Chapter 9 - Sirens in the Rain
"You take that pouch, Wade, and you'll answer to the club," Marcus warned, his fingers hovering dangerously near his waist. "The timberland stays where it belongs. As for Tyler’s debt—it'll be paid in cash, at noon tomorrow, at your scrap yard. Not by Tyler. By me."
Wade paused, calculating the odds. A shootout inside a public school with county deputies closing in was bad for business, especially against the Iron Brotherhood. He took half a step back, wiping rainwater from his chin.
"Twelve thousand. Cash. High noon, Vance," Wade spat. "If you're one minute late, your boy’s car isn't the only thing that's gonna burn."
Jesse lowered the shotgun, glaring at Toby with pure disgust. "Lucky break, wheel-boy."
The two men backed out through the double doors, disappearing into the torrential downpour. Seconds later, the deep rumble of their engines faded down the road, swallowed by the howling wind. Through the front glass, the swirling red and blue lights of Sheriff Miller’s cruiser reflected against the slick asphalt as it approached the school driveway.
"Tyler, get into the bathroom. Wash your face. Act like you were finishing late track cleanup," Marcus ordered without looking back. "Bishop, Tank, take the back exit to the alley. Meet me at the diner down the road."
"What about Toby?" Bishop asked, slipping his revolver back beneath his cut.
"He stays with me," Marcus said. "I'm his guardian now. The paperwork came through yesterday."
Tyler scrambled to his feet, trembling, looking at Toby with a face full of unasked questions and suffocating guilt. He wanted to say something—thank you, I'm sorry, anything—but the words choked in his throat. Under Marcus's blistering glare, Tyler turned and bolted down the hall toward the locker rooms.
Marcus knelt beside Toby's chair. He gently took the leather pouch from Toby’s stiff fingers, opening the flap to look inside.
It wasn't a land deed.
Inside the pouch were only old medical receipts, a silver cross necklace, and a handwritten letter addressed to Marcus from Toby’s late mother.
Marcus looked up, a faint, proud smile tugging at the corner of his bearded mouth. "You bluffed them."
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"They didn't know," Toby whispered, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "Mom always said bullies only understand power. You have to make them think you hold the cards."
Before Marcus could answer, the front door rattled violently, and Sheriff Miller walked in, his hand resting warily on his service weapon.
