65. Luke
LUKE
Hendricks walks into the kitchen looking like he wants to punch a hole in the wall, which is saying something for a guy who’s usually calm enough to defuse bombs for fun.
Jake, Mason, Harper, Emma, Lily, and Mandy are already seated around the table. The compound schematics are spread out in front of us, but nobody's looking at them. We're all watching Hendricks, and he’s watching Mandy.
I’ve seen Hendricks under fire, outnumbered, and bleeding. I’ve never seen him look rattled.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “You gonna tell us what’s wrong, or are you planning to keep staring at Mandy like the answer’s written on her forehead?”
“If the answer was written on her forehead, this would be a hell of a lot easier.” Hendricks pulls out a chair, unbuttoning his suit coat as he sits.
Mandy takes an audible breath. "Before we finalize any assault plan, I should tell you that Turner isn't building this trafficking corridor for a cartel partner. He's stealing from them."
Every head in the room swivels toward her.
Hendricks' expression shifts—annoyance mixed with something that looks like grudging respect. There’s maybe a flicker of attraction he's trying to bury under professional irritation too, but maybe my feelings for Harper have me seeing hearts in everyone’s eyes.
Hendricks glares at her, tossing a file onto the table. "I was about to get to that."
Mandy doesn't even blink. "You were taking too long."
Mason snorts. Jake's mouth twitches.
"Stealing how?" Harper asks. I can see the wheels turning—she's already connecting dots, building the case in her head.
"Skimming money," Mandy says. "Product, too, but mostly cash.
He's been running a parallel operation for at least two years—moving women through his network, collecting payments from buyers, and reporting lower numbers to his cartel contacts.
The difference goes into offshore accounts under shell companies. "
"Jesus Christ," Jake mutters.
Emma's face goes white. "How much?"
"Millions," Mandy says flatly. "Maybe hundreds of millions by now."
I process that. Turner's not just a trafficker—he's a thief stealing from people who make their living killing thieves. He's a dead man walking, and he doesn't even know it yet. I laugh. “Is it me, or has Turner actually made this easy for us? If we take him out, no one’s going to fill the gap.”
Hendricks crosses his arms, his jaw still tight. "The governor run isn't protection. It's an escape plan. Turner knows he's on borrowed time. If the cartel figures out he's been stealing, they'll kill him. Slowly. Publicly."
"So he's trying to become untouchable," I say. "State-level power. Institutional backing."
"That's the play," Hendricks confirms. "Except the cartel is already suspicious. They've sent auditors to Montana. Turner doesn't know yet, or if he does, he's pretending he doesn't."
My mind shifts into tactical mode. The timeline just collapsed. We're not planning for weeks anymore—we're planning for days.
"How long do we have?" Mason asks, voicing what I'm already calculating.
"Days," Hendricks says grimly. "Maybe a week if Turner's lucky."
"Where did you get this information, Mandy?" Harper asks, studying the woman.
Mandy's expression doesn't change. "I can't divulge that."
"Mandy—" Lily starts.
"I can't," Mandy repeats, her voice firm. "And asking won't change that."
Hendricks makes a sound that's half laugh, half frustration. "Convenient."
"What does it matter? You got the same intel," Mandy replies coolly.
I watch Hendricks watch her—the way his eyes linger just a fraction too long, the way his jaw tightens when she refuses to budge.
He's attracted to her, and it's pissing him off that she won't give him what he wants. I take Harper’s hand under the table.
I was there not long ago. I almost feel sorry for the bastard. Almost.
"Fine," Hendricks says finally. "Keep your secrets. Like you said, it doesn’t matter. I've confirmed it through my own channels."
"Good," Jake says. "Then we move fast."
“Tomorrow night,” Hendrick says. “No delays. No second chances.”