Chapter 7 - The Iron Judgment
What happened inside that house during the next ten minutes was not recorded in any police ledger. The Iron Saints didn't use weapons on Dale Mercer. They used the old law—the law of the road, the law that demanded an eye for an eye, a bruise for a bruise.
By the time Vance stepped back out onto the porch, Dale Mercer was sitting in the corner of his ruined living room, weeping, his face a swollen map of purple retribution, his belt cut into pieces and scattered over his head. He was broken, terrified, and entirely ruined.
Big John stood on the porch, holding a large, iron lock box he had found beneath Dale’s floorboards. Inside were the state funding checks Dale had been illegally cashing for taking in foster children he tortured, along with the legal titles to the ranch.
"What do we do with him, Vance?" John asked, looking back at the shivering man inside.
"Call the state authorities," Vance said, adjusting his leather vest. "Tell them we found a corporate fraudster and a child abuser sitting in a ditch off Route 14. If the judges don't give him twenty years, tell them the Iron Saints will come back to finish the audit."
Vance climbed back onto his chopper, turning his keys. "Let's go home. Our boy is waiting."
The ride back to the clubhouse was fast and triumphant. When the 700 riders returned, the hall was warm, the bar was open, and the atmosphere had shifted from a funeral to a festival.
Vance walked straight into the medical bay. He found Tyler sitting up in bed, wrapped in three heavy wool blankets, Seth and Luke sitting on either side of his legs, showing him their small toy motorcycles.
When Tyler saw Vance enter, he instinctively tensed, his shoulders rising. He still expected the shadow of an angry man to bring pain.
But Vance didn't raise his hand. He took off his gold "PRESIDENT" ring, placed his heavy cane against the wall, and dropped to his knees beside Tyler's bed, bringing his face level with the teenager's.
"Tyler," Vance said, his voice thick with an emotion he hadn't felt in decades. "I've been the president of this club for twenty years. I’ve met governors, generals, and killers. But I have never met a man as brave as you."
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Tyler blinked, his lips trembling. "I... I just didn't want them to be alone in the dark. I know what it’s like to be alone in the dark."
Vance reached out, his massive arms wrapping around Tyler, pulling the fifteen-year-old boy against his leather vest, holding him tight alongside his twin sons. "You are never going to be alone in the dark again, son. I promise you that on the iron of this club."
