Page 7 of Property of Booker

“Booker, I’m not the only individual with these technical skills he snatched from the streets. Branson actually surpasses my abilities, and with far more at stake, he’s willing to fulfill any order Jerome gives him,” she answers.

“Vixen, what does he have to lose that could possibly outweigh yours?”

She gives a fleeting smile and says, “Jerome is keeping his twin sister, daughter, and niece captive, Booker. None of us are blind to what happens to the women who get his specialized attention.”

“We’re well aware,” I acknowledge. Right then, a sudden realization strikes me—one I’m positive unequivocally escaped Rip and Indiana. “Is Jerome the father of your child?”

“Yes, he is the father of my five-year-old son, Kolter.” She explains that Jerome holds him in an unreachable location behind a guard she has no way to bypass. Blood ties are completely meaningless to Jerome, and because he will sacrifice anyone to maintain absolute control, he uses the boy as an insurance policy to ensure her total compliance.

“You realize Kolter has a sister, right? Elodie, Indiana’s girl,” I ask.

“To keep her safe, I never looked into his daughter, despite knowing she existed out there. The less information he has, the better off she will be,” Vixen swears.

“Vixen, he already knows her location. He actually abducted Zoey and Elodie from their home not that long ago, held them captive inside an old, abandoned K-Mart warehouse. Although we managed to rescue them, he fled like the coward he is before we could apprehend him.”

Gasping, she covers her mouth to hide her surge of emotion. “Oh, God! I remember that incident. I actually tried to submit an anonymous tip to the authorities, but they disregarded it.”

“Jerome’s dad was the sheriff back then, which explains why,” I tell her.

“I’m aware, and that’s why I went around him and took my report to the Rangers.”

“The Rangers actually disregarded the warning?” I ask in disbelief. I need to get in touch with Nerd so he can pass that along to Rio. Given the West Texas president's ties to that agency, I'm certain he'll want a thorough investigation launched.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Kendall

I catch the breach in my system and scrub my tracks fast, making sure nothing ties me to Booker or the Kings. Then I see something that makes me seethe. Jerome's forcing Branson back to the terminal. I send a fast, encrypted warning telling him to stop. It's on him now. He either stops or he walks away from the rescue plan I've built to get his family out of Jerome's grip.

Severing the link to Booker feels like a fresh betrayal, yet I can’t let Jerome discover anything else. Every keystroke sends fire through my ribs, a reminder of the savage beating I took earlier. Booker’s face haunts me. I can’t shake the look of shock and fury he wore when he saw my bruises. I didn’t want to use him, but Branson is looming over the console and Jerome is breathing down my neck. The risk of a mistake is just too massive. If Jerome catches even a whisper of what we’re planning, Kolter dies. I’ve got to stay detached. I need to guide the Kings through the raid while they’re tied up in West Texas. The plan is that after the raid finds nothing and they get back from laying their friend to rest, they’ll help me infiltrate Jerome’s den of sin and clear the place, and I’ll sneak in the back, scoop up my boy, and disappear. Branson has one chance to walk away and save his family, or we’re all going down in flames.

Branson confirms he's with me, and the relief hits so hard I almost buckle. We trade encrypted messages until we've got a solid alliance. He's going to feed Jerome fake location data so the Kings stay off the grid, ghosts on the road. That simple trick buys them the protection they need to stay hidden while they travel. We spend hours mapping every vulnerability in the perimeter defenses. We flag every camera blind spot and pin down the guard rotations. By the time we're done, I've got a roadmap to burn this whole operation to the ground the second the Kings’ strike.

I won’t be sitting at my monitor to watch it all unfold, even though I wish I could. I simply can’t. Every instinct screams at me to stay glued to the screen, to track the flickering data packets and verify that the digital smoke screens I've constructed hold up under scrutiny. But remaining here is a luxury I don’t possess. Getting to Kolter is my priority before Jerome figures out that the breach was my doing. Every passing second increases the risk that my digital signatures will be unmasked. Once Jerome realizes the infiltration originated from my console, the window to rescue my boy will slam shut forever. I have to move now, relying entirely on the precision of the architecture I've set in motion while I physically cross into the danger zone.

Before shutting down my monitor and plunging the room into darkness, I take a final few seconds to send a quick apology to Booker. My fingers fly across the keys as I draft a hasty explanation, summarizing in a brief, Cliff’s Notes fashion the urgent reasons why I had to abruptly close out our chat session without properly saying goodbye or explaining the looming danger I found myself in. I need him to know that severing our link wasn't a betrayal, but a desperate move to keep Jerome from uncovering our plan and putting Kolter's life in immediate jeopardy. My message outlines the trap Branson and I are navigating, and how Branson is feeding Jerome fake location data to keep the Kings hidden as they travel to and from West Texas. Without waiting for a reply, I log off, knowing that any digital footprint left behind could cost us everything. I crawl my way out of my chair and collapse on the floor in front of my bed. Every movement sends a blinding wave of fire through my ribs. The agony is too severe for me to pull myself up and onto the bed, leaving me paralyzed in the dark, entirely dependent on the digital architecture I've set in motion to protect the people I love and care about.

An absolute, welcoming darkness consumes me whole as my eyes finally flutter close against the cold room. The sheer, overwhelming velocity of both exhaustion and relief encases me like a ladened down warm blanket, pressing down on my bruised limbs and giving me a false sense of safety.

"Wake up, bitch!" a harsh voice barks, right before a sudden kick explodes against my ribs, sending a new wave of agony through my already battered body.

“Oomph,” I cry out as I roll over and peer up at Jerome as he looks down at me with a sneer on his face.

“Patrick’s mother is appearing before the judge this morning,” he barks. Then he continues, issuing instructions. “Establish a connection with the syndicate immediately. I want a full breakdown of their strategy regarding the Dragons.”

Nodding my head to placate him, I swallow the groan that threatens to escape my lips and drag my battered body off the cold floor. I slowly lift myself up onto my hands and knees, each breath sending a sharp wave of agony through my cracked ribs as I begin crawling my way across the room over to my console. I force my expression to remain blank under his watchful glare, but inside, a secret smile dances on my lips. Little does he know, the very network he is demanding I access has already been turned against him. I've been using this station to send the syndicate anonymous tips and scrambled data detailing the full extent of Jerome and his evil scheming.

To guarantee that absolutely nothing points back to me or this terminal, I routed the masked data streams through a chaotic digital maze, bouncing them off numerous far-off signal towers throughout the region. My firewall is entirely bulletproof, featuring a highly sophisticated software design I built from scratch. I intend to give it to Booker as soon as possible so he can hand it off to Nerd, the tech expert for the West Texas crew, to lock down their communications. Suddenly, a surge of panic strikes me—I can't recall if I explicitly warned them that Branson had been ordered to hack their system as well, but their protection is absolutely vital. Anyone with ties to the Kings' East Texas branch faces intense scrutiny. I have shielded them as effectively as I could, but facing Branson meant nothing was ever certain. Yet now that he has joined us and aligned with the strategy I’ve set in motion, we will be a formidable, unstoppable powerhouse.

“Quit dragging your feet, Kendall. Otherwise, the thrashing you received yesterday will seem like a walk in the park,” Jerome snarls.

Dragging my body up, I grasp the edge of the desk and finally reach my feet. I slide into the chair to boot up the computer. Knowing Jerome is completely clueless about how computers work, I open an alternate window alongside the syndicate connection. I pull Booker into the session so he can watch in silence. It is crucial for me to demonstrate that my plea for assistance was neither a bid for pity nor a scheme to damage his club. I must show him that I am not playing games, and that he truly can trust me. I shift to the side as the video link goes live, but Jerome still shoots me a venomous look. He rips me out of the seat and throws me back, slamming me into the wall. Sliding down the surface, I pull myself into a tight ball. I am completely exhausted from being his personal punching bag. Still, I'm much luckier than most of the women he captured. Once he realized my technical skills and I delivered a male heir, he ceased with his vile, physical abuse.

Only halfway paying attention to the conversation taking place, my mind wanders to my son like it always does. I picture Kolter trapped in whatever room Jerome is keeping him hidden in, completely cut off from me while this nightmare plays out around us. Every word spoken on the syndicate call is nothing but background noise to the frantic pounding of my heart. I need the Kings to move fast, to launch the raid so Branson and I can execute the final steps of this breakout strategy. I focus on the cold wall pressing against my back, letting the pain in my ribs anchor me while my mind maps out the escape route, counting down the hours until I can finally scoop up my boy and disappear forever. My mind is beginning to feel like a broken record, repeating my fears and thoughts as I conjure up all the ways this plan can either go wrong or right.

By the time their discussion concludes, I have fixed a mask of composure on my face, completely unaware of how much time has slipped by. As Jerome paces across the floor, muttering under his breath, I observe him with intense reluctance. The gears in his head are spinning at a frantic, dizzying pace, fueled by a mind that is both disordered and deeply malicious. Who would ever choose to witness the thoughts inside a place like that? Consequently, I refrain from questioning him, suppressing both my curiosity and my desire to uncover whatever schemes he is currently devising.