Chapter 12 - The Federal Trap
Diesel’s face drained of color. He lowered the revolver slightly, his eyes darting frantically toward the front door where a burner phone rested on the porch railing, its red recording light blinking steadily in the dark. The realization hit the club president like a freight train: Jax hadn't been running away to hide; he had been drawing them out into an isolated trap to finish it once and for all.
“You son of a bitch!” Diesel roared, raising the gun to fire.
Before Diesel could squeeze the trigger, the dark tree line outside exploded with flashing red and blue lights. The deafening wail of federal squad cars and tactical vehicles tore through the forest silence, their high-powered spotlights blinding the bikers clustered around the cabin. Megaphones crackled to life from the darkness: ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation! Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads where we can see them!’
Panic erupted among the club enforcers. Two of them bolted for their bikes, only to be cut off by armored tactical units swarming out of the timber. Diesel stood paralyzed for a second, his gun trembling between shooting Jax and saving his own skin. With a curse of pure rage, Diesel dropped his weapon onto the wooden floorboards and raised his hands as federal agents swarmed through the shattered doorway, wrestling him to the ground.
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As the chaos unfolded around them, Jax didn’t watch the arrest. He dropped his iron pipe, turned around, and rushed toward the stone fireplace where Leo was peeking out with wide, awestruck eyes.
Jax dropped to his knees, pulling Leo into his arms and holding him tighter than ever before. “It’s over, son,” Jax whispered against the boy's messy light brown hair, his voice choked with raw emotion. “We’re safe.”
