Chapter 11 - Stand at the Threshold
Heavy boots crunched loudly over the dry pine needles outside the cabin door. Flashlight beams cut through the dirty windows, sweeping across the dusty room like searching ghosts. Leo huddled tightly against the base of the stone fireplace, clutching the faded photograph to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
A heavy kick slammed against the wooden front door. The lock splintered, and the door swung wide open, revealing Diesel silhouetted against the moonlight, flanked by four armed enforcers holding heavy chains and hunting knives.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Jax!” Diesel’s mocking voice echoed through the dark cabin. “You can’t outrun your sins, and you sure as hell can’t protect a brat in the middle of nowhere!”
Stepping out from the shadows near the back hallway, Jax stood tall, his massive frame blocking the path to the inner rooms. He held an iron pipe loosely in his right hand, his face illuminated only by the faint glow of the dying embers in the fireplace. His expression was calm, cold, and utterly lethal.
“You want the ledger, Diesel? It’s right here,” Jax said, his voice deep and steady, echoing off the wooden rafters. “Leave the boy out of this. He has nothing to do with club business.”
Diesel chuckled, stepping inside and leveling a heavy revolver straight at Jax’s chest. “Everything you care about is club business now, brother. You thought you could walk away from the Iron Skulls and play house? Hand over the box and the kid, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll make your end quick.”
Jax didn’t flinch. Instead, a grim, defiant smile touched his lips. “You always were stupid, Diesel. You think I kept those records in a box waiting to be found?”
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Diesel frowned, hesitating for a fraction of a second. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the federal wiretap that’s been recording this entire conversation through the burner phone I left on the front porch,” Jax replied smoothly.
