18. Jonah
Jonah
W e left just after midnight. I paused outside of Ani’s door, but Finn was taking care of her. There’s a bite of jealousy in my chest, but mostly I feel relief.
It’s weird, caring about someone like this. Even weirder to share. But somehow, this works. Finn gets her in ways I don’t, and I know she trusts him. She needs him and I am not about to take that away—from either of them. Because it’s obvious that Finn is already falling hard.
And Finn’s right—she deserves to figure out who she is without someone trying to shape her into what they want. She’s had enough of that already. More than I even realized until she told us everything at the family meeting.
I threw my bag over my shoulder and followed Boone out to the truck. The drive was long and quiet.
Boone drove the first leg and I took the second.
We didn’t talk much. There wasn’t much to say that wouldn’t spin both of us up.
I had my eyes on the road and Boone had his on the screen of his phone, but I knew damn well he wasn’t just scrolling pointless bullshit. He was still working on our plan.
I wasn’t surprised that Gunner was his first call. The man was one of ours, though he never operated under anyone’s command for long. We’ve seen him in situations most people wouldn’t survive. I’ve watched him clear buildings with nothing but a combat knife and zero fear.
Boone trusted him the way he only trusted a select few. Not because Gunner followed orders, but because he always finished the job and never sold out the people he worked with. When Boone needed someone to dig without leaving a footprint, Gunner was the obvious choice.
He stayed in the Green Berets when we got out. He’s not special forces anymore, but the work isn’t all that different. And if there is anyone who can trace the full reach of Ani’s father without triggering alarm bells, it’s him.
Now we’ve just reached the edge of the city, and the sky has changed from black to steel gray.
The smog settles low over the Los Angeles skyline.
Brighton Hills is on the outskirts, but we’re headed deeper into the city first. We cut through industrial streets with cracked sidewalks and broken fences.
Boone gives the directions one street at a time, his voice clipped.
The building is an old warehouse on a street that doesn’t see much traffic. No sign on the door. No light in the window. I park where I’m told and follow Boone to the door. He doesn’t knock. He enters a code on a keypad and opens the door without hesitation.
Inside, it’s all concrete and exposed pipes. The man waiting for us stands near a table that looks like it used to belong in a mechanic’s shop. There’s a laptop open, a small burner phone beside it, and a black mug with baked-in coffee stains.
Gunner looks up when we step in and nods at us. “Boone. Jonah.”
Boone doesn’t smile. I nod once in return.
“Didn’t think I’d see both of you on my doorstep again,” he says, leaning back against the table. “It must be serious.”
“It is,” Boone answers.
Gunner jerks his chin toward the laptop. “Let’s get to it, then.”
He doesn’t waste time on small talk or pleasantries.
His fingers tap through folders skillfully.
Some of what he shows us is familiar—things Ani told us and we looked into on our own.
He shows us public-facing business assets, old security camera stills, property registries tied to shell corporations.
Then he opens the second set of folders.
“This is what’s behind the curtain,” he says.
“Your girl’s father isn’t just pulling strings.
He’s building a net—real estate fronts, offshore accounts, a tight rotation of private handlers and mid-level muscle.
All of it linked to high-volume money laundering and a very quiet but steady stream of bribes tied to city contracts. ”
Boone folds his arms. “How deep does it go?”
“You ever heard of GEVRA?”
Boone’s expression hardens.
“Yeah,” Gunner says. “That deep.”
He keeps flipping. The next page has three names. Ani’s father. Davit. And a third I don’t recognize.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Connector,” he says. “One of the brokers that tied the Brighton Hills deal into a few other international portfolios. Mostly property and trade. But that’s not what’s keeping the lights on. It’s the trafficking behind the curtain.”
Boone goes still beside me.
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Gunner clarifies. “Smuggling. Arms. Labor. Controlled movement of undocumented bodies through locked channels.”
Boone stares at the screen. “And Davit?”
“Not just an errand boy. He’s earned his seat. Your girl was the final link to lock in one of the political families still on the fence. Marriage would’ve closed the deal.”
I feel my pulse at the base of my throat. Boone doesn’t blink, but I see it in the way his fingers curl against his biceps.
“Boone,” Gunner says in a low voice, “I know that look.”
Boone doesn’t answer for a moment. His jaw is locked as he stares at the screen. When he finally speaks, his voice is sharp enough to cut concrete. “She brought this to our door.”
I look at him hard. “You think she wanted to? She didn’t ask us to take her in, we offered.”
He laughs once, short and bitter. “No. She just showed up with a fucking target on her back.”
“She also showed up terrified and alone, with nowhere else to go.”
Boone glares at me. He doesn’t say anything right away and neither do I.
I nod toward the screen. “They were going to bury her. Use her. Break her. We might not have known that then, but we knew she was scared and running from something. So we let her in. And I’d do it again.”
Boone exhales hard through his nose. “You’d knowingly put Mae in danger? This doesn’t go away—you know that.”
“That’s why we’re here, Boone. To protect what’s ours. That includes Ani whether you like it or not. She’s ours . And even if you don’t want her—which we both know is bullshit by the way—she belongs to Finn. You gonna tell him he can’t keep her? Or are you gonna make him leave with her?”
Boone crosses his arms and looks away from me.
Gunner clears his throat. “Everything I’ve got’s on this drive. I scrubbed the metadata. No digital breadcrumbs.”
Boone straightens. “Anyone else know we’re asking questions?”
“No,” he says. “But they probably already know what you’re doing at this point.”
Boone nods once. His shoulders stay tight. “Then we don’t have much time.”
Gunner hands over the drive. “Then I won’t keep you.”
He doesn’t wish us luck.
And we’re too far in for luck to matter.
We find the closest coffee shop and order a couple of coffees and sandwiches.
I take a seat that keeps the door in view. Boone stays standing until he checks every face in the room, then finally settles across from me.
The sun is rising now and the streets aren’t busy, but there are enough people around to make us keep our voices low.
We drink in silence for a few minutes. I tear a corner off the sandwich and pop it into my mouth. Boone stares through the window, sandwich untouched.
I pull out my phone. I haven’t checked anything since we left the cabin. I don’t want to read headlines, but I need to know what’s going on. If her family is trying to blame her for the motel fire, who knows what else they’ll do.
There’s not just one new story, there’s dozens.
“Brighton Hills Heiress Disappears Night Before Lavish Wedding.”
“Sources Confirm Fears of Mental Breakdown or Foul Play.”
“Family Pleads for Return of Beloved Daughter.”
My grip on the phone tightens. I scroll further to see just how far they’re willing to spin it.
There’s a polished photo with every article. One of Ani on her father’s arm, wearing a soft pink dress and a hollow smile. Another from some charity event, her eyes wide and empty. She looks like a doll, dressed up and pointed at the cameras.
The articles are short, but the language is loaded. They describe her as troubled. Sensitive. Prone to emotional outbursts. Her father’s quotes are full of concern and implying instability. There’s no reference to her engagement being arranged. No hint that she ran for her life.
It’s not news. It’s a message.
They’re telling the world she’s broken so no one will question what happens next.
I turn the phone toward Boone and slide it across the table.
He reads the headline, his expression unchanging.
“They’re setting her up,” I say.
“I know.”
“This is the shit people will believe.”
Boone picks up the phone and scrolls through the article. When he reaches the last paragraph, he sets it down and finally takes a sip of coffee.
“Any sign they know where she is?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
He exhales slowly. “They’re not just covering their asses. They’re laying the foundation.”
I nod. “They’re controlling the narrative.”
He taps the edge of the phone once, then looks up at me. “How’s she doing?”
“Finn says she’s holding it together.”
Boone leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “We can’t let them take her.”
“Then we’d better be ready to keep her.”
He tightens his jaw, but doesn’t argue.
I take another sip of coffee. It tastes bitter and burned, but it keeps my hands busy.
Boone stares back out the window.
“I keep thinking about the night she showed up,” he says.
I wait for him to continue.
He doesn’t, so I fill the space. “She jumped at every little thing. But, she warmed up to us. She’s a different person now.”
“Because you fucked her.”
I don’t flinch. He wants it to land like a punch, but it doesn’t.
“No,” I say, voice steady. “Because we made her feel safe.”
Boone shakes his head but doesn’t argue. He stares past me, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
“She’s still scared,” I add. “She still checks the locks twice before bed and sleeps with her bag close enough to grab if she needs to run. But she’s not the same girl who stood shaking in that motel parking lot.”
He doesn’t answer.
“She’s not yours to protect,” he mutters after a beat, more to himself than to me.
I don’t let that go.