Chapter 4 - Blood in the Dust
Clara froze, the breath trapped in her throat. She spun around, pressing her back against the rough stone wall. From behind a stack of weathered cider barrels stepped Hawk, wiping blood from his knuckles with a grease-stained bandana. He was bleeding from a shallow gud on his cheek, but his eyes were sharp and steady.
""Took the back cellar chute,"" Hawk whispered, gesturing toward a narrow coal shaft behind him. ""The three outside are down, but they were scouts. The rest of the pack will be here within twenty minutes.""
Mark stepped forward aggressively, pointing a shaking finger at Hawk. ""You brought this madness to our wedding! You get out of here, or so help me—""
Hawk didn't blink. He caught Mark’s outstretched wrist, twisting it just enough to drop the younger man to his knees without breaking a bone. ""Listen to me, boy,"" Hawk said coldly. ""If I wanted you dead, you’d already be cold on that gravel. Clara’s father died protecting what's in that box. Marcus died hiding it. If you love her, you shut your mouth and help me carry it.""
Clara knelt beside the iron trunk. The lock was encrusted with rust, but the brass key slid smoothly into the mechanism. She turned it. With a dry, metallic snap, the heavy latch popped open.
Inside lay no gold, no jewels. There were three leather-bound notebooks filled with meticulous dates, offshore banking numbers, and political names that Clara recognized from regional television broadcasts. Beside the books lay a small velvet pouch and an audio cassette labeled simply: Truth.
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""This is the extortion archive of the Jackals' front company,"" Hawk murmured. ""Every corrupt judge, sheriff, and councilman in this state is bought with their money. Your father kept the books. When he realized they were trafficking people, he stole the evidence.""
Suddenly, the headlights of five heavy pickup trucks swept through the cellar vents, illuminating Clara’s horrified face.
