Chapter 5 - The Steel Trap
The night air was freezing, biting through leather and denim. The convoy of roaring motorcycles cut through the darkness of the rural highway like a pack of mechanical beasts. Leo rode in the sidecar of Vance’s massive chopper, a heavy wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a pair of oversized safety goggles protecting her eyes from the wind.
They were heading toward the abandoned Blackwood Steel Mill.
Back at the clubhouse, the trap had been set perfectly. Deacon, sweating profusely and looking nervous, had eagerly volunteered to ride rear guard. Leo had quietly instructed Vance to monitor his radio frequencies. Just as predicted, ten minutes into the ride, Deacon had transmitted a burst signal on a burner frequency. He had alerted the Iron Jackals.
They pulled into the massive, rusted gates of the steel mill. The place was a labyrinth of decaying catwalks, massive blast furnaces, and shadows deep enough to hide an army.
Vance killed the engine. The silence was deafening after the roar of the bikes. The twenty Silver Wolves dismounted, pulling heavy rifles and shotguns from their saddlebags.
Leo stepped out of the sidecar. She didn't have a weapon. She only had the ring, gleaming under the pale moonlight.
"Form a perimeter," Vance barked, playing his part perfectly. "The weapons cache is supposed to be beneath the main furnace."
As the men fanned out, a loud, metallic screech echoed through the courtyard. The main gates slammed shut behind them, locked from the outside.
Suddenly, blinding floodlights clicked on from the catwalks above, illuminating the courtyard in a harsh, unforgiving glare. More than fifty men in Iron Jackals cuts stepped out from the shadows, assault rifles aimed down at the trapped Silver Wolves.
A figure stepped forward onto the highest catwalk. It was Silas Reed. He was a sleek, handsome man who wore bespoke suits beneath his biker cut, looking more like a corrupt Wall Street banker than a gang leader.
"Well, well, well," Silas’s voice echoed through a megaphone. "The great Silver Wolves. Lured into a cage by a little girl playing dress-up. I have to admit, I was impressed when my bank accounts got drained. But brains don't stop bullets, sweetheart."
Down in the courtyard, Deacon stepped away from the Silver Wolves, walking quickly toward the safety of the Jackals' perimeter. "I did what you asked, Silas!" Deacon shouted. "They walked right into it!"
Silas laughed. "Good boy, Deacon. Now, kill them all."
The Jackals raised their weapons. The Silver Wolves braced for death.
But Leo didn't flinch. She simply reached into her pocket, pulled out a small flare gun, and fired it straight up into the air.
A bright red streak illuminated the night sky.
Before the Jackals could pull their triggers, the rusted metal doors of the surrounding warehouses burst open. But it wasn't bikers who poured out. It was a private military contractor unit—dozens of highly trained mercenaries in tactical gear, armed with military-grade weaponry, laser sights instantly painting the chests of every Jackal on the catwalks.
Silas Reed froze, his megaphone dropping from his hand. "What is this?" he stammered.
Leo stepped forward, her voice amplified by the silent, echoing yard. "I told you I drained your offshore accounts, Silas. Did you think I just burned the money? I spent it. I bought the very mercenaries you couldn't afford to pay this week."
The commander of the mercenary unit, a towering man in black tactical armor, stepped up beside Leo and offered a crisp salute. "Target locked, Miss Thorne."
Silas Reed looked around, realizing he was completely outgunned and surrounded. His ambush had been a suicide trap, orchestrated by a ten-year-old.
"Deacon," Leo said softly, though the silence carried her voice.
The traitorous mechanic was frozen halfway between the two groups. He looked at Leo, sheer terror in his eyes. He fell to his knees, begging. "Leo, please... I was scared. Silas threatened my family. I didn't want to kill Marcus!"
Leo looked at him, feeling no pity, only a cold, dark resolve. She turned to Vance.
"Take his cut," Leo ordered. "Burn off his tattoos. And throw him out of the state. If I ever see his face again, I'll feed him to the dogs."
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She then looked up at Silas Reed, who was slowly raising his hands in surrender.
"As for you, Silas," Leo said, her eyes flashing with dangerous fire. "We are going to have a very long conversation about my father."
