Mick gave a bitter laugh that didn’t sound much like laughter. “She’ll kill anyone who crosses her. You don’t know her like I do. She wanted me to take over for my father, to lead the Brotherhood when my dad went to prison. I refused.”
Rain streamed down Jackson’s face, cold and steady, but it didn’t break his focus. “Yet you came with her yesterday. To my ranch.”
Mick nodded, his hair plastered to his forehead. “I had to. She didn’t give me a choice. But I went because I wanted to warn Avery. I figured if I could get close enough, maybe I could tell her what was coming before they made their move.”
Jackson studied him in silence. The kid’s voice shook, but there was something raw and desperate beneath it that didn’t sound rehearsed.
“You expect me to believe that?” Jackson asked quietly.
Mick lowered his hands a little, his eyes wide. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Just listen. They’re not done, and Avery’s in more danger than she knows.”
Jackson’s gut clenched, but he didn’t lower the gun. The rain hammered harder against the porch roof, and the woods beyond the road seemed to close in, darker and thicker than before.
Jackson narrowed his eyes, his voice low and edged with doubt. “Warn her? You mean warn her she was about to be set up for your murder? Because that’s what it sounded like. And yet, here you are, alive and well.”
Mick shifted uneasily, his shoulders hunched against the rain. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
Jackson didn’t lower the gun. “You faked that gunshot during your call to me, didn’t you?”
Mick’s head snapped up. “No. That wasn’t fake. I swear.” His voice cracked under the weight of it. “I was making that call from my truck. Someone fired at me. The bullet went through the passenger window. I sped away before they could take another shot.”
Jackson studied him, searching for the lie. Mick looked soaked, exhausted, and terrified, but that didn’t prove anything.
“You expect me to just take your word for it?” Jackson said.
Mick’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have to. Look at the truck if you want. The hole’s still there.”
Jackson’s grip tightened on the weapon, his thoughts racing. It could be true, or it could be another setup. Either way, Mick Barker standing here alive made everything harder.
He glanced toward the truck. Even through the curtain of rain, he could see it clearly now. There was a hole in the passenger-side window, the glass fractured in a tight spiderweb around it.
So Mick’s story checked out. At least part of it.
But that didn’t prove who fired the shot. For all Jackson knew, Mick could have put that hole there himself.
Mick’s voice steadied a little, though the rain kept running down his face. “This isn’t just about Avery,” he said. “It’s about Melissa. My girlfriend. She was murdered by the Brotherhood, by Darian, and I want justice for her.”
Jackson kept his gun trained on him. “And you think Avery wants that too.”
“I know she does. Why else would she do that podcast?”
Before Jackson could respond, the front door creaked open behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Avery stepped out onto the porch, her hair already damp, her gun raised and aimed squarely at Mick. “You said Darian murdered Melissa?” she demanded.
Mick nodded quickly. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Both of our lives are in danger. This isn’t just about you testifying against my dad. It’s bigger than that.”
Jackson shifted slightly, moving closer to Avery, ready to pull her back if things went south.
Mick went on, desperate now. “It’s about that podcast you did. You might have found something without realizing it. Something that proves Melissa wasn’t killed in a botched robbery but was executed. If the Brotherhood thinks you’re getting close, they’ll kill both of us to bury it.”
The rain poured harder, the sound filling the silence that followed. Jackson’s mind worked fast, but his instincts screamed caution.
Mick Barker might be telling the truth.
Or he might be bait.