Chapter 10 - The Mother’s Wrath
The screech of twisted metal echoed through the pine forest as the dark sedan settled at the bottom of the ravine, hissing steam into the damp mountain air. Sheriff Vance spun around, leveling his shotgun directly at the battered red pickup truck and the woman standing beside it.
“Clara! Have you lost your damn mind?” the sheriff roared, his finger tightening nervously on the trigger guard. “You’re in no condition to drive, let alone interfere with a federal asset seizure!”
Clara didn't flinch. She leaned heavily against the side of her truck for support, her breathing shallow and ragged, but her eyes burned with a fierce, terrifying maternal fury. She gripped the heavy iron tire iron like a broadsword.
“You’ve been terrorizing my family for six months, Vance!” Clara coughed, spitting a streak of blood onto the gravel, but refusing to lower her gaze. “You thought because I was sick, I wouldn't fight back? You thought I wouldn't leave a trail for the only man who could protect us?”
Jax stared across the asphalt at her. The last time he had seen Clara Vance, she was twenty-two years old, laughing in the summer sun outside a dusty desert diner. Now, time, illness, and cruelty had etched deep lines into her face, but the fire in her eyes remained completely unchanged.
“Clara…” Jax breathed, taking a half-step forward before stopping himself.
“Shut up, Jax,” Clara snapped, her voice cracking slightly, though her glare remained sharp. “You made your choice eighteen years ago. You don't get to play the hero now unless you finish what you started.”
Little Leo scrambled off the back of the motorcycle, ignoring Jax’s warning, and sprinted across the asphalt straight into his mother’s open arms. Clara dropped the tire iron, dropping to her knees in the dirt to wrap her frail arms around her son, burying her face in his messy light brown hair while tears finally broke free down her pale cheeks.
Sheriff Vance cursed under his breath, raising the barrel of his shotgun toward Clara and the boy. “I’m taking the kid into protective custody right now. End of story.”
“Drop the gun, Vance,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the shadows of the tree line.
Miller slowly pulled a heavy .45 automatic from his belt, leveling it squarely at the center of the sheriff’s chest with absolute, unshakable steadiness. At the same time, the rustling of brush behind the cruiser revealed three more patched bikers stepping out of the fog, their heavy chains and wrenches catching the red-and-blue cruiser lights. The rally wasn't far behind them.
Sheriff Vance swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Miller’s gun and the gathering circle of bikers. He slowly lowered the barrel of his shotgun, resting it against the asphalt with a metallic clatter.
“You’re making a massive mistake,” the sheriff muttered, backing away toward his cruiser. “You can't fight the state, Jax. They’ll have warrants out in every county by sunrise tomorrow.”
“Let them try,” Jax said, stepping past Miller to stand beside Clara and Leo.
The sheriff climbed back into his cruiser, threw it into reverse, and tore down the mountain pass in a cloud of gravel and exhaust fumes, leaving the bikers standing alone in the foggy night.
Jax knelt down beside Clara and the boy, his heart hammering against his ribs. He reached out hesitantly, his rough, tattooed fingers trembling as they hovered just inches from Clara’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Clara,” Jax whispered, the words tasting like poison in his throat. “I didn't know about him. I swear to God, I didn't know.”
Clara looked up, her hazel eyes—so identical to Leo’s—locking onto his with a devastating intensity.
May you like
“You’re going to have to prove that, Jax,” Clara whispered back, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. “Because the people who want this land don't care about the past. And they’re already heading for the cabin.”
---
