Saturday: March 24, 2029
11:02 AM; LOS ANGELES, THE AUSTEN-TAYLOR HOUSEHOLD, KITCHEN
Bo hiked Castor up on his hip, holding his phone to his ear with his free hand. “So?” he questioned.
“You were right, Bo. He called and left a voicemail. Our dear dead friend is supposed to meet Robinson and the rest of the gang at the house tonight for a meeting on how to take you and me down,” Jamal said. “I don’t want you in the line of fire tonight. Sorry, but I’m not stupid enough to send you in there when you’re depressed.”
Smart, Bo thought. He nodded, even though the older man couldn’t see him. “Who’s going in, then?”
“About fifteen of my men. The goal here is to kill Robinson’s men and save the king himself for you,” Jamal said.
“He threatened you, Bo. If you still want to be the one to put the bullet in his brain, I won’t be the one to stand in your way.”
“Okay. When… is that going down?” Bo asked.
“Mekhi will leave the house with you at six, and you’ll arrive at the house just before six-thirty,” Jamal said. “Mekhi goes in with the guys, they all do their thing, we’ll go in, and the final shot to our dear lil’ princess is all yours.”
“My pleasure, kiddo. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
6:30 PM; LOS ANGELES, THE ROBINSON BASE, PERIMETER
Bo sat in the backseat of Jamal’s car, Jensen at his side, the younger man’s hand resting on his thigh. Once Bo had filled Jensen in on the night’s plan, he had insisted on tagging along. Bo hadn’t thought he had the right to say no, so he agreed without complaint. The kids were with his parents, safe and sound, with two of Jamal’s men standing watch.
Up front, Janal sat in the passenger seat, his hand resting on the gun in his lap. Frank sat in the driver’s seat, arms crossed over the top of the steering wheel, eyes on the Robinson house.
Bo flinched at the sound of a gunshot from inside. Jensen squeezed his thigh, and Bo silently dropped a hand to cover Jensen’s, surprisingly thankful that his husband had come along.
Bo counted twenty-three gunshots before the front door opened and Mekhi waved a hand.
“That’s your cue, kiddo,” Jamal said. “Need me to come in?”
“No, it’s okay,” Bo assured. He pushed open the door and slid out of the car. Jensen followed closing the door behind him. As they walked toward the house, Bo dropped the magazine from the gun before pushing it back into place.
In the house, Mekhi led the pair into the kitchen, where Robinson had been tied to a chair.
“Oh, it’s the chickenshit himself,” Robinson said, eyes on Bo’s face. “Good of you to make an appearance. I was afraid you’d let your mindless soldiers do all the dirty work.”
“They’re Jamal’s men. It was pointless for me to shoot anyone that wasn’t the so-called mastermind of the threat,” Bo said. “Not that that’s a compliment. You aren’t really that intelligent.”
Robinson scoffed, cutting his own response short as Bo pressed the gun to his forehead. “Do it! I dare you, you coward.”
Bo stared at the man for a moment, finger resting idly on the trigger. He looked back at Jensen and let his arm fall back to his side.
“Ha!” Robinson exclaimed. “I knew it. Too scared to take me out? Don’t have the balls to pull the trigger and end a life?”
“No,” Bo said with a slight shake of his head. “See, Mister Robinson, in a few months, I’ll be taking over for Jamal. I’ll be sitting in his throne, if you will. I’ll be in charge, in control. I’ll have more power than you could have ever dreamed up. I’ll be a king. But… the thing about kings is that we have to know when to step down, when someone else deserves to take control,” he said. He held the gun out to Jensen. “That being said, I’m going to let my king take you out. It seems more fitting that way.”
Before the man could even open his mouth, Jensen raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Robinson’s head jerked back before falling forward against his chest. Jensen stood still for a moment, only dropping his hand when Bo grabbed the gun from him. “Let’s go home,” Jensen whispered.
Bo grabbed Jensen’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Let’s go home,” he echoed.
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