Chapter 6 - A Ghost In A Tailored Suit
The desert wind whistled hollowly through the charred ribs of the abandoned mill, carrying the dry scent of dust and old ash. Marcus Vance stood beside the sleek black SUV, his charcoal suit completely immaculate against the backdrop of industrial decay. He flicked his cigarette butt into the dirt, the red spark dying instantly in the dust.
Jax didn’t flinch. His boots crunched softly on the gravel as he stepped out from behind the boulders, placing himself firmly between the threat and the eight-year-old boy crouching in the shadows of the rocks.
“You’re supposed to be dead, Vance,” Jax growled, his hand resting casually near the hunting knife tucked inside his boot. “I watched this place go up in flames eight years ago. I pulled Bobby out of the fire, but you… you were right in the epicenter.”
Marcus chuckled softly, a smooth, cultured sound that felt entirely out of place in the desolate badlands. He adjusted his silk tie, his cold grey eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
“A clever illusion, my old friend,” Marcus replied smoothly, taking a slow step forward. “In our line of work, a staged cremation is a very useful retirement strategy. Especially when you’re stealing ten million dollars in bearer bonds from the club’s offshore accounts and pinning the whole mess on a couple of patsy bikers.”
Leo’s breath hitched. He gripped the rough stone of the boulder behind him, his hazel eyes wide with sudden realization.
“That’s what dad kept talking about in his sleep,” Leo whispered to himself, the pieces of the shattered puzzle finally clicking together in his young mind. “He wasn't crazy. He was hiding from the money.”
Jax’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to crack. All those years of carrying crushing guilt, believing he had failed his brothers, believing Bobby was a thief—it was all a massive, carefully orchestrated lie fabricated by the man standing thirty feet in front of him.
“You framed us,” Jax hissed, taking a slow, menacing step forward. “You ruined our lives, scattered the club to the wind, and drove Bobby into an early grave.”
“I merely capitalized on human weakness,” Marcus corrected coldly, his smile fading into a hard, calculating mask. He reached behind his jacket, but instead of a weapon, he pulled out a thick manila folder and tossed it carelessly onto the hood of the black SUV. “Bobby was weak. He felt guilty. He couldn’t live with the secret, so he kept a detailed journal documenting every single transaction, every shell corporation, and every offshore account. And when he died yesterday morning, he left that exact journal right in his son’s school backpack.”
Marcus’s cold gaze shifted past Jax, locking directly onto Leo hiding behind the rocks.
“Hand over the boy and the backpack, Jax,” Marcus commanded, his voice dropping into a lethal purr. “And I might let you ride away into the sunset. Refuse, and you both feed the coyotes tonight.”
Jax didn’t hesitate. He spat a curse onto the dusty earth, his hand flashing down to his boot and pulling the heavy hunting knife free with a metallic hiss.
“You’ll have to go through me first, you corporate snake,” Jax roared.
May you like
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the mill behind Marcus slid open with a deafening screech, and four armed thugs stepped out into the twilight, leveling automatic rifles straight at Jax’s chest.
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