“CHAPTER 5: THE SHOWDOWN AT DEVIL’S SLIDE
The sun was a bruised purple on the horizon when I pulled up to the cliffs. The wind was vicious, tearing at my hair. Deputy Miller was already there, his patrol car hidden behind a cluster of cypress trees.
“”The jacket, Patch,”” Miller said, stepping out, his hand on his holster. “”Now.””
“”Where’s the guarantee Sarah is safe?”” I asked, holding the jacket out by the collar.
“”My men pulled back. She’s sleeping like a baby,”” Miller lied.
I tossed the jacket onto the hood of his car. At that exact moment, Jax’s black SUV roared up the path. Jax jumped out, his face contorted in rage.
“”You rat!”” Jax screamed at his brother. “”You were going to cut me out? You were going to take the files and run?””
“”He’s crazy, Jax!”” Miller shouted, caught between his brother and the prize. “”He called me! He said you were going to kill him!””
The two brothers stood there, greed clashing with blood. It was a beautiful, ugly sight.
“”The jacket is mine!”” Jax lunged for the car.
“”Wait!”” I shouted. “”Look at the lining! Look at the Legacy patch!””
Both men scrambled for the leather. They ripped at it, their fingers tearing through the vintage hide I had worn for half my life. They found the hidden pockets. They found the microfilm.
But as they held it up to the light, they didn’t see bank account numbers. They didn’t see names.
They saw the red light of a recording device.
“”You think I’m the only one who keeps secrets?”” I said, stepping back toward the cliff’s edge. “”I didn’t call the feds, Miller. And I didn’t call the DA.””
I pointed to the ridge above us. A dozen bikers—the old guard, the men Silas had led before Jax poisoned the club—emerged from the shadows. In their hands weren’t guns, but phones. Every word the brothers had said—the admissions of gambling away club money, the threats against a nurse, the betrayal of each other—had been broadcast live to the entire Iron Brotherhood network.
“”The debt is paid,”” I said.
CHAPTER 6: THE FINAL STITCH
The fallout was swift. The Brotherhood didn’t need a court of law. They had their own brand of justice for those who betrayed the “”Circle.”” Jax and Miller were dragged away into the woods. They weren’t killed—not yet. They were stripped of their colors, their dignity, and their protection. They were ghosts now, haunted by the very men they thought they owned.
I stood alone on the cliff, the wind whipping my t-shirt. My chest felt strangely light. For the first time in thirty years, I was cold.
I looked down at the jacket lying in the dirt, torn to shreds by the brothers’ greed. It was a heap of ruined leather and broken patches.
I picked up a lighter.
The flame took hold slowly, then roared as it hit the decades of oil and sweat. The Silence patch curled and blackened. The Loyalty patch turned to ash. The Debt was finally incinerated.
I didn’t stay to watch it finish. I drove to the hospital.
I didn’t go inside. I just sat in the parking lot until I saw Sarah walk out at the end of her shift. She looked tired, her shoulders slumped, but she was safe. She stopped by her car, looking up at the sky, and for a second, she looked exactly like her mother.
I started my bike. I had no patches. I had no club. I had no secrets left to tell.
I rode south, toward the sun, leaving the smell of burning leather behind me.
He wasn’t just burning a jacket; he was finally letting the man underneath breathe.”
