Chapter 5 - INTO THE LION’S DEN
The abandoned oil refinery on Route 9 rose out of the desert like a skeletal monster. Rusted iron towers scratched against the starlit sky, and the smell of sulfur and old oil hung heavy in the damp night air. A single floodlight illuminated the main courtyard, casting long, eerie shadows across the gravel.
Jax rode his chopper through the twisted metal gates, the roar of his engine echoing off the hollow metal structures. He stopped the bike in the center of the courtyard, directly under the floodlight. He cut the engine, kicked down the stand, and stepped off.
"Vance!" Jax shouted, his voice cutting through the whistling desert wind. "I’m here! Show yourself!"
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind. Then, a heavy metal door at the base of the main tower groaned open. Two men wearing the spiked leather patches of the Iron Skulls stepped out, dragging a bound and gagged woman between them.
It was Clara. Her face was bruised, her shirt torn, but her eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and fierce defiance. When she saw Jax standing under the light, a muffled cry escaped her throat behind the heavy duct tape covering her mouth.
"Look at that," a smooth, mocking voice purred from the shadows above. Marcus Vance walked out onto a rusted catwalk fifteen feet above the ground, a silver-plated revolver resting casually against his shoulder. "The great Jax Teller. The ghost who walked away. I didn't think you had it in you to care about anything anymore."
"You have me, Marcus," Jax said, keeping his hands away from his sides, his eyes locked on the snipers he could faintly see hiding in the shadows of the catwalks. He knew Chibs and Opie were out there in the dark, waiting for his signal. "Let her go. She has nothing to do with the club. She has nothing to do with the borders."
"She has everything to do with it now," Marcus laughed, a cruel, high-pitched sound. "You thought you could cut off our supply lines in the north and just retire to a quiet diner? No, Jax. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I’m going to make you watch her bleed, and then I’m going to take your club, your territory, and everything you ever built."
"You can try," Jax whispered.
Suddenly, a red laser dot appeared on Jax’s chest. A sniper on the eastern tower had him locked in.
"Any last words for your woman, Jax?" Marcus sneered, raising his revolver.
Jax didn't look at Marcus. He looked at the eastern tower and raised his left hand, flashing a quick, subtle hand signal—the sign of the crow.
BANG.
A high-powered rifle shot shattered the night silence, but it didn't come from the Iron Skulls. The sniper on the eastern tower plummeted fifteen feet through the air, crashing into the gravel below.
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"Ambush!" Marcus screamed, firing wildly into the darkness.
"Move!" Jax roared, drawing his Glock in a fraction of a second. He fired three rounds into the chest of the guard holding Clara’s left arm. The man dropped like a stone. The second guard tried to raise his weapon, but Jax lunged forward, tackling him into the dirt as the refinery erupted into a chaotic war zone of muzzle flashes and screaming metal.
