Page 83 of Property of Tacoma
I’m about to call Cyber to see if he can help trace Jagger’s phone when I hear shouting and hurried footsteps coming up the hallway.
What the hell is going on around here?
Before I can get up to look, my office door is thrown open, and Cyber rushes in, his face pale and his eyes wild.
“Prez!” he gasps, out of breath. “They’ve got Jagger. The Sinners have Jagger.”
My whole goddamn world tilts on its axis, and for a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.
“What?” The word comes out as a whisper.
Cyber holds up his phone. “This just went up on the dark web.”
With trembling fingers, I take the phone and press play on the video.
My son—my boy—is tied to a chair, a bruise blooming on his left cheek, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. His eyes are wide with fear, but there’s defiance there too.
A masked figure steps into the frame, wearing a Depraved Sinners cut.
“Tacoma,” a digitally altered voice says. “We have your son. You took something of ours, so we took something of yours. An eye for an eye.”
The video ends, and I stare at the frozen image of my son’s battered face.
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but silence in my office as the reality of the situation sinks in.
Then the rage hits me—white-hot, all-consuming rage that burns away everything else.
“I’ll fucking kill them,” I snarl, shoving my phone at Cyber. “Look at this.”
I show him the map on my Life360 app with Jagger’s location.
Cyber’s eyes widen. “That’s about two hours from here.”
“Call everyone in,” I order, already grabbing my cut from the back of my chair. “NOW!”
Cyber nods and rushes out of the office, shouting for whoever’s in the clubhouse to get their asses in the chapel.
I stand there for a moment, trying to gather myself, to think through the fog of panic and rage.
My son.
They have my son.
The thought loops in my head, over and over, threatening to drive me insane.
I take a deep breath, then another, forcing the panic down.
Panic won’t help Jagger.
Rage won’t help Jagger.
Cold, calculated violence—that’s what’s going to bring my boy home.
I pull out my phone again, this time dialing a different number.
It rings three times before he answers.
“What?” Chief’s voice is gruff, irritated.
