Chapter 11 - The Badge and the Syndicate
The sheriff’s grip on the shotgun trembled ever so slightly, a microscopic shift that didn't go unnoticed by Jack’s sharp eyes. The amber glow of the streetlamp illuminated the cold sweat beading on Sheriff Miller’s forehead as he stared down the barrel at Marcus.
"Don't listen to a word he says, Jack," Miller said, his voice strained, trying to maintain an air of iron authority. "Marcus is a career liar. Drop the weapon, Marcus, or I will open fire."
Marcus let out a dry, mocking laugh, tossing his hunting knife clattering onto the pavement. He raised his hands slowly in mock surrender, never breaking eye contact with the sheriff.
"Tell him about the evidence locker, Miller," Marcus goaded, stepping forward into the light. "Tell him who kept the ledger from the ninety-eight raid safe all these years while you were working your way up to Sheriff."
Maeve looked from Marcus to the sheriff, her chest tightening with a sickening wave of betrayal. "Sheriff Miller?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You knew my dad? You knew about the barn?"
Miller’s face flushed a dark, guilty crimson. He didn't lower his shotgun, but his eyes shifted uncomfortably toward the ground. "Arthur and I made a deal a long time ago, Maeve," Miller muttered, his voice dropping defensively. "He walked away clean so you could have a normal life. I kept the feds off his back. But times change, debts come due, and things get complicated."
"Complicated?" Bo roared, stepping out from the shadows with his fists clenched, his massive chest heaving with rage. "You sold out a good mechanic to a bunch of killers for a cut of the payout?"
"I protected this town!" Miller shouted back, his voice cracking under the pressure. "If the feds found out where those bonds were hidden, this whole county would have been torn apart by federal investigations and cartel turf wars!"
Jack slowly stepped in front of Maeve, shielding her with his broad shoulders. He looked at the sheriff with absolute, unadulterated disgust. "You swore an oath to protect the people, Miller. Not to partner up with the men who put a target on a dead mechanic's back."
Marcus smirked, stepping past the sheriff as if the lawman were nothing more than a coat rack. Miller didn't stop him. He kept his shotgun raised, but he didn't pull the trigger. The terrible reality settled over the alley like a suffocating shroud: the law had been bought and paid for decades ago.
"The book, Maeve," Marcus said smoothly, holding out his hand as he closed the distance between them. "Give it to me, and nobody else has to bleed tonight. Not the sheriff, not your biker friends, and certainly not you."
Maeve looked down at the leather-bound notebook in her hands. Her fingers traced the worn cowhide cover one last time. She looked up at Marcus, her green eyes burning with a fierce, quiet defiance.
"My dad spent his whole life protecting this book," Maeve said, her voice steady and clear. "And I'm not about to hand it to his executioner."
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Before Marcus could lunge, Maeve whipped her arm back and threw the heavy notebook across the high brick wall into the fenced-in municipal impound lot next door.
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