Page 145 of Controlled Burn
She was planning.
Across the station, McKenna stood in the shadows of the stairwell, watching Jake laugh through his swollen lip.
Her phone buzzed.
Talia:He took the bait. Now what?
McKenna typed back:Now we bury him.
And they would. Both of them.
Because Dean might’ve fallen—
But Brooks and Jake?
They were next.
Chapter 51
Signal Fire
Brooks
It took Jake Hastings thirty-six minutes to arrive.
Mathew Brooks watched from his car across the street, parked beneath a cracked streetlamp outside a washed-out diner near the industrial port. No cameras. No uniforms. Just fog curling over asphalt and the greasy smear of fluorescent lights on warped windows.
Jake walked in like he didn’t care who saw him—head up, shoulders squared, boots loud against tile, still in his department jacket. The patch stitched onto his arm now looked like a lie.
Brooks counted to sixty, then slipped out of his vehicle and followed.
Inside, the place smelled like scorched oil and stale coffee. A waitress behind the counter didn’t even glance up. Jake was already in a booth, slouched but coiled tight, one knee bouncing beneath the table.
Brooks slid across from him, slow and smooth, placing a burner phone on the table between them. Old model. Scuffed. Thick case. No password.
“You brought it?” Jake asked.
Brooks nodded. “It’s all there. Every angle.”
Jake didn’t touch the phone yet. His jaw ticked as he stared at it like it might explode.
“They think they won,” he muttered finally. “Suspension. Write-ups. Everyone looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.” His laugh was low, bitter. “But Maddox lost it. Punched me in front of half the bay. HR can’t ignore that. Means I’m not done. Just benched.”
Brooks tilted his head. “Temporary suspension isn’t exile. It’s leverage.”
Jake’s mouth curled into something halfway between a grin and a snarl. “Damn right. They want me quiet, but I’m not gone. And when I come back? They’ll know I don’t forget.”
Brooks leaned forward, voice even. “You don’t forgive either.”
Jake drummed his fingers against the table, restless. “You know what kills me? Nobody said a word when she used me. Nobody. Like they all knew, like they all wanted to watch me hang myself. And Maddox—fuck, he just waited for a chance to swing. Dean too. King pretending like he’s her lapdog. She makes them weak. Every single one of them.”
Brooks let the words roll. Watched the way Jake’s hand twitched when he said her name. Anger, yes—but also hunger. That was good. Hunger could be sharpened.
“Why are you helping me?” Jake asked suddenly, eyes narrowing.
Brooks smiled, small and sterile. “Because you hate her. And because I understand you.”
Jake scoffed. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
