Chapter 7 - The Standoff
"Bishop, Tank, flank the inner hallway," Marcus commanded, his tactical instincts instantly overriding his fury. "Get Toby into the athletic office. Tyler, move behind that trophy case and don't make a sound."
Toby didn't panic. The cold had numbed his senses, but the instinct to survive was sharp. He wheeled himself backward, following Bishop down the dim corridor, while Tank positioned his massive frame beside the entryway, heavy iron pipe gripped tightly in his right fist.
Marcus stood dead center in the lobby, silhouetted against the bright interior lights. Through the glass, the two men approached the entrance without hurry. The taller one was Wade Miller, notorious across three counties for running chop shops and violent debt collection. Behind him was his younger brother, Jesse, carrying the shotgun resting lazily across his forearm.
Wade stepped up to the exterior doors, testing the handle. Finding it unlocked, he pushed it open with a smirk, shaking rainwater from his broad-brimmed hat.
"Well, well," Wade drawled, stepping into the foyer. "Oakridge track star has himself a bodyguard. Except you look a little old for the varsity team, buddy."
"Turn around and walk away, Wade," Marcus said flatly. "You're trespassing on school grounds, and you're in my way."
Wade’s eyes shifted, recognizing the patches on Marcus's leather vest. His smirk thinned, but he didn't back down. "Marcus Vance. Heard you were out riding with the skull boys across the border. Didn't know you still had family in this town."
"I do. And you're bothering them."
"Your boy owes our family twelve thousand dollars," Jesse barked from behind, raising the shotgun slightly. "Ain't nothing personal, Vance. Business is business. The kid put up his mother's antique Mustang as collateral. He was supposed to leave the keys in the gym lockbox tonight. We came to collect."
From behind the trophy case, Tyler crouched low, hugging his knees, shivering with terror. He had stolen the spare keys to his mother's prized car from her desk that morning, planning to leave them behind to save his own skin.
"The Mustang belongs to my ex-wife," Marcus said, not flinching at the barrel of the shotgun. "Tyler doesn't own it. The debt is invalid."
"Debt's never invalid, Vance," Wade laughed coldly. "Either we get the keys, or we take the boy's knees. You know how this works."
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Before Marcus could answer, the door of the athletic office creaked open. Toby wheeled himself out into the hallway, holding up a small, worn leather pouch that had been tucked beneath his seat.
"Looking for this?" Toby asked.
