Chapter 105
JAKE
The morning sun cuts through the bedroom window, painting Emma's sleeping face in gold. She's curled against my chest, her breathing deep and even, one hand resting over my heart.
I haven't slept.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her on that horse, headlights bearing down on her, Turner's crew closing in. I see the moment she could have been taken. Killed. Disappeared into the same cargo van she photographed.
Her photos? Incredible. I don’t know that she saw everything she captured, like the barcodes tattooed to the women, probably to inventory them. That means they’re in a system somewhere, and systems are hackable.
Somehow I’m going to make this mess go away. I have to. There’s no fucking way I can sit by while Emma is in their sights.
My hand tightens on her hip, and she stirs, murmuring something soft and unintelligible before settling back into sleep.
I need coffee. I need to plan. I need to—
The motion sensor alert vibrates my phone on the nightstand.
I'm up instantly, reaching for the device, my other hand already moving toward the drawer where I keep my sidearm.
The screen shows a vehicle approaching the main gate. Black SUV. Expensive. Alone. I pull up the camera feed and zoom in on the driver, but I already know who it is.
Cole Turner.
I grit my teeth, holding a growl in. He's coming here, to my property—the morning after his crew chased Emma through the dark.
I can’t decide if it’s very stupid or very smart.
Sliding out of bed carefully to avoid waking Emma, I pull on jeans and a T-shirt. I grab my phone and move downstairs, my mind already in operational mode.
Mason's in the kitchen, coffee in hand, his eyes on his own phone. He looks up when I enter.
"Turner's at the gate," he says quietly.
"I know." I pour myself a coffee. "Let him in."
Mason's eyebrow lifts. "You sure?"
"Yeah." I take a sip, the heat grounding me. "I want to hear what he has to say."
Mason taps his phone, and the gate opens remotely. We both watch the feed as the SUV rolls up the driveway, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
"Luke?" I ask.
"In the stable. Watching." Mason's voice is flat. "He's got eyes on the approach and the perimeter."
Good.
The SUV parks in front of the house. Turner steps out—tailored jacket, dark pants, boots polished to a shine. He looks like a businessman, not a trafficker. Not a man who was running human cargo through Emma’s property twelve hours ago.
He walks to the front door and knocks.
I wait. Let him stand there. Let him wonder if I'm going to answer.
Then I go open it.
Turner smiles. It's the kind of smile that doesn't reach his eyes—polished, practiced, empty.
"Jake Callahan," he says, his voice smooth. "Mind if I come in?"
I hold my position in the doorway. "What do you want, Turner?"
"Just a conversation." He glances past me, into the house. "Man to man."
I step aside, letting him in, and close the door behind him. Mason's in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching. Turner notices but doesn't acknowledge him.
Without waiting for an invite, Turner walks into the living room, his gaze sweeping the space—assessing, cataloging. "Nice place. You boys have done well for yourselves."
I don't respond.
Turner turns to face me, his hands in his pockets, relaxed. "I wanted to come by and clear the air after last night."
"Last night," I repeat, my voice cold.
"Yeah." He nods, his expression thoughtful. "See, I knew Emma was up on the north ridge. I knew she was taking pictures."
My pulse doesn't change. My expression doesn't shift. But every muscle in my body coils tight.
"And here's the thing, Jake." Turner's smile widens. "I could have stopped her. My guys could have grabbed her and brought her to me. Hell, I could have handled it myself." He pauses, letting that sink in. "But I didn't."
Silence.
"I let her go," Cole continues, his tone almost conversational. "I saw her up there, camera in hand, and I made a choice. I let her ride away. Because I'm not a monster, Jake. I'm a businessman. I don't make enemies I don't have to."
"Get to the point," I say, my voice low.
"The point is, you owe me." Cole's eyes lock on mine. "I could have taken Emma. I could have made her disappear so that you’d never find her, never see her ever again. But I didn't. So now, you and I, we have an understanding."
"An understanding," I echo.
"Yeah." He nods. "You stay out of my business, I stay out of yours. You don't go running to the sheriff with whatever Emma photographed, and I don't revisit my decision to let her go."
There it is—the threat. Veiled. Polite. Unmistakable.
Impossible to refuse.
I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting the silence stretch. Then I carefully set the mug down on the side table. "You think you did me a favor," I say quietly.
"I know I did." Turner's smile doesn't waver.
I fold my arms, studying him. "You think letting Emma go means I owe you something."
"That's how it works, Jake. You're a smart man. You understand leverage."
I take a step closer. Not aggressive. Just closing the distance.
"Here's what I understand, Turner." My voice drops, cold and lethal. "If you put your hands on what's mine, you don't get credit for letting go. You get a bullet."
His smile falters—just for a second—and then it’s back, edged with anger.
"You think you're in control here," I continue, my gaze locked on his. "You think you can walk into my house, make veiled threats about Emma, and I'm going to play along. But you're wrong."
"Jake—"
"You don't touch her. You don't look at her. You don't think about her." I take another step, and now I'm close enough to see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Because if you do, I will end you. Not arrest you. Not report you. End you."
I can hear Turner's jaw creak, he’s gritting it so tight. "You're making a mistake."
"No." I smile, cold and empty. "You made the mistake. You came here thinking you had leverage, but all you did was sign your death certificate."
Turner stares at me for a long moment, his expression hardening. Then he steps back, his hands still in his pockets, his posture controlled.
"You're going to regret this," he says quietly.
"No," I reply. "You are."
He turns and walks to the door, his movements unhurried, like he's still in control. But I see the tension in his shoulders and the way his hand tightens on the door handle.
He leaves without another word.
I watch through the window as he gets into his SUV and drives away, the gate closing behind him.
Mason steps into the room, his expression unreadable.
"You hear that?" I ask.
"Every word."
I turn to face him. "He just signed his own death warrant."
Mason nods slowly. "Yeah. He did."
"I'm taking him out," I say, my voice flat. "One way or another."
"I know." Mason's gaze is steady. "We’ll get it done."
I look back out the window, watching the empty driveway, my mind already calculating timelines, strategies, contingencies.
Cole Turner thinks he has leverage.
He thinks he can threaten Emma and walk away.
He's wrong.
And he's going to learn that the hard way.