Chapter 6 #2
Jesse thought of twenty-eight years of living under Bo's thumb, about all the innocent people who'd suffered and died to feed his father's empire. About the man he might have been if he'd been born into a different family.
"He’s dead one way or the other. Either the cartel takes him out or I will," he said finally.
"I won’t wait any longer watching people suffer, being part of the machine that destroys them.
Walking away isn't an option. Bo would hunt me down, make an example of me.
So either I take him down first, or I spend the rest of my life as his weapon.
The only way out is with him six feet under. "
They spent the next hour working through the details of their plan.
Raven photographed more documents while Jesse mapped out which cartel contacts would react most violently to news of Bo skimming profits.
They identified weak points in his father's operation, times when shipments were most vulnerable, and which corrupt officials might flip if pressured.
The whole time, they maintained a careful distance. Professional, focusing on survival. By the time they parted, they had the framework of something that might work.
Jesse drove through empty streets, his plan finally in motion, and for the first time in years felt something like peace.
Not because he was saving Raven Bishop—though he was.
Not because he was taking down a criminal empire—though he would.
But because he was finally giving them the only shot at freedom they'd ever have.
By the time he reached Devil's Acre, night had settled in deep. The house sat dark on the hill, not a single window lit. Jesse parked behind the barn and slipped through the back door with the muscle memory of a man who'd learned early how to move without being noticed.
He’d almost made it to his room.
"Have a nice evening, son?"
Bo's voice came from the darkness of the living room, calm, conversational and deadly. Jesse froze in the hallway, his hand still on the stair railing. Not from fear, but the tactical need to assess the situation.
"I went for a drive. Needed to think."
"Funny thing about thinking. Sometimes it leads a man down paths he shouldn't travel." A lamp clicked on, revealing Bo sitting in his leather chair. He was still dressed, still wearing the smile that never reached his eyes. "Want to tell me where you've been thinking tonight?"
Jesse's mind raced through possible lies, plausible stories that might explain his absence without revealing the truth. But looking at his father's expression, he realized it didn't matter what he said. Bo already knew.
"I went for a drive," Jesse repeated, keeping his voice steady through pure force of will.
"Did you now?" Bo stood slowly, his massive frame unfolding with predatory grace. "Because I got a call tonight from a friend of mine. Seems someone's been asking questions about our business arrangements. Taking pictures of things that don't concern them."
Jesse went still, calculating. Someone had seen them. Someone had been watching.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Course you don't." Bo moved closer, and Jesse caught the scent of whiskey and violence that always surrounded his father like cologne. "Just like you don't know why my study door was unlocked this morning. Or why certain documents seem to be missing from my files."
The documents. Jesse had been careful, had taken only copies from the bottom of stacks, papers Bo shouldn't notice were gone for weeks. But apparently his father kept better track than Jesse had thought.
"Bo..."
His father’s fist drove into Jesse's solar plexus. Air exploded from his lungs. His father's knee followed, smashing into his face. Cartilage crunched. Blood flooded his mouth. The wall caught him hard.
"Eighteen years I raised you." Bo flexed his knuckles. "Made you worthy of the Hollister name. You ran off to play soldier, came home filled with stupid notions. I welcomed you back and made you my heir. And you fucking steal from me?"
Jesse tasted copper. Each breath was broken glass. "I didn't..."
"Don't lie. You met with the Bishop girl. Thought you could turn against your own blood."
Raven. If Bo knew—
"Leave her out of this."
"She is this. She's the weakness that's gonna get you killed."
Bo grabbed his shirt, hauled him up. Jesse twisted, broke the grip and drove his palm into Bo's chin. Bone met bone.
"You want this?" Jesse settled into his stance. "It won't go like before."
Jesse moved first—jab, cross, hook. Bo slipped it, countered with a liver shot that turned Jesse's legs to water. Jesse clinched, drove his knee into Bo's ribs. Once. Twice. Bone flexed. He followed with an elbow that split Bo's eyebrow. Blood poured down.
"You taught me well," Jesse gasped.
"Not well enough."
They crashed together again. Jesse was faster, sharper. Delta training took him beyond anything Bo taught. He landed a combination that split Bo's lip. A leg kick that buckled his knee.
But Bo had survived prison riots. Cartel torture. Twenty years of running the most vicious operation in Texas. Pain just made him meaner.
Jesse went for a takedown. Bo sprawled, brought his elbow down on Jesse's skull. Stars exploded. Jesse rolled, came up throwing strikes. Bo absorbed them like a machine built for punishment.
Both bleeding now. Both gasping. Jesse caught Bo with a straight right. A hook that cracked his jaw. Bo staggered.
Jesse pressed forward.
Three sharp knocks on the door.
Jesse's eyes flicked toward the sound.
His mother.
Bo's fist came from nowhere. Sledgehammer to the temple. Jesse crashed through the coffee table. Wood splintered. Glass shattered. His vision tunneled. Bo's boot drove into his ribs. Once. Twice. The world painted itself in shades of agony.
Bo stood over him, breathing hard, blood dripping onto Jesse's chest.
"Stay down."
Jesse pushed up. Bo's boot pressed his sternum, forcing him flat.
The knock came again. "Bo? Jesse? Everything okay?"
"Fine!" Bo called. "Just having a little father-son discussion. Give us a minute."
Bo knelt close. Blood dripped onto Jesse's cheek. "Here's how this works. You do exactly what I tell you. We move against the Bishops like we planned, but we do it tonight."
"Or?"
"Or something bad happens to your mother and your brothers. Cars run red lights. Houses catch fire. People take the wrong pills."
Blood turned to ice in Jesse's veins. "You wouldn't..."
"You know I would." Bo stood, straightened his bloody shirt. "You've seen what I do to people who betray me. You're breathing because you're my son, my heir…for now. But your mother? Your brothers? They're just leverage."
The casual certainty was worse than any threat. Bo wasn't making promises. He was stating facts.
"So, what's it going to be?"
Jesse tasted blood and impossible choices before he nodded.
"I knew I could count on you." Bo opened the door, all smiles as he joined her in the hallway, pulling the door almost closed. "Sorry, honey. Just working through some things. You know how boys can be."
Jesse pulled himself up, ribs screaming. Through the doorway, his mother's concerned voice. Bo's reassuring murmur. The sound of a family that was only a facade for something rotten.
He pulled out his phone with shaking, bloody fingers. One message, no explanation: Compromised. Immediate danger. Get out now.
Jesse deleted the text thread and powered off the phone. Bo would check it eventually, but by then it wouldn't matter. The pieces were already in motion. His father thought he'd won tonight, thought he'd broken his son back into compliance.
Instead, Bo had just signed his own death warrant.