Chapter 3 - SHADOWS AT THE MILL
The abandoned Blackwood Logging Mill was a rusted iron monolith rising out of the river mist like the skeleton of a dead beast.
Abandoned in the late nineties, the facility consisted of three massive corrugated steel warehouses, a decaying saw pit, and a maze of overgrown gravel access roads connecting to the back country routes.
Boone, Jax, Doc, and Bear—who had hiked up to reinforce them along with two other Ravens named Ghost and Talon—crouched along the ridge overlooking the mill yard.
Down below, illuminated by the harsh yellow floodlights of two black heavy-duty pickup trucks, four men in tactical gear were struggling to load a heavy wooden crate into the back of a flatbed trailer.
Beside the trucks, tied to an iron support beam with heavy zip-ties, was a man in his mid-thirties. His face was battered, blood dripping from his nose and hairline, but his eyes were blazing with defiant fury.
"That’s Thomas Vance," Jax whispered, adjusting his night-vision binoculars. "He’s alive, but he’s in bad shape. They’ve got him bound tight."
"Who are those guys in tactical wear?" Bear asked, his massive fists clenching until his knuckles popped like gunshots. "They don't look like local law enforcement."
"Private security," Boone identified them, his sharp eyes picking out the small red patches on their sleeves. Vanguard Security Solutions. "Mercenaries hired by corporate suits to do the dirtiest work. They operate in legal grey zones where local sheriffs don't dare tread."
On the yard below, a tall, slick-haired man in a expensive oilskin duster stepped out of one of the pickup trucks. He walked over to Thomas, tapping a silver-handled riding crop against his leather boots.
"Last chance, Vance," the man in the duster said, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet river gorge via a portable megaphone. "Sign the property surrender deed, and you walk out of these mountains with fifty thousand dollars in cash. Refuse, and your body ends up at the bottom of an uncapped hundred-foot coal shaft... and we’ll track down that little girl of yours next."
At the mention of Lily, Thomas Vance spat a mouthful of blood directly onto the man’s polished boots.
"Touch my daughter," Thomas roared, his voice hoarse but terrifyingly strong, "and I’ll drag you into hell with me, Vance or no Vance!"
The man in the duster wiped his boot with a handkerchief, utterly unbothered. He turned to one of his armed guards. "He’s stubborn. Load him into the truck. We’ll finish this across the state line in Tennessee."
Up on the ridge, Boone felt a cold flame ignite in his chest. He looked at his brothers.
"Bear, take Ghost and Talon down to the south gate. Disable those pickup truck tires—shoot the sidewalls if you have to, but keep it quiet as long as you can."
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"What about you?" Bear asked with a grim grin.
Boone adjusted his leather gloves and pulled his heavy steel flashlight from his belt. "Jax and I are going to teach these corporate dogs what happens when you threaten a Raven’s family."
