Jackson studied her face, then looked back at the phone. “Mick, you’re saying Darian killed her. You got proof he murdered her?”
“No,” he answered on a huff. “Just what I overheard. Darian and a couple of the other members were talking about her, saying she should’ve stayed loyal, that if she left she might spill some of their secrets. Might even go to the cops. That conversation was the night before she died.”
Jackson’s gut tightened as he listened. “Why tell me this?”
“Because you can get word to Avery.” His voice cracked, then steadied again. “Someone’s using me. They’re setting me up, and I think they’re going to kill me to make it look like she did it.”
Avery’s eyes flew wide, her face draining of color. Jackson straightened, his hand curling into a fist on the counter. “What do you mean, set her up? How?”
“They’ve got her DNA,” Mick said, his breath coming fast now. “I don’t know how they got it, but I heard them talking about it. They said they’d make it look clean, that it’d point straight to her when it’s done.”
Jackson felt Avery step closer beside him, her voice low and trembling. “Mick, where are you?”
“I can’t say,” he said quickly. “I don’t trust anyone around me anymore. But I need your help. Please, let me meet you.”
Jackson met Avery’s eyes. She was terrified, but he could see the flicker of hope too. She wanted to believe Mick was telling the truth. He wanted to believe it himself, but he couldn’t take that risk.
“No,” Jackson said firmly. “You don’t meet me. You stay put. I’ll send someone else.”
Mick started to argue. “You don’t understand, I—”
There was a loud sound. Maybe a gunshot. And the line went dead.
Chapter Six
Avery stood in the small bathroom, the scent of soap and clean cotton filling the air. She pulled on her jeans and the T-shirt she’d washed the night before, the fabric still stained from her hiding out in the woods, but they were at least clean.
Her reflection in the mirror looked pale and hollow-eyed. The few hours of restless sleep she’d managed hadn’t helped. The nightmares hadn’t stopped, circling like vultures.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same flashes. The fireball swallowing Jackson’s house. The shockwave slamming through the SUV. Warren’s voice in her head, smiling and lying. Then that last sound on Mick Barker’s call. The gunshot, sharp and final, cutting everything off.
She splashed water on her face, trying to wash it all away, but it clung to her like smoke.
Had that been real?
She didn’t know anymore. Maybe Mick had staged it. Maybe it was some trick, something his mother or Darian had forced him to do to lure them out. It wouldn’t have been the first time the Brotherhood used bait to draw someone in.
But if it was real—if that shot had killed him—then she couldn’t shake the ache that twisted through her chest. Mick Barker was only twenty-two. Too young to be trapped in a world like his parents’.
She closed her eyes and took a slow breath.
Jackson had been right. Meeting with Mick would’ve been too risky. They didn’t know who was pulling the strings or who was listening.
Avery finished dressing, tugging her shirt into place before stepping into the hall. The cabin was small, so it didn’t take long to find Jackson. He was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his laptop open, a half-empty mug of coffee beside him.
Morning light streamed through the window, glinting off the dark strands of his hair. Black and a little too long, it curled slightly at the ends, brushing the collar of his T-shirt. His face was rugged, all hard edges and quiet strength, the kind of man who carried his scars like armor. Even sitting still, there was a restless energy about him, a readiness that never seemed to fade.
He looked up when she entered, and their gazes locked. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them shifted, heavy with things that didn’t need words.
He was still handsome. Too handsome. The kind of man who filled a room without trying.
Heat stirred low in her chest, uninvited and impossible to ignore. She pushed it aside, telling herself it was nothing but old chemistry, muscle memory from another life.
Yes, Jackson Ward had once been her lover. And yes, that pull between them would probably never go away. But this wasn’t the time or the place for any of that.
She took a steady breath and moved closer to the table, forcing her focus back to the present. “You’ve been up a while,” she said.
He nodded, closing the laptop partway. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get a head start on what we’re dealing with.”