Chapter 4 - The Sins of the Sons
The glass door creaked open again as the two men entered. The taller one, nicknamed Bishop, shook the water from his silver-streaked hair, his cold blue eyes scanning the bright lobby. Beside him stood Tank, built like a brick wall, his knuckles scarred and bruised from decades of tavern brawls and garage labor.
"Everything square in here, Marcus?" Bishop asked, nodding curtly toward Toby.
"Toby's freezing. Grab the first-aid blanket from my saddlebag," Marcus ordered without breaking eye contact with Tyler. Bishop nodded and slipped back out into the rain.
Tyler pressed his back against the brick wall of the school hallway. The varsity jacket, usually his armor, felt like a target on his back. In Oakridge, Tyler Vance was a star athlete, handsome, wealthy by local standards, and untouchable because his mother was on the town council. But here, faced with the father who had vanished from his life and the rough men who flanked him, Tyler felt completely defenseless.
"You can't do anything to me," Tyler stammered, attempting to reclaim some semblance of control. "Mom will call the sheriff. Sheriff Miller knows me. He knows Mom. You can't just come in here and threaten me."
Tank chuckled, a dry, grating sound that made the hair on the back of Tyler’s neck stand up. "Kid thinks a tin badge means something out in the county."
"Shut up, Tank," Marcus said quietly. The larger man closed his mouth instantly, showing the absolute authority Marcus held within the club. Marcus took two slow, measured steps toward Tyler until he was towering over him. The smell of tobacco, rain, and worn leather was overwhelming.
"I didn't raise you to be a coward," Marcus whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "I wasn't around much, Tyler, and God knows I carry the blame for that. But your mother swore you were growing into a good man. Honor. Discipline. Respect." Marcus reached out, his thick, calloused fingers gripping the lapel of the varsity jacket, pulling Tyler an inch off his heels. "Is this what a good man does? Preying on someone who can't stand up to fight back?"
"Let go of me!" Tyler hissed, swatting at his father's wrist, but Marcus's grip was like iron.
"Dad, don't," Toby called out quietly from the wheelchair.
Marcus froze. He slowly turned his head to look at Toby. The word seemed to strike Marcus with the force of a physical blow. He slowly released Tyler’s jacket, stepping back.
"Take off the jacket, Tyler," Marcus said calmly.
May you like
Tyler looked up in disbelief. "What? No!"
"Take it off," Marcus repeated, his gaze lethal. "You don't get to wear the colors of a team or a school that teaches pride when you act like a stray dog. Strip it, or Tank will do it for you."
