Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Kendall
“They will save my family too, right, Kendall?” Branson asks, the nervous strain in his voice showing his constant fear for their safety.
My eyes stay glued to the screens while my pulse pounds erratically. One monitor follows the Kings as they close in on the target coordinates, and the other keeps my connection to Branson live. As they near the location, the patience we forced ourselves to maintain dissolves into pure dread.
“Without a doubt, Branson,” I tell him, standing up for the club. “They’re decent men, regardless of the lies Jerome has beaten into your skull.”
“No one could possibly be more villainous than Jerome,” he murmurs. “I fail to understand why he was so determined to make me believe they were the ones keeping us trapped, only letting us out when we had to install listening bugs or tap into their feeds.”
“He acted that way because he wanted to convince us that he was the hero of this story,” I reply.
“I’m glad they were able to nab him,” Branson tells me.
“Me too, Branson. Me too,” I remark as the Kings pull up a mile outside of the old farmhouse Jerome has been using as a house of horrors.
There’s no telling what he’s been doing to them while they’ve been there.
I know they’re going to be emotionally and physically scarred, but with enough time and some therapy, hopefully, they come out of this ordeal on the other side.
“How far did you dig into the Kings’ dealings, Kendall?”
“Tracking them has been my only responsibility since they arrived in town, Branson. I've uncovered secrets they’d want to keep hidden,” I tell him.
“And no matter what you’ve found, you trust them and believe they’re our salvation?” he continues, his doubt grating on my nerves.
“They’re our only hope, young Skywalker,” I say, using one of his favorite movie references to get my point across.
“I’m not trying to question your judgment, Kendall. But with our family’s lives hanging in the balance, relying on outsiders to rescue them has my nerves frayed.”
I mull that over and understand where he’s coming from. “I can see that. But, Branson, I know everything about them and there’s nobody else I’d trust more with getting them out alive than I do the Kings.”
“I wish that your faith in them was reassuring,” he mutters.
“But for you, it’s not. Care to tell me why that is?” I question.
“It's hard to trust people you don’t know and have been programmed to hate and fear,” he states.
“They’ve saved people before from Jerome and the Dragons, Branson,” I remind him.
“That’s because it was personal for them, Kendall. This isn’t.”
“You don’t think innocent people being held against their will and being used as leverage to force us to comply with taking them down isn’t personal for them, Branson?”
He pauses, and I hear his frantic typing in the background. “It’s personal now,” he finally concludes. “Because you made it personal. You gave them a reason to care about us when they have no real connection. That is the variable I can’t account for.”
“It’s because I gave them what they wanted most, a direct line to Jerome and his hideouts.
I didn’t think I’d ever get the opportunity to come face-to-face with one of their leaders so it took a lot longer than I’d have liked to have that conversation with them.
I just got lucky that Jerome let me off my leash long enough to make that connection,” I inform him.
“You couldn’t have done that through your digital connection with Booker because I was always watching you,” he grumbles. “Fuck, if I hadn’t been Jerome’s lap dog, this whole thing could’ve already been done and over with.”
“You didn’t know and it’s not like I reached out, Branson. It wasn’t until I was desperate that I took that leap and informed you of what I had set into motion.”
“I’m just glad that I’d been tracking you beforehand and watching your every move. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have believed anything you had to say,” he admits.
As I go to respond, I notice the guys wearing their night goggles and sneaking through the tree line. “They’re closing in,” I whisper.
I trace the screen with my finger. The four heat signatures move like sleuths through the Texas brush.
Slayer takes the lead. He moves with that predatory grace I have come to admire.
Shade follows close behind, scanning the darkness with his weapon raised.
Ozzie and Booker bring up the rear, their movements perfectly synced.
I flip the audio channel to their local comms. It is mostly static and breathless.
Slayer whispers into his mic, “Stay low. We are almost at the perimeter.”
Shade replies, “I have movement near the porch. Two guards.”
“Take them out quietly,” Slayer says.
I watch Ozzie and Booker peel off to the right. They slide through the tall grass toward the side entrance. Booker stops and pulls a small device from his cut. He taps at it, his fingers moving with frantic speed.
Booker says, “I’m killing the exterior feed now. You have ten seconds of blind coverage.”
“Copy that,” Slayer murmurs.
They move in a blur of motion. Shade drops into a crouch, his movements efficient. He closes the distance to the porch with terrifying speed. I hold my breath as he levels his rifle. A soft thud echoes in my ears, and the heat signatures near the porch go limp.
Slayer moves to the door. “Entry in three. Two. One.”
He kicks the door inward. It does not creak. It just gives way. They flood the room. I track their progress as they clear the living area. It is tactical, brutal, and fast.
“Kitchen is clear,” Ozzie announces.
“Bedroom is clear,” Shade adds.
“I’m at the main server,” Booker says, his voice sounding breathless. “This thing is a beast. Give me a minute to bypass the secondary lockout.” I should be gleeful that he’s having a hard time bypassing something I created, but in this instance, it’s heart attack inducing.
“You have thirty seconds,” Slayer growls.
I watch them fan out, checking corners and shadows. They are professionals. They don’t leave a single stone unturned. The farmhouse is supposed to be Jerome's secret dungeon. Now, it is just another piece of territory they’re claiming.
“Security grid is down,” Booker announces a moment later. “I have visual on the holding cell.”
“Move,” Slayer commands.
They shift toward the back of the house. My heart is hammering as it would if I was watching a horror flick. From my intel, Kolter is in that back room. I need them to hurry.
“I see them,” Ozzie says. “Three guards. Heavily armed.”
“Take them,” Slayer orders.
The feed erupts into motion. It is too fast for me to track individual movements.
I just see the heat signatures collide and then fall.
They work like a single, violent organism.
I grip the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles turn white.
My heart leaps into my throat. This is the moment when everything either changes or ends.
“Clear,” Shade says, his voice flat and calm.
They stand over the fallen guards for a heartbeat before they kick open the heavy door to the cell. I lean so close my nose touches the screen. They go inside. I hold my breath until my lungs burn.
“Got them,” Booker says, his voice cracking with relief. “I have the kid and Branson’s family. They’re all here.”
“Let’s move,” Slayer says.
I exhale, the tension leaving my body all at once.
They have all of them. They are actually getting everyone out.
I watch them hoist the small form up while Shade and Ozzie usher Branson’s wife and daughter toward the exit.
The way they handle the survivors is incredibly gentle.
It is a sharp contrast to the brutal efficiency they used seconds ago.
“Move fast,” Slayer commands. “We’ve got eyes on the road. We need to hit the extraction point without delay.”
Enthusiastically, I watch with rapt attention as the group exits the farmhouse. The heat signatures disperse, moving toward the tree line where they left the bikes.
I track them all the way.
Every step they take away from that house feels like a weight lifting off my chest. They’re not leaving anyone behind. They are not breaking under the pressure.
“Packages are secure,” Ozzie reports. “We’re clear of the perimeter with all civilians.”
“Copy,” Booker responds. “The digital path is scrubbed.”
I sink back into my chair, my hands finally letting go of the desk.
My ribs scream in protest, but I don’t care.
They made it. My son is safe, and Branson’s family is finally free from Jerome’s shadow.
They have them, and for the first time in five years, the world does not feel like it is closing in on me.
I stare at the empty screen, my mind racing with what comes next.
Branson releases an exhaled breath, whooping and hollering, “Hot damn! They did it, Kendall.”
“Yeah, they did,” I whisper.
“You listening, Kendall?” Booker asks over the airway.
Flicking on my com, I tell him, “I am.”
“Get ready. Now that we’ve secured everyone, we’re coming for you.”