Chapter 8 - THE TRAP
The voice was the mayor’s. I’d know it anywhere—smooth, cold, entitled, the voice of a man who’d spent his whole life getting what he wanted, no matter who he hurt. Jax motioned for us to spread out: my dad covering the back door, Maggie covering the kitchen window, Jax by the front door, me by the living room window, the fire poker still in my hand. For a second, there was silence, then the front window shattered, a rock flying through, followed by a can of tear gas, hissing as it hit the floor, white smoke filling the room.
We all coughed, our eyes burning, and the front door was kicked open, two men in masks running in, guns raised, followed by the mayor and Reagan, her face twisted with rage, holding a gun of her own. “Drop your weapons!” the mayor yelled, his gun aimed at my dad. “Now! Or I’ll blow his head off!”
We had no choice. We dropped our weapons, our hands in the air, coughing as the tear gas burned our lungs, the men grabbing us, tying our hands behind our backs with zip ties, shoving us into chairs around the kitchen table. Reagan walked over to me, slapping me hard across the face, her eyes blazing. “You stupid, stupid boy,” she hissed. “You should’ve stayed in prison. You should’ve stayed gone. Now look what you’ve done—ruined everything. All that money, all that power, gone because you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut.”
Carter walked in then, his hands cuffed, two state troopers behind him, and I froze—what the hell was he doing here? The mayor laughed, a cold, ugly sound. “You think those troopers were on your side? Half my men are on the state police force too. I called them the second Carter was arrested, told them to bring him here, to help me clean up this mess. Tonight, we’re gonna stage a little accident: you two,” he said, pointing at me and my dad, “are gonna get into a fight. You’re gonna shoot him, then shoot yourself. A tragic murder-suicide, the ex-con finally snapping after getting out of prison. Reagan’s gonna be the grieving widow who finds the bodies. Jax and Maggie? They’re gonna be the accomplices who helped you, killed in a shootout with the police. Hale? He’s gonna overdose on pain meds in his car. No loose ends. No witnesses. Perfect.”
He pulled a gun out of his pocket, handing it to Carter, nodding at me and my dad. “Do it,” he said. “Make it look real.”
Carter stared at the gun, his face pale, his hands shaking. For a second, I thought he was gonna do it—he’d always been weak, always done whatever the mayor or Reagan told him to—but then he looked at me, and I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before: guilt. Regret. “I can’t,” he said, his voice shaking. “I can’t do it, Hale. I framed him, I helped you try to kill Camden, but I’m not a murderer. I’m not gonna kill them in cold blood.”
Reagan screamed, lunging at him, slapping him over and over. “You coward! You useless, weak coward! After everything we did for you! After we paid off all your debts!” The backhanded slap across her face came out of nowhere, hard enough to send her stumbling into the wall, and we all looked up—the state trooper who’d brought Carter in, his gun aimed at the mayor, his other hand pulling off his badge, throwing it on the floor. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice loud and clear. “It’s over, Hale. Every word you just said? Every plan you just laid out? It’s all being recorded. The real state police are outside. You’re surrounded.”
The mayor’s face went white, his gun shaking in his hand. “You’re bluffing,” he said, but his voice cracked. “You’re one of mine.”
May you like
“Not anymore,” the trooper said. “I’ve been undercover with the state’s organized crime task force for 18 months. We’ve got you on tape, Hale. Embezzlement, conspiracy to commit murder, framing an innocent man. It’s all over. Put the gun down.”
For a second, the mayor hesitated, his eyes darting from the trooper to the door, like he was gonna run, then he raised his gun, aiming at my dad—*and Jax, who’d managed to work his hands free of the zip ties, lunged at him, tackling him to the floor, the gun going off, the bullet hitting the ceiling, as the real state police stormed through the door, yelling Freeze! Police!, tackling Reagan and the other men, slapping cuffs on all of them, cutting us loose.
