Chapter 6 - The Paper Trail
The atmosphere in the compound yard hit a critical, terrifying boiling point. Jenkins' fingers tightened on the grip of the concealed firearm inside his coat pocket. He looked at Grizzly’s calm, unblinking eyes, then looked past him at the dozen hardened outlaws standing on the porch, every single one of them positioned with lethal tactical readiness.
He knew that if he pulled that trigger, he might hit Grizzly, but he would be torn to pieces by gunfire before his empty shell casing even hit the ground.
Slowly, reluctantly, Jenkins withdrew his hand from his coat, empty-handed. He took a step back, breathing heavily through his nose, his silver hair slightly disheveled by the night wind.
"You think you've won, don't you?" Jenkins spat, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You think a few financial documents are going to sink me? I have spent twenty-five years building alliances with prosecutors, judges, and federal agents. A tabloid news story won't touch me. The Judicial Commission is run by my friends!"
"Friends don't protect thieves who steal from children, Richard," Grizzly said coldly. "And they definitely don't protect men whose dirty laundry gets aired on the evening news."
Grizzly turned his back on the judge—an act of supreme disrespect—and walked back up the porch steps. "Get off my property before I have my boys toss you over the chain-link fence."
Jenkins stood alone in the bright floodlights, his fists shaking at his sides. With a final, venomous glare at the clubhouse, he turned on his heel, got back into his luxury SUV, slammed the door, and reversed violently out of the compound gate, spinning his tires in the loose gravel.
As the taillights vanished down the dark industrial road, Wrench walked up to Grizzly on the porch.
"Did we really send those files to the FBI already, Grizz?" Wrench asked quietly.
"Not yet," Grizzly admitted, looking out into the darkness. "I wanted to see his reaction first. Now we know he's terrified. He knows we have the goods on him. But a man like Jenkins won't just sit back and wait for the hammer to fall. He's going to try to burn the evidence before sunrise."
"What about the girl?" Irish asked, coming up beside them. "She can't stay here forever, Grizz. If he gets desperate, he might hire outside help. Cartel guys, mercenaries... people who don't care about police surround lines."
"She stays right here," Grizzly said firmly. "Irish, double the perimeter guard. Put two men on the roof with night-vision scopes. Wrench, get on the phone with our legal counsel in Sacramento. Tell him we need an emergency protective custody petition drafted and ready to be filed at the state capital at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. We take this out of Kern County's jurisdiction completely."
Inside the small bedroom, Lucy sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the muffled voices outside. Sarah sat beside her, rubbing her back reassuringly.
The heavy door opened, and Grizzly walked into the room. He seemed to fill the entire space, his massive presence instantly dominating the room, but his blue eyes were surprisingly gentle as he looked at the teenager.
He walked over and sat down on a heavy wooden chair across from her, the wood creaking softly under his weight.
"He's gone," Grizzly said softly.
Lucy looked up, her good eye wide with anxiety. "Did he... did he say he was coming back?"
"He can say whatever he wants, kid," Grizzly replied, resting his hands on his knees. "He ain’t ever putting his hands on you again. I give you my word on that."
"He's going to ruin you," Lucy sobbed, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. "You don't understand how powerful he is. He destroys everyone who goes against him. He's going to kill your club."
Grizzly let out a low, warm laugh—a deep rumble from his chest that seemed to vibrate through the walls.
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"Sweetheart," Grizzly said, leaning forward. "Your dad is a man who hides behind a wooden gavel and a piece of black cloth. My brothers and I have survived federal penitentiaries, highway wars, and decades of people trying to put us six feet under. A corrupt judge doesn't scare us. You just rest now. You're home."
Lucy looked at the scarred old outlaw, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, the tight, suffocating knot of terror in her chest began to loosen. She pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders, leaned her head back against the pillow, and closed her eyes.
