Chapter 3: Shadows in the Dark
The farmhouse felt like a tomb. Tank realized he had made a mistake by bringing his bike here—the sound would have been heard for miles. He needed to move them, but the woods were dark, and Sterling’s men would be swarming the perimeter.
“We have to go,” Tank said, standing up. “Now.”
“We can’t,” Sarah said, her voice shaking. “He has people everywhere. Every time I tried to run, I found them. They’re ghosts, Tank.”
Tank stood tall, his silhouette imposing in the sliver of moonlight. “They’re ghosts? Good. Because I’m a nightmare.”
He pulled his phone out. There was only one call to make. He didn't call the police—the police were on Sterling’s payroll. He dialed his club president, Jax.
“Tank,” Jax’s voice was crisp. “Where the hell are you?”
“I need the full contingent,” Tank said. “Armed. We have a situation. A rescue.”
“Give me the coordinates.”
Tank spent the next two hours barricading the house. He set up traps, used his knowledge of the woods to his advantage, and made Sarah and Lily sit in the reinforced cellar. He sat on the porch, waiting. He wasn't afraid. Fear was a luxury he had lost years ago.
Around 3:00 a.m., the silence broke.
Headlights flickered at the edge of the tree line. Not one or two, but six SUVs. They glided to a stop, silent and predatory. Men in tactical gear stepped out. They weren't there to talk. They were there to clean up a mess.
Tank watched them from the porch shadows, his hand resting on a hunting rifle he’d scavenged from the farmhouse’s pantry.
“Come on,” he whispered, his knuckles white. “Come get your ghost.”
The first man stepped onto the overgrown lawn. Tank didn't hesitate. He fired a warning shot into the dirt at the man's feet, the sound tearing through the night air like a thunderclap.
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“Property’s private!” Tank roared.
The men didn't stop. They raised their weapons. The game had begun.
