Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Booker
Slayer sends me to my room to check my feed while he and the guys clean up the mess left behind by those motherfuckers. We knew they wouldn’t find anything, but the guys didn’t and Shade was a grenade waiting to explode. Luckily, he read the look Slayer sent him and settled.
I close the door behind me and slide into my seat, the terminal screens still radiating their cold, blue glow against the walls.
My fingers match the rapid beating of my heart as I bypass keys to unlock the hidden queue.
There it is—an encrypted payload waiting in the dark relay, just like she promised.
I pull down the packets, watching the progress bar tick to completion while the shouting downstairs slowly fades into the low, murmured sound of furniture being moved back into position.
When the data unpacks, my breath catches in my throat. It’s a complete structural blueprint of Jerome’s empire, laid out in devastating detail. Kendall didn't just dump a file; she left a roadmap.
I scan the text lines detailing the grid coordinates of the safehouse, the guard schedules, and the specific perimeter fence blind spots she and Branson mapped out right under the asshole's nose. Tucked into the header is her final, frantic warning—Jerome discovered the raid came up empty, he’s entirely unhinged, and he's on his way back to her location right now. A cold sweat prickles my neck as the realization hits me. She took a brutal beating yesterday to buy us this window, and she’s sitting in that dark room waiting to take another one just to keep our cover intact.
Her text screams off the screen, pleading with me to gather the crew and launch a coordinated strike on the safehouses before Jerome can issue orders to end the lives of the hostages.
She needs us to extract her five-year-old boy, Kolter, alongside Branson's twin sister and the rest of their captive family.
The analytical detachment I usually rely on vanishes entirely, replaced by a fierce, protective urgency that overrides all my caution.
Reaching for the emergency walkie-talkie I rarely touch, I jam my thumb onto the broadcast button to alert the lower floor. “Slayer, get your ass up here. We have the target location.”
The radio transmission blasts through the clubhouse’s surround system, so I know I’m not just talking to Slayer.
I’m going to have to do a massive amount of explaining to my brothers that have been kept in the dark.
A suffocating wave of longing hits me. I wish Rip, Indiana, and Icer were here because their tactical minds would be invaluable in helping us forge a solid operational strategy.
A thunderous stampede of footsteps rattles the staircase.
The door to my office flies open and bangs against the wall.
Slayer leads the charge, his face a mask of cold fury.
Ozzie, Shade, and the others crowd behind him.
The room instantly shrinks as they spill inside.
Slayer strides up to my desk and leans down.
His eyes are narrowed slits. “Explain what you said, Book. Right now.”
I turn the monitor so they can all see the blueprints. I point at the flashing red icons. “This is the safehouse. This is where they have the kid and family we’re set on rescuing.”
Shade pushes past Slayer. He stares at the map with a grim expression. “Who are they? And why are we only seeing this now?”
I swallow hard. I look at every one of them, searching for someone who understands. “They're holding Kolter and Branson's family. Kendall sent this. She's the one who's been feeding us the intel. She's the one who's risked everything to get this to us.”
Silence fills the office. It's thick enough to choke on. Then Ozzie speaks up. His voice is edged with suspicion. “You kept a rat in our network?”
“She's not a rat,” I snap. My voice rises in her defense. “She's a prisoner. She's been trapped behind enemy lines for years. She's the only reason we're not sitting in a cell right now.”
Shade crosses his arms. His gaze drops to the screen, tracing the lines of the safehouse layout. “A prisoner working for Jerome? That's a hell of a story, Book. How do we know this isn't a setup?”
“Because she's bleeding for it,” I say. I pull up the video feed I recorded.
I show them the bruises and lacerations on her face.
“Jerome did this to her. She's suffering so we can have this. She's waiting for us to hit them so she can escape the Hell she’s been living in since she was a teenager snatched off the streets.”
Shade watches the screen, his jaw working. He turns toward the door, his hand instinctively going to his side. “So we're sitting here?” the man of few words asks.
Slayer looks at the monitor one last time. He nods. “Load up. We don't leave people behind. Especially not those who’ve stuck their neck out for us whether they have an ulterior motive or not.”
“Wait,” I say, grabbing my gear. “She said Jerome is on his way here to check on the failed raid. We need to be fast. If we're not there before him, we could be walking into an ambush.”
“Then we drive fast,” Slayer growls. He turns to the brothers. “You heard the man. Everyone to the bikes. We're going to war.”
The room clears in seconds. The energy shifts from confusion to lethal intent. I follow them out, the blueprints burned into my mind. I can't let her down. I can't let them kill her.
As we rush down the stairs together, Ozzie calls out to stop us. “Wait a minute. If Jerome is coming right to us, wouldn’t it be smarter to intercept him here on our own turf?”
“He makes a valid point,” Slayer says, raising his hands to stop our momentum. “If we capture him here, the conflict ends immediately. We’re letting fury dictate our actions. We need to pause, regroup, and approach this rationally.”
Thank fuck I have equipment stashed in every room and head to the closest one and pull up the video feed that has eyes on every inch of our property.
I slip into the nearest supply room, cutting off the argument before it escalates.
The door clicks shut and I’m instantly at the wall-mounted monitor I installed for emergencies like this.
My hands fly across the interface, pulling up a multi-view grid of the entire property.
Cameras surround the exterior like a digital net.
I scan the footage, my pulse spiking as the feed from the front gate loads.
A black sedan idles at the entrance, its headlights cutting through the darkness.
It’s him. Jerome. He’s here and he’s alone.
My breath hitches. I tap the channel to Slayer’s radio, my voice sharp and urgent.
“Guys, change of plans,” I hiss into the comms. “He’s already at the gate.”
“Keep your eyes on him, Booker. We’re going to divide and conquer,” Slayer orders as the shuffling sound of feet echoes through the open channel.
My fingers fly, locking down the primary gate controls to trap Jerome in the driveway while keeping the camera feeds perfectly isolated.
Through the infrared lens, I watch him step out of the black sedan, his posture tense but unsuspecting, entirely unaware that the empty clubhouse he expects to gloat over is actually a hornets' nest waiting to drop.
“He's closing in on the side entrance,” I whisper into the computer's mic. My pulse drums against my ears. “He looks confident. Too confident. He isn't even checking his corners.”
“Let him walk right into it,” Slayer's voice crackles back, calm as a block of ice before it melts. “We’re ready, Book. Just keep that gate sealed tight. We want him fully committed to walking onto the property before we show our faces.”
Jerome reaches inside his coat, his fingers clamping onto the weapon hidden at his hip. He realizes far too late that the shadows are occupied by teeth and cold iron.
“Searching for something?” Slayer asks, his voice piercing the darkness, a low, ominous rumble.
Jerome whirls around, drawing his firearm, but Shade strikes with superior speed.
He crashes into Jerome, throwing him violently against the brick masonry.
The force of the blow leaves Jerome gasping for air, yet his grip on the weapon holds.
Striking out with a hard kick, he catches Shade's thigh and maneuvers to raise his handgun once more.
“You believe you can trap me here?” Jerome growls, his features contorted in manic anger as his gaze darts around the surrounding figures. “You fools have no concept of what you've just unleashed. Stand aside, or I'll burn this entire town to the ground.”
“The only thing burning tonight is your pathetic operation,” Slayer says, stepping into the dim light. He moves with a calm that unnerves Jerome more than any threat. “Drop the gun, Jerome. We aren't here to talk, we’re here to make you a guest, just like Patrick.”
Jerome laughs, spitting blood onto the pavement.
“You want me? Come and get me.” He pulls the trigger.
The shot goes wide, echoing against the clubhouse walls like a cannon blast. Before he can fire again, Ozzie kicks his wrist. The gun skitters across the concrete, sliding into the shadows.
Jerome doesn't break. He lunges for Ozzie, grappling like a wild animal. He’s biting, gouging, refusing to let them secure him. He’s desperate and he’s fast.
“Take him down!” Slayer commands.
The brothers swarm him, a whirlwind of pummeling fists and grunting exertion.
Jerome fights back like a cornered animal, roaring obscenities while he bites and claws at them.
It takes four of them to pin him down and crank the zip ties tight against his wrists.
Even restrained, he spits and jerks, his ruined face smeared with blood.
His gaze finds the security lens, fixing on it with a terrifying intensity.
“You’re a dead woman, Kendall,” he spits out as they haul him away. “You think you're safe? I’ve got contingencies in place in case I got captured.”
My monitor rings and I answer with panic laced in my voice, “Kendall?”
She laughs as she tells me, “He doesn’t know this yet, but his contingencies won’t be triggered.
I wiped every one of them from his system the second he walked out the door.
He’s completely blind now, Booker. He has no way to alert his hit squads or reach the syndicate.
The path is clear for you to go to the safehouse. ”
I let out a breath I’ve been holding for what feels like a lifetime. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” she promises, her voice gaining a strength I haven’t heard before. “His access is severed. He’s just a man shouting into the void now. Go, Booker. Get Kolter and the others out of there.”
“We’re moving,” I assure her, my hand already reaching for my gear. “Keep your head low. We’re coming for you and Branson next. Don’t you dare give up on me. Stay safe until we make our way to you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, and for the first time, I hear a hint of a smile in her voice. “Just hurry and save my baby, Booker.”