Chapter 7 - Ash and Deceit
Hawk walked steadily out of the orchard’s gloom, his hands held high at shoulder height. The duffel bag hung from his left forearm. The headlights washed over his weathered face, highlighting every line of fatigue and defiance.
""Silas,"" Hawk announced, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet farmyard. ""Let the innocent people go. The girl ran into the woods. She doesn't have the stomach for this. I have the archive.""
Silas smiled, a thin, patronizing expression that turned Clara’s stomach as she watched from behind a thick oak tree. ""Always noble, Hawk. A tragic flaw in our line of work. Throw the bag.""
Hawk tossed the heavy duffel into the dust halfway between them. One of the masked gunmen stepped forward, unzipping the bag with the barrel of his shotgun. He looked back at Silas and gave a quick nod.
""Good,"" Silas purred. ""Now, where did the little bride run? You didn't really think I'd let Thomas's bloodline walk away with Marcus's secrets, did you? She knows too much just by opening the envelope.""
From her hiding spot, Clara felt cold fury replace her terror. She remembered her brother Marcus’s broken body at the funeral home, the mysterious closed-casket service, the whispered condolences that sounded like warnings. Silas hadn't just betrayed her father; he had butchered her brother.
Clara slipped quietly toward Hawk's Harley, which stood parked in the shadow of the milk shed. The ignition key was already turned; Hawk had left it primed. She reached down, her lace sleeves tearing against the hot chrome pipes, and located the secondary fuel valve Hawk had shown her father years ago in an old photograph.
With a sudden, violent kick, Clara slammed the starter pedal.
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The engine roared to life with an ear-splitting thunder that shattered the tense standoff. Clara twisted the throttle wide open, aiming the two-wheeled steel beast straight toward the circle of trucks.
""Shoot her!"" Silas screamed, his composure dissolving into panic.
