Chapter 101
JAKE
The engine roars. Headlights blazing. Forty yards.
I don't move.
Thirty yards.
My hands hang loose at my sides. My breathing is controlled. Every muscle in my body is coiled, ready.
Twenty yards.
The driver sees me.
I watch the exact moment it registers—a man standing in the middle of the road, feet planted, staring directly into the headlights like he's daring them to hit him.
Fifteen yards.
The engine pitch changes. Brake lights flare red.
Tires scream against gravel.
The vehicle fishtails, sliding sideways, kicking up a cloud of dust and rock. The driver overcorrects. The truck lurches, skids, and slams to a stop ten feet from where I'm standing.
The dust settles around me. The headlights illuminate my face, my body—a silhouette carved from violence and absolute certainty.
Behind me, I hear Luke murmur something to Emma. Keeping her back. Keeping her safe.
Above, on the ridge line, Mason has his rifle trained on the vehicle. I don't need to see him to know. He's there. Waiting for my signal.
A cell phone lights up the interior of the car.
I count four men inside. Built, wearing dark clothes. That’s all I can see—for now. I’ll get up close and personal when I drag them out of the truck.
I flex my hands, ready. I’m going to enjoy teaching them what happens when you threaten what’s mine.
The truck goes dark again. Its engine revs, the tires spinning without traction for a second before they grab, and it lurches forward. Turning sharply, it runs into a small, downed tree before it races erratically back the way it came.
“What the fuck?” Mason’s voice cuts through the comms.
“Did they just run away?” Luke joins in.
I shake my head. “Emma?”
“Secured,” Luke replies.
The taillights disappear into the darkness.
My hands are still flexed, ready for violence that didn't come. My heart rate hasn't changed—steady, controlled, lethal. "Mason," I say into the comms. "Status?"
"Vehicles moving out. Three cargo vans, two pickups. All heading south on the access road." His voice is calm, clinical. "Want me to take out the tires?"
I consider it for exactly two seconds. "Let them go."
"Copy."
I walk back toward the truck. Luke's standing beside it, one hand on Emma's shoulder. She's standing, breathing hard, clutching her camera like it's a lifeline.
Her eyes find mine in the darkness. Relief. Fear. Guilt.
I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to me, grounding myself in the fact that she's here, she's safe, she's mine. "You okay?" I ask, my voice rough.
She nods. "I got it. I got everything." Her hands clutch my shirt. “It’s a human trafficking operation.”
Luke and I exchange a look. Neither one of us is surprised.
Mason jogs up to us, rifle slung over his shoulder. "They're gone. Scattered. We could track them, but—"
"No." I shake my head. "We got what we came for."
"And evidence," Emma says, holding up her camera. "I photographed the whole operation."
Mason's expression doesn't change, but I see him thinking the same thing I am.
Luke is too. He looks like he feels sorry for her.
“What?” Emma asks, glancing between the three of us.
My fingers tighten on her neck. “You don’t take pictures of men like Turner and walk away clean.”
Her brow furrows. “I have proof that’ll land him in prison.”
“Prison won’t stop him, or the men he reports too.
” I want to rage at the thought, but I temper my voice.
It’s not her fault, and I’m not going to make her feel bad—not when she did what she thought she had to do.
Still, she needs to understand. “Emma, you just put a target on your back. You just made yourself something he can’t ignore. ”