Dax instantly lowered the wrench, his face breaking into a relieved, arrogant smile. He looked back at me and laughed.
“You’re dead now, old man,” Dax whispered maliciously. “The boss is here to see why this is taking so long. You’re about to find out who really owns this desert.”
The rear passenger door of the Rolls-Royce opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man with impeccably groomed gray hair and a sharply tailored charcoal suit stepped out. He adjusted his cuffs, his cold, calculating eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Viper and the third kid scrambled to their feet, trying to look presentable.
It was Silas Thorne. The cartel boss. The ex-mercenary who had been buying up the county.
Thorne walked slowly toward the garage bay, his bodyguards trailing three steps behind him. Dax rushed forward to meet him, pointing eagerly back at me.
“Mr. Thorne, sir,” Dax said quickly, trying to sound professional. “We had a little trouble. The old guy went crazy. He attacked my men. But don't worry, I’ve got the deed right here. I’m about to make him sign it.”
Silas Thorne didn't look at Dax. His eyes bypassed the red-haired kid completely and locked onto me standing in the center of the garage.
More specifically, Thorne’s eyes locked onto my bare chest. Onto the black eagle gripping the bloody dagger.
Silas Thorne stopped dead in his tracks.
The silence in the garage became absolute. The only sound was the low, steady idle of the Rolls-Royce engine outside and the wind dragging dust across the pavement.
Silas Thorne stood completely frozen just inside the shadow of the garage bay. He wasn't looking at the knocked-over tool cart, or the oil spilled on the floor, or the bruised faces of Dax’s men. His eyes were wide, utterly transfixed by the dark ink spanning my left pectoral muscle.
I recognized the expression on his face immediately. It was the exact same look a man gets right before an artillery shell hits his trench. It was pure, unadulterated terror.
Dax, completely oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature, continued to talk. “Like I said, Mr. Thorne, this guy is a total psycho. Look at him, he’s got some fake tough-guy tattoo drawn on his chest to—”
SMACK.
The sound of the impact was like a gunshot. Silas Thorne whipped his arm around with terrifying speed, striking Dax across the jaw with the back of his hand. The blow was so forceful it lifted Dax completely off his feet. The red-haired kid spun in the air and crashed hard into the side of his own motorcycle outside, sliding down to the gravel, groaning and clutching his face in shock.
Viper and the others flinched, stepping backward, their eyes darting wildly between Thorne and Dax. Even Thorne’s personal bodyguards looked startled by the sudden violence from their usually composed boss.