CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Staring at the glass of whiskey in my hand, I watch as the amber liquid catches the light.
The bottle of Jack sitting on my desk is half empty, and I’ve been nursing this same glass for the past hour.
I can’t bring myself to drink it.
I can’t bring myself to do much of anything right now except replay the moment I destroyed everything good in my life.
It’s been two fucking days since I watched Cali walk out of my house with tears streaming down her face, Panda clutched to her chest like a lifeline.
Two days since I stood there like a stone-cold bastard and let her go.
Two days since I broke my kids’ hearts along with my own.
“I fucked up,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
The words echo in my office, mocking me.
I close my eyes, but all I see is her face—those beautiful green eyes swimming with tears as I told her this wasn’t her home.
Which is complete fucking bullshit.
This is her damn home. Here, with me, with the kids, with my club. This is where she belongs.
Every word out of my mouth was complete and utter bullshit, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was watching someone else speak through my lips, someone cruel and cold that I didn’t recognize.
Fear.
That’s what it was.
Cold, paralyzing fear that gripped me the moment I realized she was leaving.
Sure, she said she’d come back, but they always say that, don’t they?
My ex-wife said that too, in the beginning. We were having problems, but we were figuring them out. Then she was fucking Kevin in our bed while I was at a club meeting.
But Cali isn’t Jennifer.
I know that. I’ve known it from the start.
“Fuck,” I groan, setting the glass down with more force than necessary.
The sharp knock on my door frame pulls me from my thoughts.
Looking up, I find Bane leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.
I pull in a deep breath, my lungs expanding. I don’t think I have the patience for his shit today.
Motioning for him to come in, I hope that whatever he needs, he’ll make it quick.
I’m not in the headspace for company.
Bane strolls in and drops into the chair across from me.
I drag my eyes across his face, glad that the bruising on his face is finally gone, and he’s no longer favoring his side where the Sinners broke his ribs.
“We’ve got a problem,” he says, his face serious.
My back straightens. “What now?”
“Just got off the phone with Banks.” Bane leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face tinting a shade of red.
Jesus. Whatever it is, he’s about to blow a fucking gasket.
“Well?”
He glances up, and I wave my hand for him to hurry up and tell me what the fuck is going on.
“Someone’s siphoning money from our accounts.”
My brows shoot up to my hairline, eyes threatening to pop out of my damn head. There’s no way I heard him right.
Our money’s in offshore accounts.
The Cayman fucking islands, for crying out loud.
Untraceable.
Untouchable.
Or so we all thought it was supposed to be.
“How the fuck is that possible?” I shout, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
“I don’t fucking know,” he growls, eyes narrowed to slits, “but when I find out who’s behind it, I’m going to cut off their thieving hands.”
Oh, I’m going to do far worse than that.
Whoever stole from us will die.
Slowly.
“How much are we talking here?”
“A hundred G’s.”
“Have Cyber get into it. I want our money found now,” I tell him, already mentally adding this to the growing list of shit we’re dealing with.
First the mayor’s murder at Kitties, then Bane’s beat-down, now this.
Someone’s making moves against us, and we need to figure out who the fuck it is before things get worse.
Bane nods, then his expression shifts. “Heard Foxy left to do a job.”
I tense at the mention of her name. “Yeah.”
“When’s she coming back?”
My jaw clenches. “Never.”
Bane’s brows snap together. “What do you mean, never?”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, guilt gnawing at my insides. “She was leaving, and I said some shit.”
Shit that I wish I could take back with every fiber of my being.
“No...” Bane groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Tell me you didn’t. What the fuck, Jude?”
I cover my face with my hands, my stomach turning. “I don’t fucking know, okay?”
I royally fucked up. I knew the second the door closed behind her when she walked out of my house and out of my life.
I should have called her and told her the truth.
That I didn’t mean a single fucking word I’d said, that I’m an asshole, that I love her, and that I’m sorry.
But I didn’t do any of that because I couldn’t get past my stupid pride.
“You stupid fuck.” Bane rolls his eyes. “That’s a copout, and you know it. You got scared and acted like a fucking pussy. She ain’t Jennifer. Anyone with eyes could see that girl had it bad for you. And your kids.”
“She was leaving,” I deflect, knowing how pathetic I sound.
Bane throws his hands up in the air, his head shaking back and forth. “Yeah. So? Did she say she was never coming back?”
I turn away from my brother’s accusing stare, unable to meet his eyes.
“No.” She said the opposite, in fact.
She promised Saylor she’d be back. She pinky swore. And my baby girl believed her because, despite everything, Cali was nothing but honest with my kids. She didn’t make promises she didn’t intend to keep.
Not like their mother.
Not like me.
“You’re a dumbass,” Bane says, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “That woman was good for you. Good for those kids. And you threw it all away because you’re too fucking scared to be happy.”
“You don’t understand—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“No, I understand perfectly.” He stands up, looming over my desk. “You’re so fucking terrified of getting hurt again that you’d rather blow everything up yourself than risk someone else doing it.”
His words hit their mark, and I flinch.
“Well, congrats,” he continues, heading for the door. “You got what you wanted. She’s gone. Hope it was worth it.”
The door slams behind him, and I’m left alone with the truth of his words ringing in my ears.
I close my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach.
I need to call Foxy and make it right.
I need her to come home when her job is done.
Here. With me and the kids.
Determined to do whatever it takes to get her back, I pull out my phone and scroll down to her name in my contacts.
My finger hovers over the call button when the phone starts ringing in my hand.
I frown at the screen. Odin High School.
“Yeah?” I answer, wondering why they’d be calling.
“Mr. Benson?” The receptionist’s voice comes through the line. “This is Mrs. Hartley from Odin High. I’m calling about Jagger.”
My brow furrows. “What about him?”
“He left today without checking out in the front office. That isn’t allowed, sir. It’s school policy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I show here that he was in his first-period class, but was marked absent in second and third. That’s not allowed, Mr. Benson. It’s for safety reasons, as you can imagine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Hartley,” I say slowly, dread pooling in my gut. “I dropped him off this morning. Are you sure his teachers aren’t mistaken?”
“Hold on, let me double-check,” she says.
She puts me on hold, and my mind races with possibilities. Jagger’s never skipped school before. At least not that I know of. But the past couple of days, he’s been giving me the cold shoulder, barely speaking to me since Cali left.
The receptionist comes back on the line. “No, Mr. Benson, I’m sorry. I checked with the teachers directly, and he’s definitely not in class.”
“Uh,” I stammer, “I’ll call you back once I find him.”
I hang up and immediately dial Jagger’s number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling up the Life360 app on my phone to track him.
Every member of my family has it installed on all their devices. It’s non-negotiable. I tap on Jagger’s icon, waiting for his location to populate.
“The fuck?” I whisper, staring at the screen in disbelief.
According to the app, my son is somewhere near the Mississippi state line.
I shake my head. There’s no damn way this can be right.
I just dropped him off at school a few hours ago.
This can’t fucking be. The app must be glitching or something.
I’m about to call Cyber to see if he can help trace Jagger’s phone when I hear shouting and hurried footsteps coming up the hallway.
What the hell is going on around here?
Before I can get up to look, my office door is thrown open, and Cyber rushes in, his face pale and his eyes wild.
“Prez!” he gasps, out of breath. “They’ve got Jagger. The Sinners have Jagger.”
My whole goddamn world tilts on its axis, and for a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.
“What?” The word comes out as a whisper.
Cyber holds up his phone. “This just went up on the dark web.”
With trembling fingers, I take the phone and press play on the video.
My son—my boy—is tied to a chair, a bruise blooming on his left cheek, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. His eyes are wide with fear, but there’s defiance there too.
A masked figure steps into the frame, wearing a Depraved Sinners cut.
“Tacoma,” a digitally altered voice says. “We have your son. You took something of ours, so we took something of yours. An eye for an eye.”
The video ends, and I stare at the frozen image of my son’s battered face.
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but silence in my office as the reality of the situation sinks in.
Then the rage hits me—white-hot, all-consuming rage that burns away everything else.
“I’ll fucking kill them,” I snarl, shoving my phone at Cyber. “Look at this.”
I show him the map on my Life360 app with Jagger’s location.
Cyber’s eyes widen. “That’s about two hours from here.”
“Call everyone in,” I order, already grabbing my cut from the back of my chair. “NOW!”
Cyber nods and rushes out of the office, shouting for whoever’s in the clubhouse to get their asses in the chapel.
I stand there for a moment, trying to gather myself, to think through the fog of panic and rage.
My son.
They have my son.
The thought loops in my head, over and over, threatening to drive me insane.
I take a deep breath, then another, forcing the panic down.
Panic won’t help Jagger.
Rage won’t help Jagger.
Cold, calculated violence—that’s what’s going to bring my boy home.
I pull out my phone again, this time dialing a different number.
It rings three times before he answers.
“What?” Chief’s voice is gruff, irritated.
I swallow my pride. “They took my son.”
There’s a pause, then, “Who did?”
“The Sinners,” I say, my voice breaking slightly on the word. “They have Jagger.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Where are you?”
“The clubhouse.”
“We’re on our way,” he says without hesitation.
Before I can thank him, he asks, “Have you called Cali?”
My gut twists at her name. “No.”
“Call her,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “She’d want to know.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone in my hand.
Chief is right.
Cali would want to know.
Despite everything I said, despite how badly I hurt her, I know she cares about my kids. Loves them, even.
I pull up her number, my thumb hovering over the call button.
What do I even say?
Hey, sorry I was a complete asshole, but my son’s been kidnapped, and I need you?
Fuck.
Shaking my head, I shove the phone back in my pocket. I’ll call her after I’ve spoken with the club, after we have a plan.
Right now, I need to focus on getting my boy back.
I stride down the hallway toward the chapel, where my brothers are already gathering. Their faces, etched with worry.
Bane meets me at the door, all traces of our earlier argument gone from his expression. “We’ll get him back,” he says, gripping my shoulder tightly.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“Gator.” I glance over at my enforcer. “Need you to call my Pop and both of you go over to the elementary school and get Saylor.”
“On it.” He hops out of his chair and takes off down the hallway like his ass is on fire.
As I take my seat at the head of the table, I force myself to push everything else aside.
All that matters now is Jagger.
And I will tear apart anyone who stands in the way of getting him back.
“They want to play games?” I growl, my voice deadly calm as I look around at my brothers. “Fine. Let’s show them how the Kings fucking play.”
Bash nods, his dark eyes flashing with murderous intent. “Just say the word, Prez.”
“We ride in thirty,” I announce. “Gear up. We’re getting my son back.”
As everyone files out of the room, I remain seated, staring at the gavel in front of me.
For the first time in my life, I find myself praying.
Not to God—I gave up on him a long time ago.
I beg the universe and whatever dark forces might be listening, that my son makes it through this.