Chapter 10 - The President’s Arrival
The shattered front window frame gave way with a sickening splinter of wood and aluminum, framing the towering, broad-shouldered silhouette of Thorne, the national president of the Iron Reaper motorcycle club. At fifty-five, Thorne wore a vest covered in blood-stained patches and rank pins, his bald head scarred from a hundred highway wars, and his dark eyes holding the dead, merciless look of a man who ruled his patch through absolute terror. Behind him, a dozen armed club enforcers fanned out into the night, blocking every possible escape route.
Martha let out a terrified gasp, dragging Leo backward through the swinging kitchen doors just as Thorne stepped over the broken glass and into the littered diner.
Jax didn't flinch. He stood alone in the center of the room, his massive frame radiating a dangerous, predatory calm as he watched the club president approach. The tin box and the silver key rested securely inside his leather vest, burning against his skin like a live coal.
“Well, look what the highway dragged up and forgot to bury,” Thorne rumbled, his voice like grinding millstones. He stopped ten feet from Jax, his heavy brass-knuckled hands resting casually on his hips as he scanned the overturned tables and broken condiment caddies. “Cross tells me you’ve gone soft, brother. Said you traded your cut for a stray brat and a box of old memories.”
Jax slowly rolled up the right sleeve of his flannel shirt, exposing the sprawling, dark raven tattoo that coiled around his forearm. He met Thorne’s cold gaze without blinking. “I traded the cut for a clean conscience, Thorne. Something you wouldn't recognize even if it bit you in the neck.”
Thorne’s smile didn’t reach his dead eyes. He took another slow, deliberate step forward, his combat boots crunching on the glittering shards of window glass. “You think you can walk away from the brotherhood with what Clara left behind, Jax? That ledger she hid under the bridge isn’t yours to keep. It belongs to the club. Every corrupt deal, every payoff, every name—if that book sees the light of day, the whole charter goes down. And you think you’re the one to pull the trigger?”
“Clara kept it as insurance against animals like you,” Jax replied coldly, his hand sliding inside his vest to rest against the cold metal of the tin box. “And she was right. You built an empire on blood and extortion, Thorne. It’s time the bill came due.”
Thorne’s expression darkened instantly into a mask of pure venom. He raised his hand, and the dozen enforcers behind him pulled heavy iron chains and hunting knives from their belts, stepping forward to encircle the lone biker.
“Take him down,” Thorne ordered quietly, his voice dripping with venom. “Bring me the box, and leave him for the crows.”
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Before the first enforcer could cross the threshold of the center aisle, the heavy diner doors behind Thorne were suddenly kicked wide open with an explosive crash.
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