Chapter Twelve
SUBMISSION IS POWER
Lennox woke up reaching for Lane, but his hands only found cool sheets.
For half a second, his mind rejected the information as sleep still clung to the edges of him, soft and stubborn, trying to pull him back into the warmth of the night before.
Memories of them laughing at a diner over their shared hatred of breakfast eggs, like God had personally handed him his perfect companion.
Then his eyes opened fully, and the other side of the bed was, in fact, empty. Her scent was still in the pillow. Her hat was gone from the dresser, her shoes missing by the wall, and her phone wasn’t on the nightstand.
Lane was gone, making Lennox sit up slowly as fear settled into his bones, sharp and immediate.
Anger showed up next, coming in hot enough to burn every soft thing he’d gone to sleep holding.
She’d promised to trust him to help when it came to her mother.
She said he could stand beside her to support her, only to wait until he was asleep to face Jeanette alone.
Lennox threw the covers back and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
There were no messages from Lane, who had a hard head and a soft wound dressed up as independence.
He stood, already pulling up the security feed from his driveway.
The timestamp showed her leaving just after dawn, sneakers in hand, quiet as a damn thief.
He fast-forwarded and watched her pause at the front door as she looked back toward the stairs.
That pause was the only reason his anger didn’t become something uglier. She’d almost stayed. Then she left anyway.
“Lane,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
His next call went to Jalen, his second-in-command at Ledger Security. Jalen answered on the second ring, voice rough with sleep but alert underneath it.
“Boss?”
“Meet me at the address I’m sending you.”
There was a pause, then movement on Jalen’s end. “Threat?”
“Personal.”
That was enough for Jalen. He didn’t ask stupid questions, just ones that assessed threats. “How many bodies?”
“Hopefully one breathing long enough to answer questions.”
“Copy.”
Lennox sent the address before Jalen could say anything else. The address wasn’t new to him; he’d found it when he first dug into Jeanette Sanders and the threats against Lane. He’d told himself he was gathering intel to make sure he knew where danger lived if it came for her.
Now danger had sent Lane an invitation. And Lane, because her survival instincts had been built in a house where love had teeth, had gone alone.
Lennox moved fast as he showered and dressed in all black, securing his gun beneath his jacket.
He made sure to get everything he needed, including a lock-picking kit; he didn’t expect to use it, but he never left it behind.
By the time he hit the road, Jalen had already texted.
Jalen: Ten minutes out. Want quiet or loud?
Me: Quiet until it isn’t.
Jalen: Copy.
The address led him to the far edge of Stonebridge, past the restored blocks and coffee shops developers liked to call “up-and-coming” after pushing out everyone who’d kept the lights on before them.
Jeanette’s building sat behind a liquor store and a closed laundromat, a tired six-story high-rise with peeling paint, rusted railings, and a stairwell that smelled like old beer and damp carpet.
Lennox parked half a block away. Jalen’s black SUV slid in behind him two minutes later. Jalen got out war-ready. He was built like a linebacker and moved like a man who understood silence as a weapon.
He looked Lennox over once. “You good?”
“No.”
Jalen nodded. “Didn’t think so.”
Lennox checked the time; Lane wasn’t due until three. He had twenty-two minutes to get in and neutralize all threats. He headed up the stairs as Jalen followed without a word. They reached apartment 2B as Lennox rapped once, then again harder.
Something crashed inside as a muffled curse was heard.
Heavy footsteps shuffled toward the door, and when it opened, a dark-skinned, potbellied man stood there in boxers and nothing else, scratching the side of his stomach with yellowed nails.
His eyes were red, his beard patchy, and a sour smell rolled out from behind him.
He looked Lennox up and down. “Who the hell are you?”
Lennox pulled his weapon and pressed the barrel to his head, out of view from the hallway but close enough for the man to understand how quickly his afternoon had changed. Jalen stepped to the side, blocking the stairwell view with his body.
Lennox’s voice stayed calm. “Take your nasty ass to the back, get dressed, and bring Jeanette with you.”
The man’s mouth opened as if to speak, but Lennox stepped closer. “That wasn’t a discussion.”
Recognition flickered in the man’s eyes, not of Lennox specifically, but of the fact that he’d finally met somebody whose threats didn’t need volume to be real. He backed up, and Lennox entered behind him as Jalen shut the door.
The apartment was worse than the hallway.
Thin curtains and stained carpet. A glass pipe on the coffee table and empty bottles near a recliner.
A television mounted crooked against the wall, playing a court show with the volume low.
There were old takeout containers on the counter and laundry piled in the corners like musty molehills.
Lennox’s jaw tightened. This was where Jeanette had tried to summon Lane. This was where she wanted Lane to walk in alone. His fingers flexed around the grip of his gun. The man disappeared down the hall, muttering under his breath.
Jalen moved through the small living room with practiced calm, eyes taking inventory. He’d gotten familiar with the exits, windows, and any objects that could become weapons.
The bedroom door opened a few minutes later.
The man came out first, now wearing sweatpants and a dingy undershirt, and behind him came Jeanette Sanders.
Lennox had seen pictures of her, including old mugshots and even her state I.D.
, and none of it prepared him for the woman in front of him.
Jeanette looked older than she should’ve.
She was thin in the face with tired eyes and her thin hair pulled into a scarf that had slipped crookedly near one temple.
Her hands shook as she gripped the front of an oversized cardigan.
She looked at Lennox, then Jalen, then the weapon Lennox had lowered but not put away.
“Where’s Lane?” she asked.
“Don’t ask me shit about Lane,” he snapped.
Jeanette flinched. The man beside her sneered, but he didn’t step forward, and that was the smartest thing he’d done all day.
Lennox looked at him. “Sit down.”
“I ain’t—”
Jalen moved one step, and the man sat. Jeanette stayed standing, eyes darting toward the door.
“You’ve been texting her,” Lennox said.
Jeanette’s face crumpled instantly. “I didn’t want to.”
Lennox stared at her, expecting venom and manipulation masked as tears, but he didn’t get that.
He’d expected the woman who’d abandoned Lane to still be cruel enough to make him understand, in full color, why Lane’s laughter had masked so much pain, but she didn’t present that.
She seemed scared and tired of whatever her life had become; he hadn’t expected that.
The door opened behind them, and Lane stepped in.
When Lennox looked at her, everything in him stopped.
She stood in the doorway wearing black jeans, a black tank, an oversized denim jacket, sneakers, and gold hoops.
Her lavender pixie was styled to perfection, and her face was calm in a way that made his chest hurt because he knew calm like that.
Calm like that cost something. Calm like that was a wall built from pain and painted to look like control.
Her eyes moved from Jeanette to the man on the couch, then to Lennox. There it was, surprise followed by anger. Then something that looked too much like relief for him to stay mad in a straight line. He was still mad; shit, he was bordering on furious.
Lane shut the door slowly as she asked, “What are you doing here?”
Lennox walked toward her, stopping close but not touching. His voice came out low and gentle because he didn’t trust anything louder.
“Keeping you alive long enough for me to cuss you out later.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Lennox.”
“No.” He shook his head once. “We’ll discuss this when we leave here.”
“I don’t need—”
“Lane.” His voice softened even more, and somehow that made her go still. “Please.”
The word did what force would’ve ruined.
She looked at him for a long second, then nodded once.
He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to check her and make sure she was unharmed even though she’d just walked in.
He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out before this room could put another bruise on her spirit.
Instead, he stepped aside, remembering that this was her story and that she deserved to lead the charge in her healing.
Jeanette took one shaky step forward. “Lane.”
Lane’s face changed, not much but enough for Lennox to peek at it.
The girl inside the woman heard her mother say her name, and the woman had to survive it.
Jeanette began to cry, and the tears weren’t pretty or soft.
Her sobs were hard and ugly as her shoulders folded inward.
She covered her mouth with one trembling hand and shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Jeanette said. “I’m so sorry.”
Lane didn’t seem moved by her mother’s show. Lennox watched her lock every muscle in place. She’d been ready for cruelty, and Jeanette’s sharp tongue and tears were an angle she hadn’t expected.
“Don’t,” Lane said.
Jeanette’s sob caught. “I didn’t want to send those messages.”
Lane laughed once, sharp and empty. “Of course.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“The truth?” Lane’s voice stayed quiet, but every word cut. “Now you know how to use that?”
Jeanette’s face crumpled again. “I’ve been trying to get clean.”