Chapter Seven
Jackson stepped closer to the window, his eyes narrowing as the truck rolled to a stop in front of the house. “What the hell is he doing here?” he muttered.
Warren came up behind him, his voice rising with panic. “It’s them, isn’t it? The Brotherhood. They’re here to kill me, aren’t they?”
Jackson turned, steady and cold. “Calm down. It’s Mick Barker.”
“That’s worse,” Warren said, his breathing uneven. “If he’s here, the others can’t be far behind. You need to leave. Both of you. I don’t want to get caught up in this.”
Jackson kept his focus on the window. “You’re already caught up in it, Warren. You were the moment you started talking to Charlotte.”
“I told you, I didn’t sell Avery out.” Warren’s voice cracked. “You’ve got to believe me.”
Jackson looked at him, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure I do.”
He glanced outside again, watching as Mick climbed out of the truck. The young man’s movements were cautious, deliberate. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but Jackson didn’t let his guard drop.
“We’ll have to table that for now,” he said, stepping back from the window. “Because if Mick Barker’s here, this situation just got a whole lot more complicated.”
Jackson stood at the window, watching Mick move around the truck. He was alone as far as Jackson could tell, but that didn’t mean much. The Brotherhood could be close, watching from the trees, waiting for the right moment to strike.
He weighed his options fast. He didn’t want Avery anywhere near Mick, not until he knew what the kid wanted. But leaving her alone inside with Warren wasn’t a good idea either. The man was nervous, unpredictable, and still very much a question mark.
Jackson turned. “You’re coming outside with me.”
Warren’s eyes widened. “What? No. I’m not going out there.”
“You are,” Jackson said flatly. “If he’s here for you, I want him to see you standing next to me.”
Warren shook his head hard. “You can’t make me—”
Jackson grabbed his arm, not rough but firm enough to get the point across. “Move.”
Warren stumbled but followed as Jackson opened the door. The sound of rain hit them immediately, cold and steady. It wasn’t the light drizzle from earlier. Sheets of water rolled off the roof, soaking the porch in seconds.
Mick stood at the edge of the drive, his jacket dark with rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked exhausted, haunted even, but Jackson didn’t let that fool him.
He stepped forward, his voice carrying through the downpour. “That’s close enough, Mick.”
Mick froze.
Jackson raised his weapon, the barrel steady. “Don’t take another step.”
Rain slid down his face, dripping from his chin, but he didn’t blink. His focus stayed locked on the younger man, reading every twitch, every breath.
If Mick Barker had come here to play the Brotherhood’s next move, he wasn’t getting within ten feet of that house.
Mick lifted his hands, palms out, rain dripping from his fingers. “I’m not here to hurt Avery,” he said. His voice shook, but Jackson couldn’t tell if it was fear or nerves.
“Then why are you here?” Jackson called back. “Did you follow us?”
Mick shook his head. “No. I had Warren’s house staked out. I’ve been here since early morning.”
Jackson’s stomach tightened. “Staked out?”
Mick nodded and motioned toward the woods across the road. “Out there. I wanted to see who came around. I figured the Brotherhood would show sooner or later.”
Jackson shifted slightly, scanning the tree line. The rain blurred everything, turning the woods into a wall of gray and shadow. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. It was thick cover, the kind of place a man could hide for hours without being seen.
He felt a sharp flash of anger at himself. He should have seen this coming. Should have assumed someone would be watching Warren’s place. Mick or the Brotherhood, it didn’t matter. He’d brought Avery straight into the crosshairs.
Jackson kept his gun steady, eyes fixed on Mick. “If you’ve been watching this place, then you know how bad this looks.”
“I know,” Mick said, his voice raw. “But I had to talk to you. I had to warn you.”
Jackson’s finger brushed the trigger, just enough to remind himself he was still in control. The rain beat harder, loud enough to drown out the sound of his heartbeat, but not the unease crawling through his gut.
Mick’s hands were still raised, his breathing fast and uneven. “I’m in hiding,” he said, his voice cracking. “From Darian and my mom. They’re both after me now.”
Jackson kept his aim steady. “You really believe your mother would have you killed?” His tone held every ounce of skepticism he felt.
Mick gave a bitter laugh that didn’t sound much like laughter. “She’ll kill anyone who crosses her. You don’t know her like I do. She wanted me to take over for my father, to lead the Brotherhood when my dad went to prison. I refused.”
Rain streamed down Jackson’s face, cold and steady, but it didn’t break his focus. “Yet you came with her yesterday. To my ranch.”
Mick nodded, his hair plastered to his forehead. “I had to. She didn’t give me a choice. But I went because I wanted to warn Avery. I figured if I could get close enough, maybe I could tell her what was coming before they made their move.”
Jackson studied him in silence. The kid’s voice shook, but there was something raw and desperate beneath it that didn’t sound rehearsed.
“You expect me to believe that?” Jackson asked quietly.
Mick lowered his hands a little, his eyes wide. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Just listen. They’re not done, and Avery’s in more danger than she knows.”
Jackson’s gut clenched, but he didn’t lower the gun. The rain hammered harder against the porch roof, and the woods beyond the road seemed to close in, darker and thicker than before.
Jackson narrowed his eyes, his voice low and edged with doubt. “Warn her? You mean warn her she was about to be set up for your murder? Because that’s what it sounded like. And yet, here you are, alive and well.”
Mick shifted uneasily, his shoulders hunched against the rain. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
Jackson didn’t lower the gun. “You faked that gunshot during your call to me, didn’t you?”
Mick’s head snapped up. “No. That wasn’t fake. I swear.” His voice cracked under the weight of it. “I was making that call from my truck. Someone fired at me. The bullet went through the passenger window. I sped away before they could take another shot.”
Jackson studied him, searching for the lie. Mick looked soaked, exhausted, and terrified, but that didn’t prove anything.
“You expect me to just take your word for it?” Jackson said.
Mick’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have to. Look at the truck if you want. The hole’s still there.”
Jackson’s grip tightened on the weapon, his thoughts racing. It could be true, or it could be another setup. Either way, Mick Barker standing here alive made everything harder.
He glanced toward the truck. Even through the curtain of rain, he could see it clearly now. There was a hole in the passenger-side window, the glass fractured in a tight spiderweb around it.
So Mick’s story checked out. At least part of it.
But that didn’t prove who fired the shot. For all Jackson knew, Mick could have put that hole there himself.
Mick’s voice steadied a little, though the rain kept running down his face. “This isn’t just about Avery,” he said. “It’s about Melissa. My girlfriend. She was murdered by the Brotherhood, by Darian, and I want justice for her.”
Jackson kept his gun trained on him. “And you think Avery wants that too.”
“I know she does. Why else would she do that podcast?”
Before Jackson could respond, the front door creaked open behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Avery stepped out onto the porch, her hair already damp, her gun raised and aimed squarely at Mick. “You said Darian murdered Melissa?” she demanded.
Mick nodded quickly. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Both of our lives are in danger. This isn’t just about you testifying against my dad. It’s bigger than that.”
Jackson shifted slightly, moving closer to Avery, ready to pull her back if things went south.
Mick went on, desperate now. “It’s about that podcast you did. You might have found something without realizing it. Something that proves Melissa wasn’t killed in a botched robbery but was executed. If the Brotherhood thinks you’re getting close, they’ll kill both of us to bury it.”
The rain poured harder, the sound filling the silence that followed. Jackson’s mind worked fast, but his instincts screamed caution.
Mick Barker might be telling the truth.
Or he might be bait.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson noticed movement. Warren was edging toward the door, his shoulders hunched, trying to make himself smaller. He had kept his head down the entire time they’d been talking to Mick.
Jackson’s gut tightened. “Stay where you are,” he snapped.
Warren froze, his hand hovering near the doorknob. When he finally lifted his head, Mick’s expression changed. His eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition.
“I know you,” Mick said, pointing at him.
Warren’s face went pale. “No, you don’t,” he said quickly. “You’re mistaken.”
“The hell I am,” Mick shot back. “You were at my house once. You came with Charlotte.”
Warren shook his head hard, backing up a step. “You’ve got me confused with someone else.”
Jackson’s focus jumped between the two men, every muscle in his body tight. “What the hell is going on here?”
Before anyone could answer, the low growl of an engine carried through the rain. Tires crunched on the gravel road.
Mick’s head whipped toward the sound. “No,” he said under his breath. “No, no, no.”
He turned and bolted for his truck.
Jackson took a step after him. “Mick!”
Mick threw open the driver’s side door, shouting over the rain. “It’s them. My mother and Darian. They found me. They’ll kill all of us if we stay here.”
The roar of the approaching vehicle grew louder, headlights cutting through the sheets of rain.
Jackson’s pulse jumped. Whatever was coming, they were out of time.