Chapter 6 - The Visitor in the Suit
The stranger’s voice echoed off the damp concrete walls of the garage, sending a fresh wave of ice down Sarah’s spine. He stood tall and unhurried in the doorway, blocking the harsh daylight and any hope of a quick escape. His expensive dark suit was entirely out of place in the dusty, oil-stained environment, making him look like a sleek predator cornering its prey in a rusted cage.
“Step away from the motorcycle,” the man instructed politely, though his eyes carried a chilling, dead-eyed authority. He took two slow steps forward, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the concrete. “Mrs. Miller, it has been a long time. You’ve done a remarkable job keeping the boy hidden in that quiet little suburb up north. Too bad your curiosity got the better of you today.”
Leo instinctively pressed his back against Jax’s legs, looking up with wide, frightened eyes. “Mom, who is this man?”
“Nobody, baby, just close your eyes and don't look at him,” Sarah pleaded, stepping forward to shield her son, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she confronted the intruder. “We didn't mean to open the garage. The lock just rusted through. We were leaving right now.”
The man in the suit chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that lacked any warmth. “Sarah, let’s not insult each other's intelligence. Mark’s brother didn’t drive out here just to admire the paint job on a vintage bike. He came looking for answers, and unfortunately for all of you, those answers come with a very heavy price.”
Jax shifted his weight, his broad shoulders tensing beneath his dark shirt. He kept one hand firmly inside his pocket, gripping the small digital flash drive and the manila folder he had just rescued from the saddlebag. “You’ve got about ten seconds to turn around and walk back to your car before I lose my temper,” Jax warned, his voice dangerously low.
The stranger smiled wider, tilting his head slightly. “Is that right, Mr. Miller? And what exactly do you plan to do? Beat me up? You’re a small-town mechanic. You have no idea what kind of machinery you’ve just thrown yourself into. Mark thought he could play hero with the port authority books, and look where that got him—living a life in the shadows, constantly looking over his shoulder, unable to even hug his own son.”
“He’s alive,” Jax stated fiercely, taking a step toward the man. “You didn't kill him.”
“We didn't have to,” the man replied smoothly. “Isolation is a much more effective cage than iron bars.”
With a sudden, blinding motion, the stranger pulled a small, sleek electronic device from his jacket pocket and pressed a prominent red button in the center.
Outside, a sharp, deafening digital alarm began to wail from the engine of the vintage motorcycle, followed by a series of frantic, robotic clicks.
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“Drop the flash drive, Jax,” the man commanded, his smile vanishing instantly. “The bike is rigged with a localized thermite charge. You have thirty seconds before everything in this room turns to ash.”
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