Property of Booker (Kings of Anarchy: East Texas #6)

Prologue

Booker

I met her online. As the techie for the East Texas chapter, my entire world usually revolves around screens and data, but she is the only digital connection that completely consumes my thoughts.

I don’t know her face, her laugh, or her voice, but I crave the truth about her. Each message we exchange leaves me wanting more, pushing a desperate need to pull her out of the text and into my reality.

I only know her by her screen name, Vixen. It should be Siren because she calls to me like no other woman has before. The mystery surrounding her only intensifies the pull, turning a simple digital correspondence into a fierce obsession that rivals the unwavering brotherhood of my club.

Every piece of data I analyze fades into the background compared to the encrypted fragments of her personality she shares, leaving me determined to uncover the woman behind the screen and claim her in the real world.

Vixen metaphorically works beside me, her digital presence keeping me focused as we scrutinize the syndicate tied to the Dragons.

Tension hangs thick in the clubhouse ever since we locked the councilwoman away and stashed her son Patrick in the catacombs.

We agree it’s crucial to keep a relentless watch on their every move.

We need to stay ahead of them and ensure they haven't realized we’re the ones who dismantled their power here in Canton.

Every line of code I trace feels like a potential tripwire.

If they catch a whiff of what we’ve done, they won’t hesitate to strike back, and I can't let that happen on my watch.

Keeping Patrick hidden in the crypt doesn't draw Jerome out like we hoped. Vixen and I monitor every digital ripple he makes, but he stays dark, invisible to the world. He’s completely off the grid.

We need him to break cover so we can tear the Dragons down piece by piece.

Once he’s gone, his whole operation will crumble into nothing.

He still orchestrates chaos from the shadows, and I hate knowing he’s out there lurking.

I just need one slip in his security, one tiny data trail I can follow right to his doorstep.

My eyes burn from staring at the monitors, but I refuse to look away.

If I blink, he might just slip through my fingers, and I won't let that happen on my watch.

A notification blinks on my monitor and my lips quirk upward.

She’s the only one who reaches out this way, avoiding the monitored lines of our phones.

The encrypted ping hits my server, slipping past the usual security.

I feel that familiar jolt of electricity buzz in my veins as I open it.

It’s a habit I’m quickly picking up. Most days, I’m buried in code and complex algorithms, losing myself in the binary.

But she breaks through the static, leaving me desperate to peel back the layers of the mystery she hides behind.

Vixen: Booker? Do you ever take a break?

I chuckle because taking a break isn’t in my vocabulary.

Sleep is just a glitch in the system when there’s a war to win from my keyboard.

My fingers dance over the keys with a frantic rhythm, searching for the one slip up Jerome might make.

Vixen is the only pulse in this cold world of silicon and copper that feels real.

She’s the hardwired code in my machine, the one person who understands that the hunt doesn't stop just because the sun goes down.

Me: Not sure what that is these days, Vixen, I reply.

Vixen: It’s that rare moment you finally pull your hands away and let the keys go silent. You quit the constant vibration in your nerves. You really should try it sometime.

A dry laugh escapes my lips and slices through the whir of my clubroom. She misses the point since real rest isn't an option for me as long as Jerome stays invisible on the network. I ache to walk away from this console, but the hunt clings to me like a fever I can't break.

Me: I wish I could, I type back, but stepping away from the screen gives Jerome the perfect opening to slip right through my fingers.

Vixen: Not for long, Booker. We’ll find him.

Her certainty sparks a rare glimmer of hope in me, though it’s hard to hold onto.

I’ve been hunting for him for what feels like an eternity, and every single time I think I’ve finally latched onto a solid lead, it vanishes into thin air before I can grab it.

Me: I hope those words reach the digital heavens, Vixen, I send. Then I expand it and add, If your optimism can bypass the firewalls blocking him, maybe I’ll finally get a clear signal on his location.

Vixen: Your obsession is dangerous, Booker. Give your brain a hard reset and walk away before you burn out completely.

Me: My club’s life depends on me being on my A game, Vixen. I can’t afford to walk away.

Vixen: Can they afford for you to burn out, Booker?

Me: Won’t happen, I virtually argue with her. This isn’t my first assignment where I missed a little sleep and forgot to eat.

Vixen: I worry about you. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.

My finger hovers over the return key but the monitor abruptly flashes.

A piercing, digital chime cuts through the low hum of the servers.

It’s an incoming ping, bypassing the encrypted relay again.

My pulse spikes. That sound means she’s breaking through.

I don't hesitate. My hands fly across the board, keys clacking like small arms fire as I route the signal through a double blind firewall before I accept the connection.

I pray the link holds tight. I don't want to lose her now. The feed opens.

“Your focus is reaching a dangerous level, Booker,” Vixen warns. “Take a break and clear your head before you hit a wall.”

“The safety of my club depends on me staying sharp,” I counter, reminding her of something I’d already told her. “Stepping back isn’t an option.”

“But what happens if you completely exhaust yourself?” she pushes back. “Is that what they need?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, holding my ground.

“I don’t like it,” Vixen admits. “You are carrying way too much weight on your shoulders.”

“Well, if your prediction holds true, this whole mess ends soon enough,” I say, forcing a playful grin on my face even though she can’t see it.

“You’re just brushing me off,” she shoots back, her voice carrying that sass I’ve become familiar with. It always gets under my skin. “Stop trying to smooth things over with charm when you’re clearly running on fumes.”

I dodge the direct hit and slide the talk onto easier ground. Her cadence cuts through the static of my station, grounding me in a way I don't expect. I lean into the mic, letting my voice drop as I admit, “It’s nice to hear your voice, Vixen.”

“At the rate you’re going, it’ll probably be the only time you hear it,” she harrumphs.

“You don’t have much faith in me, do you?” I counter, arching a brow at the empty room.

“It’s not a question of faith,” she murmurs, the sass vanishing from her tone to something stark. “It’s a question of you surviving this, Booker. You’re pushing yourself past the red line and I’m just waiting for the system to crash.”

“I’ll survive,” I promise her, wanting to believe it as much as she wants to hear it. “I have too.”

“You do, and I’m gonna make sure of it,” she declares before hanging up.

I run a hand through my hair and grin at the monitor.

Her words linger in the room, vibrating against the quiet like a challenge I can't ignore.

I stare at the blank screen, wondering exactly what kind of game she's playing.

She's just a voice on a line, a string of data I've never seen, yet she speaks like she holds my life in her hands.

What the hell does she think she'll be able to do?

I let that thought reverberate through my skull while the silence of the room settles back in.

It’s an irritating weight. I shove my chair back, the wheels catching on the silicone floor mat, and stand up to pace the small space.

My legs feel stiff, they cramp with each move, as if they’ve forgotten how to exist without my computer chair propping them up.

I shuffle over to the mini-fridge in the corner, the hum of the compressor acting as the only steady rhythm in my life right now.

I pop the tab on another energy drink, the sharp hiss of escaping carbonation sounding like a warning I choose to ignore.

One more. Just one more, and I’ll crack his encryption. I have to believe that.

I know, in my gut, that those files we managed to grab when we took Patrick hold the key.

They mock me from the screen, a knotted mess of encryption that hides his secrets.

I scour every line, hunting for the one mistake he's bound to make.

My fingers itch to get back into the rhythm, to pull apart his defenses piece by piece.

Jerome thinks he's invisible, but I'm looking for the one shred of evidence that drags him into the light. I have to find it before my luck runs out. The cursor blinks at me, a steady, measured pulse that counts down the time until Jerome realizes he’s exposed.

I won't let him slip away again.