The biker looked at Walter’s pale, lined face. He looked at the frail hands clutching the cane. Then, slowly, the giant reached up, unbuttoned his heavy leather cut, and dropped down onto one knee on the rotting porch.
"My name is Jax," the man said, his voice a deep gravelly rumble that shook with raw emotion. "The girl you pulled out of the mud last night... she's my daughter."
Jax looked up, and Walter saw tears shining in the outlaw's hard eyes.
"Three cars drove past her, Walter," Jax choked out. "Three people left my little girl to die in the freezing rain. But you didn't. You stopped." Jax bowed his head. "I owe you a life debt. The Wraiths owe you a life debt. And we always pay our debts."
By 9:00 AM, the town of Cedar Hollow was in a state of absolute, paralyzed panic.
The Iron Wraiths hadn't just visited Walter's farm; they had occupied the town. Hundreds of bikes lined Main Street, parked impeccably in front of the diner, the hardware store, and the bank. The bikers weren't breaking windows or causing trouble; they were simply standing there, arms crossed, drinking black coffee, projecting a quiet, lethal menace. The town's sheriff had locked himself in his office and refused to answer the phone.
At 9:15 AM, Jax walked into the Cedar Hollow Community Bank.
Behind him walked Walter Briggs. Walter was wearing his only suit—a threadbare gray number he had worn to Eleanor's funeral—but today, he walked with a straight spine. Trailing them were four massive enforcers from the club.
Cole Dempsey looked up from his mahogany desk. The color instantly drained from his face as the bikers filled the lobby, their boots echoing on the marble floors. Jax didn't wait for an invitation. He kicked Dempsey's office door open, walked over to the desk, and cast a terrifying shadow over the banker.
"You Cole Dempsey?" Jax growled.
"I... yes. Can I help you?" Dempsey stammered, shrinking back in his expensive leather chair.
"I hear you're trying to steal a man's home," Jax said, pulling a heavy, black canvas duffel bag from his shoulder.
"Mr. Briggs is severely delinquent on his loans," Dempsey said, trying to summon his usual arrogant authority, though his voice cracked. "It’s a bank matter. It’s... it's just business."
Jax smiled. It was not a kind smile. He unzipped the duffel bag and turned it upside down. Dozens of stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills tumbled onto Dempsey’s immaculate desk, knocking over his nameplate and his coffee cup.
"We're paying it off. Right now. Every single red cent," Jax leaned over the desk, planting his heavy, ringed hands on the wood, bringing his scarred face inches from Dempsey's pale one. "And you are going to give him the deed. Today."
Dempsey stared at the mountain of cash. "I... I have to process the paperwork, it takes time—"
Jax’s hand shot out, grabbing Dempsey by his silk tie, pulling him halfway across the desk. "I don't think you understand, Cole. If you ever send Walter another letter, if you ever look at him sideways, if you ever so much as drive past his property... you won't be dealing with a bank auditor. You'll be dealing with me. Is that understood?"