely dark. Then reversed, turned onto the narrow gravel road.”
Moose stepped closer to the window, catching a faint silhouette moving beyond the trees. The van eased forward slowly into the clearing. The hush in the air felt unnatural, oppressive.
Shadow’s voice dropped to a whisper, tense but controlled. “Van’s stopped again. Now it’s backing out… heading away.”
Moose’s breath hitched. The van slipped back into the shadows, leaving only cold questions behind.
His fingers clenched tighter around his gun’s grip. Why come so close if not to attack? Why hesitate, then retreat?
Silence hung heavy for a moment before Jax’s incredulous voice cut through the comm. “What the hell was that?”
Jake’s tone followed—calm but sharp. “Did they see anything? Any signs? Left something behind?”
Moose’s voice came steady, measured. “Everyone, eyes open. Sweep the yard and driveway thoroughly, look for tracks, gear, anything that might explain their retreat.”
He paused, lowering his voice. “Stay alert. They’re testing us. We can’t let our guard down.”
Outside, quiet movement stirred as the Protectors spread cautiously across the grounds, each footfall deliberate, every sense straining for the unseen threat lurking just beyond.
Moments later, Moose was still at the window when Enzo’s voice crackled in his ear, “I see something near the clearing. Moving in to check.”
Moose tightened his jaw, fingers hovering near his gun. Enzo’s careful pace came alive in his mind—every step deliberate, scanning for traps or signs of the enemy’s presence.
“Approach slow, stay behind cover,” Moose advised softly. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
Enzo’s breathing evened as he closed the distance. Moose held his breath, every muscle coiled tight.
Then came the report—dark and chilling. “It’s a flat rock. Painted in blood-red letters. It just says, ‘She’s DEAD!’”
A cold weight crashed into Moose’s chest, icy and relentless. This wasn’t just a message. It was a gauntlet thrown down—a cruel, twisted challenge meant to shatter their resolve and gut their mission: to keep Elena safe.
Moose’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the grip of his gun, incredulous that the gang would stoop to playing mind games.
He keyed his mic, voice low but edged with dark humor, trying to shake the tension. “Well, Latin Counts,” he muttered, “if you wanted to get our attention… congratulations. Consider it grabbed.”
Static crackled faintly over the comm.
Bear’s gravelly voice came through, dry and steady: “You planning to write them back, Moose? Maybe throw in a nice ‘Thanks for the heads up’?”
Moose allowed himself a tight, humorless chuckle. “Thought about it. Might send flowers too. Maybe ‘Get lost’ in fancy calligraphy.”
Jax’s nervous laugh spilled over the channel. “You guys are something else. Makes me wonder how much coffee you drink at the farm.”
Moose didn’t soften. “Copy that. Hold your positions. Stay sharp. They may be playing mind games, sure—but we play to win.”
His eyes locked back on the blood-smeared rock, then to the treeline where Enzo moved away like a ghost.
This wasn’t random cruelty. It was calculated: a warning etched in defiance.
The fight for Banner had moved beyond bullets. It was a battle for survival, for steel nerve in the face of fear and Moose was set to see it through.
He barked into the comm one last time, voice hard as iron. “Keep channels clear. Watch your sectors. Stay sharp. We don’t give an inch. Not now. Not ever.”
Moose kept his gaze locked on the clearing as Shadow’s voice whispered urgently in his ear, “I’ve got the license plate number.”
The tiny comm nestled deep in his canal crackled softly with the news, sending a jolt through Moose.
He immediately keyed his mic. “Link, you there? Can you run this plate for us? We need intel fast.”
A moment later, Link’s calm, clipped voice replied through the comms. “Online and scanning. Send it over.”
Moose relayed the number carefully, fingers tightening around his gun. Outside, the Protectors remained locked down, every sense alert.
Minutes stretched, then Link’s voice returned. “Plate belongs to a rental registered under a shell company. Possible ties to known Latin Counts associates. Running deeper crosschecks now.”
Moose exhaled slowly. The trail was warm. They were closing in.