Chapter 7: The Ambush at Wolf Creek**
The black SUV rammed the truck’s rear bumper with a deafening metallic crunch. Toby let out a short shriek, bracing his hands against the dashboard as the pickup swerved dangerously across the icy shoulder.
"Hold on!" Jax roared, fighting the steering wheel to keep the heavy truck from flipping into the drainage ditch.
Through the rear glass, Jax saw the driver—Cole himself, the ruthless president of the Dead Skulls, grinning behind dark aviator shades. A passenger leaned out the window, leveling a high-caliber hunting rifle at the truck's rear tires.
*Crack!*
The right rear tire blew out with a violent hiss, rubber shredding across the asphalt. Jax downshifted hard, wrestling the shuddering steering wheel, using the truck's weight to force it onto an abandoned logging road that cut deep into the dense pine forest.
Branches whipped against the windshield, screeching like fingernails on a chalkboard. The truck bounced violently over rocks and fallen timber before finally grinding to a halt against a massive pine stump, the engine dying in a cloud of white steam.
"Out! Now!" Jax barked, unbuckling Toby and grabbing the canvas backpack.
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He threw the boy behind the cover of the heavy engine block just as rifle rounds shattered the rear window, sending pellets of safety glass raining over the seats. Jax pulled a worn .45 caliber pistol from his leather holster, checking the slide with smooth, practiced muscle memory. He had only seven rounds left.
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