Page 48

He lunged forward, still trying to balance Jessie while reaching for the bear.

I jerked back, clutching Mr. Friendly tighter.

What followed was the strangest, most desperate struggle—a grown man trying to wrestle a teddy bear from his daughter while juggling an unconscious hostage and a loaded weapon.

His free hand caught Mr. Friendly's arm. I pulled back hard. The fabric, already weakened by decades of love and repair, started to give.

"Let go!" he snarled.

"Never!"

We pulled in opposite directions like children fighting, except one of us held a gun and the other held twenty years of rage.

The community center full of witnesses faded away.

There was just us—father and daughter locked in combat over a stuffed bear that somehow held all our history in its worn fur.

The sound of tearing fabric cut through the air like a scream. Mr. Friendly's arm separated from his body, stuffing exploding outward in a white cloud. I stumbled backward, still clutching the majority of him. Rattler held the severed arm like evidence of a crime.

Then I heard it—a sharp, metallic ping as something hit the floor.

Everyone froze. The sound echoed in the sudden silence, impossibly loud for such a small thing. We all looked down at the same moment, seeing the brass key spinning to a stop between us.

The key was small and totally unremarkable except for the number etched on its head. It had been inside Mr. Friendly all along, hidden in his stuffing for fifteen years.

Understanding hit like lightning. Mom hadn't just taken money—she'd hidden it. Sewn the key to its location inside the one thing she knew I'd never throw away, never lose. My childhood protector had been guarding more than just my sleep.

Rattler and I moved at the same moment. He dropped Mr. Friendly's severed arm, reaching down even as he tried to maintain his grip on Jessie. I dove forward, all hesitation gone, my whole world narrowing to that tiny piece of brass.

My fingers closed on it first.

I rolled away from Rattler's grasping hand, coming up in a crouch with the key clutched tight. He stood frozen, Jessie still draped over his shoulder, gun momentarily forgotten as we both processed what had just happened.

The room held its breath. Volunteers pressed against walls, families huddled together, Kings coiled to strike—everyone waiting to see what came next. Stuffing from Mr. Friendly drifted through the air like snow, settling on donated toys and trembling hands alike.

"The key," Rattler breathed, and there was something like awe in his voice. "She hid it in the goddamn bear."

I stood slowly, the key burning in my closed fist. Fifteen years of questions answered by a piece of brass smaller than my thumb. Mom had hidden money—Rattler's blood money, drug money, death money—and she'd hidden the key to it in the one pure thing from my childhood.

The weight of that decision, of her trust that I'd keep Mr. Friendly safe without knowing why, made my chest tight. Even dying, even desperate, she'd protected me from the truth. Let me love a stuffed bear without knowing it held answers that could get me killed.

Now those answers sat in my palm, and everyone in the room knew it.

"Well," Thor said into the silence, his voice carrying dark amusement. "That's not something you see every day."

“Give it to me!”

He swiped toward me, but even as Rattler reached for the key, something else was happening. Dex's voice cut through the tension, quiet but carrying the satisfaction of a trap perfectly sprung. "You just confessed to a room full of witnesses."

My father froze, hand extended toward me, and I watched understanding creep across his face like ice forming on water. His eyes tracked to the corners of the room, seeing what his arrogance had blinded him to before.

"Drug money, kidnapping, extortion." Dex continued, each word precise as a nail in a coffin. "That's federal time, Rattler. The kind that doesn't end. And we’ve got it all recorded."

"You set me up." The words came out strangled as he finally saw it all—the positioned Kings, the recording devices, the way civilians had been moved to safe zones without seeming to. Not random security but orchestrated strategy.

"You set yourself up," Thor corrected from his position by the display table. "We just made sure there'd be evidence when you did."

Rattler's face went white under his tattoos. Federal kidnapping charges alone would put him away for decades. Add in the drug money admissions, the threats with a deadly weapon, conducting criminal enterprise in front of minors—he'd confessed to enough felonies to die in prison.

For the first time since he'd walked in, I saw fear in my father's eyes. Not the quick flash of concern when things went sideways, but deep, bone-level terror of a man realizing he'd been played.

"This isn't over," he snarled, but the threat had lost its teeth. He was already backing toward the door, Jessie's weight making him stumble. "You think some recording and a key solve everything?"

His wild eyes found mine again, and the desperation there made him more dangerous than ever. "I've got friends, princess. Dangerous friends who don't care about witnesses or federal charges. Las Cruces Cartel doesn't give a fuck about your boyfriend's little trap."

"They want their money," he continued, nearly at the door now. "That key you're holding? That's just the down payment. They'll take it out of your hide if necessary. Yours, this junkie's, anyone you've ever smiled at."

He'd reached the exit, gun still pressed to Jessie's side but his attention scattered, looking for threats from too many directions. The other Serpents who'd come with him were already moving, understanding their position had become untenable.

"You keep that key safe, princess," he called out, halfway through the door. "Because when I come back—and I will come back—you're going to use it to get my money. All of it. Or everyone you care about starts dying, starting with this little bitch."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the parking lot with Jessie and his remaining muscle. The sound of engines roaring to life and tires squealing on asphalt slowly faded, leaving behind a room full of shaken witnesses and the echo of threats that felt more like promises.

I stood in the wreckage of the Scout Craft display, Mr. Friendly's stuffing still drifting around me like ash.

The key sat heavy in my palm, its edges already leaving impressions in my skin.

Such a small thing to hold so much weight—answers to fifteen years of questions, and the promise of violence yet to come.

"Everyone okay?" Elena's voice, steady and calm, began bringing the room back to life. "Let's get the children back from the safe room. Show them everything's fine."

But everything wasn't fine. We'd won this round, gotten Rattler on record confessing to federal crimes, kept the casualties to torn fabric and scattered toys.

But Jessie was still gone, still a hostage in whatever game my father was playing.

And now the cartel was in play—a threat that made the Iron Serpents look like a playground dispute.

Dex appeared at my side, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "Let me see."

I opened my fist, revealing the key that had lived in Mr. Friendly's belly for fifteen years. It looked so ordinary—just brass and purpose, no indication of the secrets it might unlock.

"We'll figure it out," he said quietly. "Track down which bank, which box. Find out what your mother hid."

"And then?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Then we decide how to use it." His voice carried the weight of coming violence, of choices that would have to be made. "But first, we get Jessie back."

I bent down to collect Mr. Friendly's remains—his body torn but still recognizable, one arm missing, stuffing gone. He looked like I felt—damaged but still holding together, carrying secrets that had cost too much to keep.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the bear, knowing it was stupid, knowing he was just fabric and memories. But he'd kept Mom's secret all these years, had been the guardian of something bigger than either of us understood.

Then, I saw something, in his stuffing. A slip of paper.

I picked it out, and saw an address for somewhere I didn’t recognize.

It had to be what this key was for.

I looked at Dex, and he smiled grimly.

“We’ve got work to do, but we’re gonna get through this.”

And I believed him.