Chapter 4 - The Badge and the Betrayal
The pounding hit the glass again, harder this time, threatening to spiderweb the pane.
"Emily!" Chief Miller’s voice was muffled but unmistakable—a thick, gravelly baritone that always sounded like it was giving an order, even when he was just asking for black coffee. "I see the bikes. Open the door and step outside. We're here for your protection!"
Emily shoved the notebook and the St. Christopher medal deep into her apron pockets. Her hands were shaking again, but not from fear. It was a cold, sharp adrenaline. Everything she had known about her life, her father, and her sleepy hometown had been a lie.
Hawk moved to the door. He didn't look back at his men. He didn't need to. Diesel, Brick, and Prophet fanned out, forming a silent, imposing wall behind him. Hawk threw the deadbolt and yanked the door open.
Chief Arthur Miller stood on the porch, his hand resting casually on the butt of his holstered sidearm. He was a broad man in his late fifties, his uniform stretched tight over a barrel chest. Four deputies flanked him, their hands gripping the pumps of their shotguns, their eyes nervously darting over the sea of leather and denim filling the diner.
"Hawk," Miller said, forcing a tight, neighborly smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. "I'm surprised to see you boys out of the clubhouse this early. The roadhouse run out of beer?"
"We developed a sudden craving for pie, Arthur," Hawk said flatly, his massive frame blocking the entire doorway. "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for Emily Carter. We received an anonymous tip that she was being harassed by a biker gang." Miller tried to peer around Hawk's shoulder. "I need her to come down to the station. We have an update on her father's missing persons case."
Emily stepped out from behind the counter, pushing past Diesel’s protective arm. "I'm right here, Chief."
Miller's eyes locked onto her. There was a predatory gleam in them that made Emily’s skin crawl. "Emily, sweetheart. Get your coat. We've found some new evidence in Thomas's disappearance. I need you to sign some paperwork."
"What kind of evidence?" Emily asked, keeping her voice steady.
"We found his hunting jacket near the ravine," Miller said smoothly. "And we have reason to believe he might have left a... a journal, or a logbook behind. Have you found anything like that?"
The trap snapped shut in Emily's mind. She hadn't told anyone about the notebook. Not even Grace knew what was in the satchel until ten minutes ago. He slipped up.
"No," Emily lied smoothly, looking directly into the corrupt cop's eyes. "My dad didn't keep a journal."
Miller's polite facade cracked for a fraction of a second, revealing the desperate, violent man beneath. He took a step forward. "Emily, I am ordering you to come with me. Now."
Hawk didn't flinch. He just shifted his weight, closing the gap. "She said no, Arthur."
"This is police business, Jackson!" Miller barked, dropping the first-name pleasantries. The deputies tensed, their thumbs hovering over their safeties. "You are interfering in an active investigation. Step aside, or I'll arrest every single one of you for obstruction."
Hawk leaned down, his face inches from Miller’s. "You aren't investigating a damn thing, Arthur. You're hunting. And as of this minute, this diner, this girl, and the ghost of Thomas Carter are under the protection of the Hells Angels. You want to arrest us? Try it. But I promise you, by the time the sun goes down, every news station in the state will have the combination to a certain locker in Billings."
Miller froze. The color drained from his face so quickly he looked sickly. He stared at Hawk, then at Emily, realizing he had lost the element of surprise.
"You're making a mistake, Emily," Miller spat, backing down the steps. "These animals can't protect you."
"They're doing a better job than you did," she shot back.
As Miller's cruisers tore out of the gravel lot, Hawk turned to Emily. "He knows. We have to move, now."
"To Billings?" she asked.
"No," Hawk said, pulling a heavy ring of keys from his belt. "We go to the bank first. The locker combination in that notebook? It's a two-part lock. We need the physical key."
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Emily blinked. "My dad didn't leave a key."
"No," Hawk said, turning his gaze to Grace, who was pulling a small, tarnished brass key from a chain around her neck. "He left it with the only person in this town he trusted to keep her mouth shut."
