Page 19 of Property of Booker

“Then why didn’t she ever see me if she wanted me?” he asks, and I struggle to find a way to explain the situation so that his five-year-old mind can process and understand it.

“Because she wasn’t allowed to,” I say, keeping my words simple.

Kolter stares at his naked feet. They are caked in dirt just like the rest of him is. “Did she try?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

I lean down closer to him. “She fought for you every day. Your father, Jerome, kept her trapped in a locked room. He didn’t just separate the two of you, he completely stripped away her freedom. He fed her lies that you were doing fine, using it as just another tactic to maintain control over her.”

Kolter shrinks into the blanket, his face now barely visible. “Is she still there?”

“Not for long,” I promise. “We’re going to get her out. She’s waiting for us, and she hasn’t given up on you… not for one second. She’s the strongest person I know.”

“Does she still want me?” I gnaw at my bottom lip. Even though I’ve already reassured him that she does, the message doesn’t seem to be getting through his traumatized mind. The boy remains trapped in a vicious cycle of his own trauma, unable to break free from its suffocating hold.

Reiterating, I tell him, “She does. She’s the one who sent us to get you.”

“When are you going to go get her?” he questions.

“Just as soon as I know you’re going to be okay and I talk to my brothers,” I inform him.

His wide, hopeful eyes look up, holding my gaze for what feels like an eternity. Then, a hand sneaks out from beneath the blanket, waving me off in an unmistakable gesture of, what are you waiting for? With a smirk, I give his shoulder a reassuring pat before turning away to meet up with my brothers.

As I join the huddle, Slayer asks, “He alright?”

Answering, I tell him, “He’s as good as he can be given the circumstances. That fucker told him that his mother didn’t want him and he and his men were teaching him how to not be a pussy so he could grow up to be a real man.”

“Jesus fuck,” Shade hisses, dragging his hand down his face. “I can’t wait for Rip to get back into town so we can nix his ass for good.”

“After we get ourselves a little payback for everything that motherfucker’s put our club through,” Ozzie says.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be opposed to him eating his teeth for all of the lies he’s told,” I tack on.

“I can make him swallow his tongue,” Shade offers.

Slayer cuts in, shutting down the escalations of what we want to do to Jerome from intensifying and growing more grotesque. “We can plan our revenge later. Right now, our only objective is securing Kendall and Branson since the others are safe and in our custody.” That has all of us snapping to attention and going silent. “Booker, what do you know about the layout and guard schedule at their whereabouts?”

“It’s virtually identical to the farmhouse setup,” I reply. “They’re running the same routine, but this spot has enhanced security defenses in terms of wards.”

“Are Kendall and Branson going to assist with our entry to shave off some time?” Slayer asks.

“The system has already been destabilized by them,” I let him know.

“So everything should go smooth then?” Slayer asks, his gaze narrowing.

I nod, catching the grim satisfaction in his expression. “Should. Assuming their security doesn’t have any last-minute surprises. We need to be fast and hit hard. No room for hesitation once we breach the perimeter.”

Shade cracks his knuckles, the sound piercing the quiet space. “Good. I’m ready to stop talking and start moving.”

“We move out in five,” Slayer confirms, turning his focus to the rest of the crew. “Gear up. We go for Kendall and Branson, then we get out. Don’t get distracted by anything else.”

“Are we taking prisoners?” Ozzie asks.

“No, we are wiping out the garbage employed by Jerome,” Slayer asserts.

“But what if there are innocent individuals among them, just like Branson and Kendall?” I challenge. “We shouldn’t just slaughter blameless people without cause.”

Shade scoffs, shifting his weight while crossing his arms over his chest. “It isn't like we paused to ask for resumes when we cleared that farmhouse. Those guards know who they work for and what they're guarding. They’re part of the problem.”

I know that, but it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. For all we know, they’re in the exact same situation as Kendall is. I hold my ground, even as the tension in the room thickens. “Maybe, but we aren’t butchers. I just want to be sure we’re hitting targets, not just anyone in a uniform.”