I cut my engine, kicked the stand down, and walked toward the main doors of the arts building. Jax and three of the largest enforcers fell in step immediately behind me, a wall of pure muscle and intent.
I reached the heavy glass doors of the building. They were locked.
I didn’t hesitate. I kicked my heavy steel-toed boot straight through the reinforced glass, shattering it into thousands of pieces. I reached through the jagged hole, pushed the crash bar, and walked into the sterile, quiet hallway of the school.
The air was heavy, smelling of floor wax and fear. I knew where the darkroom was. Maya had shown me on a map during her first week. Basement level, end of the hall.
We marched down the stairs, the sound of our heavy boots echoing off the concrete walls like a military execution squad.
I rounded the corner of the basement hallway. Standing outside the heavy wooden door of the darkroom were two large men in expensive suits. Private security. Sterling’s men.
They saw me. They saw the four massive, leather-clad bikers behind me, the Vanguard patches stark and imposing in the dim light.
The guards instinctively reached under their jackets.
“You draw a weapon in this hallway, you die in this hallway,” Jax stated, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that carried absolutely no bluff.
The guards froze. They were paid to intimidate high school kids and local contractors. They were not paid to engage in a shootout with a national outlaw motorcycle club. Slowly, trembling, both men raised their empty hands and stepped entirely away from the door.
I walked past them, didn’t look at them, and grabbed the handle of the darkroom door. I threw it open, stepping into the dim red light.
Richard Sterling stood in the center of the small room, his immaculate suit contrasting sharply with the chemical trays around him. Trent was standing in the corner, looking absolutely terrified, clutching a string of developed photographic negatives.
And sitting on a stool, unharmed but pale and terrified, was Maya.
Sterling spun around, his face flushed with anger. “How the hell did you get past—”
He stopped. His voice died in his throat as he looked at me. He looked at the heavy leather cut on my chest. He looked at the three giant men filling the doorway behind me, casting long, menacing shadows in the red safe light.
The arrogance drained from Sterling’s face in an instant, replaced by a sudden, sickening realization. The mechanic he thought he was bullying wasn’t a nobody.
“Dad,” Maya gasped, standing up from the stool.
“Come here, Maya,” I said softly, never breaking eye contact with Sterling.
Maya ran past Sterling, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. I kept one arm around her, shielding her, while I took a slow, deliberate step toward the billionaire.
“Mr. Vance,” Sterling stammered, raising his hands slightly, attempting to reclaim his authority but failing completely. His eyes darted nervously to the bikers in the hall. “We don’t need to do this. We can come to an arrangement. I can pay you. A million dollars. Two million. You and your daughter can leave this town and never worry about anything again. Just let us destroy the negatives.”
I stopped a foot away from him. I could smell his expensive cologne mixing with the sharp scent of the photo-developing chemicals.
“The negatives don’t matter,” I said softly.
Sterling blinked, confusion warring with fear. “What do you mean they don’t matter? If they don’t matter, why are you here?”
“I’m here to get my daughter,” I replied. “The digital copies were sent to the FBI Environmental Crimes Division and the State Regional Director twelve minutes ago. The news outlets get them in forty-eight minutes. Your unpermitted site is being raided as we speak.”