Chapter Eleven
They left before dawn. Jackson drove the truck while Larkin sat beside him, a map spread across her lap and her fingers tracing the route through the deep woods.
The road narrowed as the trees closed in, branches scraping against the windows like warning fingers.
Jackson kept his eyes forward, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the pistol tucked against his thigh.
He had not spoken much since they left the clubhouse, and the silence between them felt thick with purpose.
Larkin studied his profile in the gray light.
His jaw was set hard, the same way it had been in the chapel when he stripped Ratty Pete of his colors.
She understood now what that look meant.
He was already calculating every possible outcome, already preparing for the fight that might come.
She folded the map and slipped it into her jacket.
The woods around them smelled of pine and damp earth, and the deeper they drove, the more the world outside the truck felt distant and unreal.
Jackson pulled the truck onto a narrow service road and killed the engine.
They moved on foot from there, boots sinking into the soft ground as they climbed the ridge.
The hunting lodge sat below them, a dark shape against the trees, its windows shuttered and its driveway empty.
Jackson crouched behind a fallen log and motioned for her to stay low.
He checked the pistol once more, then handed her a small device that would let them listen for any alarm systems inside.
They waited until the light shifted and the shadows lengthened.
Then Jackson moved, swift and silent, and Larkin followed close behind.
The back door gave way under his shoulder with barely a sound.
Inside, the air smelled of old wood and gun oil.
Jackson swept the main room with his eyes, then gestured toward a narrow staircase.
Larkin kept her breathing steady as they climbed.
Every creak of the floorboards felt like a shout in the quiet lodge.
The server room was small and windowless, lit only by the glow of a single monitor.
Jackson went straight to the rack of equipment and began the download.
Larkin stood near the door, her eyes moving over the papers scattered across a nearby table.
One sheet caught her attention. She picked it up and felt her stomach turn cold.
It was a photograph of her mother standing outside the library, smiling at someone off camera.
Another photo showed Haven Mae at the park, her hand resting on a stroller.
A third image showed both women together, marked with red circles and handwritten notes about timing and approach routes.
Larkin pressed a hand to her mouth. Her vision blurred for a moment.
Whitaker had not only planned to steal from the businesses the club protected.
He had planned to take the people they loved.
She set the photos down carefully, as if they might explode.
Her hands shook. The fury that rose in her chest felt sharp and dangerous, the kind of anger that made people do stupid things.
Jackson finished the download and turned. He saw her face and crossed the room in two strides. He pulled her against him, one hand firm at the back of her neck. "Breathe," he said quietly. His voice cut through the panic trying to take hold. "We have the files. We have the proof. Focus on that."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to burn the entire lodge to the ground.
Instead she nodded against his chest and forced herself to count her breaths until the shaking eased.
Jackson kept one arm around her shoulders while he checked the progress bar on the screen.
The files transferred slowly, each percentage point feeling like an hour.
Outside, the woods had gone completely still.
A distant engine broke the silence. Jackson's head snapped up.
He killed the monitor and grabbed her hand.
They moved toward the stairs just as headlights swept across the front windows.
The Vipers had arrived. Jackson pulled her into a side room and pressed her against the wall.
Through the cracked door she saw Hawk step out of the lead truck, his arm still bandaged from their last encounter.
His face looked pale and furious in the morning light.
Shots rang out before either side spoke.
Jackson returned fire, his movements precise and controlled.
Larkin stayed low, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Glass shattered somewhere above them. The smell of cordite filled the air.
Jackson motioned for her to move toward the back door while he covered their retreat.
She hesitated, not wanting to leave him, but his eyes left no room for argument. She ran.
The truck waited where they had left it.
Larkin climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
Through the trees she could see muzzle flashes and hear the sharp crack of automatic weapons.
Jackson was still inside, pinned down behind a low wall.
His ammunition was running low. She could tell by the way his shots came slower now, more measured.
She gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white.
She could not leave him. Not after everything they had already survived together.
Larkin slammed the truck into gear and drove straight toward the lodge.
The vehicle crashed through the side wall in a spray of splintered wood and dust. The impact shook her bones, but she kept her foot on the accelerator until the front bumper cleared the debris.
Jackson appeared through the haze, leaping toward the open passenger door.
He landed hard in the seat as she reversed, tires spinning on the wet ground.
Behind them, a stray round struck the propane tank near the kitchen.
The explosion roared through the trees, sending a wave of heat that rocked the truck forward.
They tore down the service road with the burning lodge behind them.
Smoke filled the rearview mirror. Larkin's hands trembled on the wheel, but she did not slow down until the trees thinned and the main road appeared.
Jackson reloaded his pistol with steady fingers, his breathing harsh but even.
He reached over and touched her knee, a brief contact that said more than words could manage in the moment.
They drove in silence for several miles.
The data drive sat between them on the console, its light still blinking with the information they had risked everything to obtain.
Larkin's mind kept returning to the photographs.
Her mother. Haven. The casual way Whitaker had marked them for abduction.
She swallowed hard and kept her eyes on the road.
Jackson watched the mirrors, alert for any sign they were being followed.
The woods gradually gave way to open fields, and the tension in her shoulders began to ease.
Jackson finally spoke. "You saved my life back there." His voice carried a note of something close to wonder. "Most people would have kept driving."
"I'm not most people," she answered. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "And I wasn't going to leave you behind."
He studied her profile for a long moment. "I know that now."
They reached the outskirts of Silverlake as the sun climbed higher.
Jackson directed her toward a side road that would bring them back to the clubhouse without passing through the main streets.
The truck's damaged front end rattled with every bump, but it held together.
Larkin parked behind the garage and turned off the engine.
For the first time since the lodge, she allowed herself to lean back against the seat and close her eyes.
Jackson came around to her door and opened it.
He helped her down, his hands gentle despite the blood on his sleeve.
They walked together toward the clubhouse entrance.
Ryder met them at the door, his eyes taking in the damage and the drive in Jackson's hand.
He gave a short nod and stepped aside. Inside, the brothers waited in the main room, their faces grim but ready. Jackson held up the drive.
"We have what we need," he said. His voice carried the same quiet authority he had used in the chapel. "Whitaker's done."
Larkin stood beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm.
The adrenaline was fading now, leaving exhaustion in its place.
She looked around the room at the men who had become her unlikely allies.
Their world was dangerous and violent, but it was also fiercely loyal.
She understood that loyalty now in a way she never had before.
Jackson's hand found hers and squeezed once, a silent promise that the fight was not over yet.
They had the evidence. They had each other. The next move belonged to them.