Page 23 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

Dog raised an eyebrow at the boy, his own mouth twitching into a grin. “Watch it, kid. But seriously, everyone okay?”

“We’re more than okay,” Flora replied, catching her breath. “If anything, this whole sniper business has merely inspired us to perfect the proper technique for a dramatic swoon.”

Before turning away, Dog stepped forward and looked at Margaret appraisingly, searching her face for how she was holding up. It was a reassurance he needed as much as she did after the outside world’s recent intrusion. She met his gaze, that wry smile softening in appreciation.

Moose approached Elena, wrapping her in a warm embrace, his touch a silent balm against the recent tension. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple. He whispered something just low enough that Dog could not catch the words, but the flush spreading across Elena’s cheeks said it all.

Bear drew Flora close, his large arm wrapping protectively around her shoulders, the raw edge of danger from moments ago still keen in his posture. Then he shifted to gather Rhys, Kenzi, and Amelia into the circle of his embrace. The quiet strength radiating from him was a steady anchor for the family.

“Alright, men,” Bear’s voice cut through the warmth, firm but steady. “Let’s give the ladies and kids some space.” He turned to Lukas and the others. “Link’s set up in the War Room with the latest intel. Time to get briefed.”

Link was already there, his grim face illuminated by the cold blue light of his monitors. Hank and Swede’s faces were split across a secure video conference screen, their expressions equally taut. Jax and Shadow stood by a tactical map, looking annoyed but otherwise unharmed.

“Status report,” Bear rumbled, stepping into the cramped, tech-filled space.

Link gestured to a feed showing the farm’s inner perimeter, where Jax and Shadow’s armored SUV now sat. “Jax and Shadow are secure. And they brought a present.” He clicked a button, and another screen flashed to a live feed from a small, secure holding cell within the bunker’s lower levels. A man, disheveled and handcuffed, sat slumped on a bench.

“Our sniper,” Link explained. “He was setting up in the tree line, about two klicks out, ready for anyone coming out of the house. He clearly wasn't anticipating military-trained operators like Jax and Shadow to be the ones driving in."

Jax grunted, crossing his arms. “Wasn’t expecting to get shot at coming down the driveway, either. We just got back. The rock star had to cancel his tour for two weeks. Strep throat. Said his ‘artistic voice was compromised.’ Bunch of diva nonsense.”

Shadow nodded. “So we decided to head home early. Good timing, I guess. That idiot was so focused on hitting the vehicle, he kept firing. Bought us a few seconds. We took the SUV just out of his line of sight, executed a tactical dismount, and came up behind him through the trees. He never saw us coming. On him before he could chamber another round. Thought he was playing against civilians.”

Dog felt a surge of grim satisfaction. Charles was clearly desperate, sending greenhorns to do a professional’s job. He’d underestimated the farm, its inhabitants, and its defenders. But this amateur attempt also meant Charles was pushing hard.

Suddenly, a prominent monitor, usually a hub of encrypted data streams, flashed a violent, insistent red. An alarm klaxon blared once, sharp and piercing, before Link slammed a palm down on the mute button.

“What the hell is that?” Link demanded, his voice tight, eyes narrowed on the glowing danger. His surprise was palpable. He hadn’t been expecting anything like this.

A crackle of static, then Swede’s urgent voice, amplified through the room’s speakers. “It’s a bounty, Link. A massive one. Charles isn’t just looking for Margaret anymore. He’s put out a worldwide contract.” The numbers scrolled across the screen, impossible to ignore. “One million for Margaret, alive. And,” Swede’s voice hitched with a grim finality, “one million for Dog. Dead.”

Dog felt a cold fury settle in his gut, but his face remained impassive. He hadn’t been surprised by Charles putting a hit on Margaret; he knew the man’s ruthlessness. But a million dollars for him, dead? That was personal, and it meant Charles was panicking.

Bear swore under his breath, his massive hands clenching into fists. Moose was already at a secondary console, pulling up schematics, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Alright,” Bear bit out, his gaze sweeping over the men. “Everyone, listen up. Dog, that bounty means you’re a liability here now, as much as Margaret. We need to move both of you.”

“The farm is too hot,” Dog agreed, his mind already racing through scenarios. “Charles knows she’s here now, or at least that she made it this far. He’ll hit it hard, and soon.” An image flashed in his mind: Warden’s cabin in Maine. Off the grid. Defendable. “I have an idea. Warden’s grandfather’s cabin in Maine. It’s a ghost location, remote, no grid. No one outside the team knows about it.”

Link nodded slowly. “It’s perfect, theoretically. But Warden is hiding, will he allow you to come? He’s offline.”

“Then we bring him back online,” Dog stated, already pulling out his satellite phone. “He’ll understand.” He dialed, the connection surprisingly quick given their location. “Warden, it’s Dog. We have a problem. A big one.” He quickly relayed the essentials: Margaret was safe but targeted, a bounty was out, and the farm’s security was compromised. “We need a safe place, brother. And we need it now.”

Warden’s voice, though weary, held a steely edge. “Consider it yours. I’ll make sure it’s prepped. I’ve added a few safety features to the cabin since my grandfather passed away a few years ago. But Dog, a million for you, dead? That’s not just a contract, that’s a statement. You’re not going alone.”

“He’s right,” Hank’s voice boomed from the main video screen, his image now filling a quarter of the tactical display. Swede nodded grimly beside him. “Absolutely not. I’ll have my private jet ready. Jake will go with you. Margaret seems comfortable around him, and he can watch your six. And to cover the ground game in Maine, I’ll have Enzo and Thorn meet you at the airstrip. They’ll run point from there to the cabin.”

Bear nodded. “Agreed. Moose, get Margaret prepped. Dog, grab your gear. Meet Hank’s jet at the airstrip between Richmond and Monterey. Under the cover of darkness. We don’t want anyone following.”

Dog felt the familiar weight of mission protocol settle over him, displacing the momentary dread. “Understood.” He turned to Moose. “Keep her calm. Tell her just the basics. She’s moving to a more secure location.”

Moose gave a terse nod, already heading out of the War Room.

Later, under the vast, starless dome of the night sky, Dog watched as Margaret approached the sleek, black private jet. She was pale, but her chin was held high, a small duffel slung over her shoulder. The fear was evident in her eyes, but so was a newfound, quiet resolve. He knew that the strength she’d found in the bunker, watching the women and children, was now a shield, albeit a fragile one. As they boarded, leaving the familiar warmth of the farm behind, Dog couldn’t shake the feeling that they were not just escaping, but stepping into a deeper, more dangerous game.

Hours later, the plane touched down on a remote, fog-shrouded airstrip in Maine. Enzo and Thorn were waiting by the tree line with two decked-out, matte-black SUVs.

“Before anyone gets in, we do a full sweep,” Enzo ordered, his voice all business. He pulled a highly sensitive, military-grade bug detector from his tactical vest. “Don’t take it personally. Protocol.”