Chapter 9 - The Devil at the Threshold
"Jax!" Silas’s voice boomed through the clearing, carrying that familiar, mocking cadence that had haunted Jax's nightmares for a decade. "I know you're in there, brother. You always picked the cabins with the western views."
Jax peered through a chink in the wooden barricade. Silas stood fifty yards out, illuminated by the halogen searchlights mounted to three tactical SUVs. He was dressed in his black leather colors, an unlit cigar between his yellow teeth, flanked by six armed mercenaries in body armor. Beside him, handcuffed to a bull bar, was Doc Evans, bruised and bleeding from his scalp.
"Send the boy out, Jax!" Silas shouted. "We cut the key out of his belly, and you get to walk away. You can ride south to Mexico like you always wanted. Clean slate."
"You touched Sarah!" Jax shouted back, his voice echoing off the pines like thunder. "You killed the mother of my son!"
Silas let out a dry, barking laugh. "Sarah made her own grave when she stole my club’s assets. She was stubborn, Jax. Just like you. She didn't scream until the very end, and even then, all she said was your name."
Inside the cabin, Leo gasped, clutching his stomach as another wave of nausea racked his body. He vomited dark, bile-stained fluid onto the floor. Time was up.
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Jax leaned close to Leo’s ear. "Stay behind the iron stove, son. No matter what sounds you hear, don't look up."
Jax racked the shotgun. He didn't wait for them to breach. He kicked the front door wide open, raised the barrel, and fired straight into the middle of the halogen lights.
