Chapter 8 - The Price of Survival
""Nobody's leaving,"" a voice echoed through the dry wash.
On the rim of the canyon above, three figures materialized against the blinding sun. Creed wasn't among them, but in the center stood Silas—the undisputed leader of the Black Vipers. Silas was an older man, gaunt and leather-skinned, with eyes like dull stones. He held a hunting rifle rested casually across his forearm.
""Afternoon, Sarah,"" Silas called down, his tone polite, almost conversational. ""Nice day for a family reunion.""
Jax shoved Sarah and Toby back under the deep shadow of the concrete bridge, pulling his folding knife from his belt. A knife against three rifles was suicide, but he had nothing else.
""Silas!"" Jax shouted, stepping out just far enough to be seen. ""This is between you and me! The woman and the boy have nothing to do with the money!""
Silas spat a dark stream of tobacco into the dust. ""You owe me eighty thousand dollars, Jax. Ten grand principal, ten years of compound street interest. But you know what hurts worse than the money? You made me look weak. You walked away from my table and thought you could just become a ghost.""
Silas gestured with the barrel of his rifle toward the road behind him. ""Creed is in the back of my truck with a shattered pelvis. He tells me you’ve got an heir down there. A cute little insurance policy.""
Jax felt a terrifying coldness wash over him. All his life, he had reacted to danger with wild, reckless aggression. But looking back at Toby—who was trembling behind Sarah's skirt, clutching the ripped yellow note in his fist—Jax felt a clarity he had never experienced.
""I have the money,"" Jax lied, his voice level, booming with an authority he didn't feel.
Silas paused, tilting his head. ""Don't play games with me, Jax. You look like you haven't had a warm meal in three weeks.""
""The cache in the ghost town at Spanish Springs,"" Jax said smoothly, stepping entirely into the open, his chest exposed. ""The old silver mine office. I buried the lockbox under the floorboards ten years ago before I took off. The full eighty grand. It’s still there.""
Silas studied Jax's face for a long, agonizing moment. Greed wrestled with pride in the old gangster’s eyes. Finally, Silas lowered the rifle.
""You're going to ride in my truck bed, Jax,"" Silas said. ""You’re going to dig it up with your bare hands. And if there isn't eighty thousand in that hole..."" Silas's gaze drifted toward the culvert. ""...I'll send my boys back here to collect the boy.""
Toby gasped, stepping forward despite Sarah’s tight grip. ""Jax, don't go with them!""
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Jax turned his head. For the first time, he looked Toby dead in the eyes—not with guilt, but with fierce, steady resolve. ""Take care of your aunt, Toby. Don't look back.""
As two of Silas’s enforcers slid down the bank to cuff Jax’s hands behind his back, Jax slipped something from his pocket, dropping it quietly into the dust behind his boot.
