Chapter 3: The Trail of Crumbs
The search led them deep into the mountains, to a property Silas had purchased under a shell company. It was an old hunting lodge, isolated, surrounded by miles of dense, unforgiving forest.
Tank rode at the front, his senses heightened, every shadow a potential sniper. He hadn't told the club the full truth—that Elena was alive—because he couldn't risk them faltering if things went wrong. He told them it was a rescue mission for a high-value asset, but the way his brothers rode, they knew. They had seen his face when Mia handed him that bear.
They stopped a mile out, leaving the bikes in a ravine. The plan was simple: silent, brutal, and fast.
As they crept through the woods, Tank found the markers. Mia had been smart. Every few hundred yards, she had tied a small piece of yellow ribbon from her dress to a branch. She had led him here, not just with her words, but with a trail.
"They're waiting," Tank whispered to Jax. "Silas wants me to walk in the front door."
"Then we don't use the door," Jax said.
They split into teams. Tank took the rear flank, navigating the treacherous terrain. He felt the weight of the photograph in his pocket. I'm coming, Elena.
He reached the edge of the clearing. The lodge was dark, but he saw movement on the porch. Silas was there, leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette, looking out at the woods with a smug, arrogant grin.
Tank signaled the team.
The forest exploded.
Smoke grenades filled the clearing, turning the night into a grey, swirling hell. Gunfire erupted—not the wild shots of amateurs, but the disciplined, controlled fire of the Iron Skulls.
Tank didn't shoot. He ran. He ignored the bullets kicking up dirt around his boots, ignored the men shouting in pain. He vaulted the porch railing, his shoulder slamming into Silas.
They crashed through the lodge door, splintering the wood, and tumbled into the living room. Silas scrambled for his gun, but Tank was faster. He pinned Silas to the floor, his fist connecting with a sickening crack.
"Where is she?" Tank roared, his voice echoing off the rafters.
Silas spat blood, his teeth clicking together—metal teeth, just as Mia had described. He laughed, a gurgling, wet sound. "Too late, Wolf. She’s already gone."
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Tank tightened his grip on Silas’s throat. "Where?"
"Basement," Silas wheezed. "But you’d better hurry. The timer is running."
