Page 1 of My End
Chapter One
Three weeks before the phone call from Tilly
Stretch
They told me the address was in the suburbs of Dallas, but this wasn’t the kind of suburb that had block parties and cul-de-sacs full of tricycles and seasonal yard flags.
No, this was the kind of suburb where money dripped off rooftops and fences were ten feet high. Just low enough to not raise suspicion, but tall enough to say “don’t fucking look in here.”
Every house had space, big lots, winding driveways, gates with security booths, and camera poles disguised as decorative light fixtures. It was like the homeowners wanted to flaunt their money, but not the messy part of having a life. No neighbors peeking over hedges or borrowing sugar here. Just secrets and silence.
I pulled up to the gate on a crotch rocket that had cost me more than I wanted to admit. It was sleek, fast, and just anonymous enough to keep questions at bay. It killed me to ditch the Harley, but there was no way in hell I could pull up to this place on an Iron Fiends bike. Not when it had taken everything in me to convince the people surrounding Boone and Gibbs that I was legit.
They thought I was here to protect them.
Far from the fucking truth.
I was here to end them.
The gatehouse sat just to the right and was tucked in like an afterthought. The guy who stepped out wasn’t anyone’s afterthought. He was built like a vending machine and wore mirrored sunglasses despite the overcast sky.
He walked toward me like I’d insulted his mother.
I turned off the engine, kicked the stand, and swung my leg off the bike slowly.
“Hands where I can see ‘em,” the guy barked.
I lifted both hands without a word, with my palms out, and didn’t even flinch when he ran them down the inside of my thighs and around my waist. He was thorough.
Didn’t bother me.
“Name?”
“Jake Style,” I said like I’d been answering to it my whole life.
He grunted, satisfied but not impressed. “Go through the gate and to the front door. Jim’ll meet you there.”
I nodded once. That was the first obstacle.
Every person I got past, every locked door, and every fake name that rolled off my tongue was one step closer to taking them down.
I straddled the bike again, fired it up, and eased through the gate as it slid open.
The driveway curled like a snake through trimmed hedges and trees. Every inch of it was manicured. Even the gravel shoulder. No security cameras were visible, but I knew they were there. The whole property was probably rigged tighter than the White House.
Then the mansion came into view.
White stone with a wide wraparound porch, two turrets flanking the sides like old watchtowers, and more windows than a hotel. The house wasn’t showy in the flashy way; it was intimidating. Designed to blend in just enough, but once you looked at it, you couldn’t stop seeing how out of place it really was.
Like its owner.
I parked the bike in the circle drive and took a breath. My boots hit the pavement, and I pushed my sunglasses up onto my head. The air smelled like money and lies.
Then I looked up.
Someone was standing in an upstairs window.
I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t make out details, but the silhouette was definitely female, tall, with long hair and a posture that said curiosity more than fear.
