Someone tipped them off. " Before Arthur could respond, Buster the Hound let out a ferocious, echoing bark. The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway outside made both men freeze. Arthur stood up, peering through the gap in the curtains. His stomach dropped. A white county sheriff's cruiser, heavily dusted with dirt, was parked near the porch.
Stepping out of it was Sheriff Thomas Riley, a broad-shouldered, arrogant man who ran the county like his own personal fiefdom. It's the sheriff. Arthur whispered. Jax immediately reached for his leather cut, his eyes hardening into flint. Hide my stuff.
Arthur shoved Jax's cut, his boots, and his knife into a hidden compartment under the floorboards beneath the rug. Get in the back bedroom. Don't make a sound. Jax hobbled into the dark bedroom just as a heavy fist pounded on the front door. Arthur, open up.
It's Sheriff Riley. Arthur took a deep breath, smoothed his expression into one of mild annoyance, and opened the door. Evening, Tom. What brings you out here in the cold? Sheriff Riley pushed past Arthur without an invitation, his heavy boots tracking mud onto the floor.
He slowly looked around the cabin, his hand resting casually on the butt of his service weapon. Looking for a ghost, Arthur? Riley said, his eyes scanning the kitchen table. Got a report of a motorcycle crash out by Dead Man's Curve a few nights ago. Found some broken plastic, a lot of blood, but no bike, no rider.
Can't say I heard anything. Arthur lied smoothly. Storm was loud. I was asleep. Riley walked toward the wood stove, lingering near the hallway that led to the bedroom where Jax was hiding.
Is that so? Funny thing. We tracked the blood into the brush. Looked like someone dragged something heavy away. Maybe loaded it into a truck.
Riley turned to face Arthur, his smile not reaching his eyes. You wouldn't be hiding a fugitive, would you, old man? Because harboring a known criminal, that could lead to property seizure. And we both know the county has been wanting this land of yours for that new development project. I don't know what you're talking about, Tom, Arthur said, his voice steel.
I live alone. You know that. Riley stared at him for a long, suffocating moment. Then he chuckled darkly. All right, Arthur.
But if I find out you're lying, I'll take this cabin, your land, and I'll throw you in a cell so deep you'll forget what the sun looks like. Riley tipped his hat and walked out. As he pulled away, Arthur watched from the window. The cruiser's headlights illuminated a deep, fresh scratch and a dent on the front right bumper of the sheriff's vehicle. Arthur's blood ran cold.
He walked back into the living room as Jax limped out of the shadows. He's the one, Jax said softly, his fists clenched. That was the voice of the guy who leaned out the window of the SUV before they hit me. He changed vehicles, but it's him. He wants the club's money.
Arthur sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. Riley has been trying to force me off my land for 2 years. He's corrupt. He wants to sell my water rights to a corporate farm. Now he knows you're here.
He's putting the pieces together. I need to leave, Jax said immediately. I'm bringing heat on you. That wasn't the deal. You can't ride.
Your leg is busted, Arthur pointed out. I don't need my leg to twist a throttle, Jax countered fiercely. I need my bike. For the next 48 hours, Arthur barely slept. He dragged his heavy tools out to the brush and worked like a madman under the tarp.
He used a sledgehammer to straighten the Harley's forks, welded a makeshift brace for the frame, and patched the punctured oil line with a piece of copper tubing and hose clamps. It was a Frankenstein repair job, ugly and dangerous, but the V-twin engine fired up with a deafening roar. On the fifth night, under the cover of a moonless sky, Jax straddled the battered Harley. He wore his cut, the death's head grinning in the dark. He looked at Arthur, extending a heavily calloused, tattooed hand.
"I won't forget this, Arthur," Jax said, his grip like a vice. "You stepped into the line of fire for a stranger, for an angel. " "Just ride safe, son," Arthur said quietly, "and stay clear of this county. " Jax kicked the bike into gear. He paused, looking back at the old mechanic. "The club pays its debts, Arthur," Jax said, his voice slicing through the rumble of the engine. "Always. " With a twist of the throttle, Jax vanished into the black desert night, leaving Arthur alone once more.
The old man walked back into his cabin, bolted the door, and waited for the fallout, knowing Sheriff Riley would be back. He just didn't know how little time he had left. For 3 days after Jackson Jax Teller disappeared into the freezing Nevada night, Highway 50 was agonizingly silent. Arthur Carrington fell back into his solitary routine, but a cold knot of anticipation sat heavy in his stomach. He kept his Vietnam-era M1 Garand loaded and leaning against the kitchen wall.
He knew men like Sheriff Thomas Riley. They didn't let things go. They festered, and then they struck. The strike came on a Thursday afternoon. The sky was the color of bruised iron, threatening snow.
Arthur was out by the woodshed, chopping kindling, when the crunch of tires echoed up the dirt driveway. It wasn't just one cruiser this time. Three white, dust-caked county vehicles tore onto his property, completely surrounding the small cabin. Buster let out a frantic, vicious bark, baring his teeth as six men stepped out. Sheriff Riley led the pack, his hand resting on the holster of his Glock.
His deputies fanned out, their faces hard, carrying pump-action shotguns. They weren't here to ask questions. They were here to clean up a mess. "Put the axe down, Arthur. " Riley ordered, his voice echoing in the crisp, dead air. Arthur slowly lowered the splitting maul, his eyes scanning the deputies.
"You're trespassing, Tom. You have a warrant? " "I don't need a warrant for a welfare check. " Riley sneered, stepping closer. "And considering you've been harboring a fugitive who stole a quarter of a million dollars in county evidence, I'd say your welfare is in serious jeopardy. " "County evidence? " Arthur let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Is that what you call a biker club's cash that you tried to run off the road and steal? " Riley's expression darkened, the facade of law enforcement completely evaporating. He gestured to two of his deputies.
"Toss the cabin. Find the money. If he tries anything, put him down. " Buster lunged, snapping his jaws at the nearest deputy. The man raised his heavy, steel-toed boot and kicked the old hound squarely in the ribs. Buster let out a sharp yelp and tumbled into the dirt, whimpering.
"Hey! " Arthur roared, dropping the axe and lunging forward. Before Arthur could reach the deputy, Riley swung the heavy metal barrel of his flashlight, catching Arthur across the cheekbone. The world exploded in a flash of white light. Arthur hit the frozen ground hard, tasting copper and dust. His vision swam as Riley stood over him, blocking out the gray sky.
"The biker is gone. " Riley said softly, leaning down so only Arthur could hear. "We found tire tracks leading back to the highway, which means he took my money. But I'm not leaving empty-handed, Arthur. I've got investors in Las Vegas waiting for the deed to this land, and I am out of patience. " Riley pulled a folded, crumpled document from his jacket and tossed it into the dirt next to Arthur's face. A pen followed.
"Sign the property transfer. You do that, and I'll let you pack up your truck and your mutt, and you can drive away. " Riley threatened. "You don't? Well, my deputies are going to find an illegal stash of narcotics in your woodshed. Then they're going to swear under oath that you resisted arrest and reached for a weapon.