Chapter 5

THE LION'S DEN

 Banjo "Jaxson" Lawson pov

​Forty floors above the gray, rough swirling waters of Port Phillip Bay, the silence in the executive boardroom was heavy enough to crush a smaller man.

​I sat at the head of a very heavy black hard rock conference table, my suit jacket unbuttoned, leaning back in the leather chair. Outside the floor to ceiling glass panels, rain lashed against the skyscraper, fading the Melbourne skyline into a sea of dirty looking charcoal and steel.​Across the table sat six men in tailor made three piece suits board members, institutional shareholders, men who thought power was measured in stock options and quarterly dividend returns. They were sweating under their expensive silk ties, their eyes darting nervously toward me, then toward the legal briefs resting in front of them.

​"The board requires an immediate statement, Banjo," spoke up Arthur Sterling, the senior shareholder, his knuckles white as he tapped a fountain pen against his folder. "There are rumors of customs delays at Pier 9. Mistakes in the automated manifests. The Southern Cross Cartel is expanding their presence in the outer channels, and Lawson Maritime will lose the government freight contract next month".​I raised one finger.​The room went totally silent. Arthur’s mouth stayed open, but no sound came out.​"Lawson Maritime doesn't lose contracts, Arthur," I said, my voice low, gravelly, and calm. I didn't raise it. I didn't have to. "Pier 9 is operating at peak capacity. Customs is executing routine records checks under my direct authorization. If anyone on this board has a problem with how I secure our shipping channels, you're welcome to turn  your stock  into cash and walk out that door right now."

​I let the silence stretch for five agonizing seconds. None of them moved. None of them dared to meet my gaze. They saw the executive in the tailored Italian wool, but beneath the collar, they knew about the skull and maritime ink climbing up my collarbone. They knew that behind the corporate titan sat the President of the Iron Skull MC.​"The meeting adjourned," I murmured.​The board members practically tripped over themselves gathering their documents and filing out of the room like scolded children.​The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving only two people inside the room: myself, and Kaelen "Roo" Pryor.

​Kaelen leaned against the glass wall, his arms crossed over his chest. In his tailored dark suit, he looked almost respectable, but the jagged scar across his right cheek and the tactical watch on his wrist gave him away. He was Vice President of the Iron Skull for a reason, a former Special Forces, fiercely loyal, and the only man in this city brave enough to speak to me without trembling.​"You're hard on the suits, Jax," Kaelen grunted, tossing a black encrypted tablet onto the granite table in front of me. "They're gonna start voting with their shares if you keep squeezing their throats."​"Let them vote," I said, pulling the tablet toward me. "They like their dividends too much to run. What's the situation in Byron Bay?"

​Kaelen's face became serious, the easy posture vanished instantly. He straightened up, stepping closer to the table.​"MacIntyre pulled back at dawn like you ordered," Kaelen reported, his voice dropping an octave. "He made contact with Kirrily. Delivered the warning, checked the boy."​At the mention of her name, my throat  tightened on its own. Kirrily. Rindy. For four years I had kept her in my crosshairs from a distance, watching her live like a ghost in that quiet cliffside cottage, building a life out of paper, scented wax, and stolen cents. Four years of keeping my hands off her, letting her believe she was safe, letting her hate the world while I faded into darkness kept her alive.​"And?" I asked, my gray eyes locking onto the tablet screen as it booted up.

​"She didn't take the bait at first," Kaelen said softly. "She's stubborn, Jax. Just like her sister was. But Tahlia Lockyer made the call from the repository three hours ago, right on schedule. Used Evie's old cipher on the burn line. Kirrily bought a hook, line, and sinker."​I felt my jaw clench so tight my teeth ached. Tahlia Lockyer the head archivist who thought she was playing chess in my city. She thought she was using Kirrily to get her hands on the 1890 Lawson manifest. She didn't know that every move she made was executed because I allowed it.​"She’s on the regional train to Melbourne right now with the kid," Kaelen continued, pulling a satellite feed up on the main wall display. "She's coming straight to Pier 4."

​"Good," I mumbled, though a dark, painful feeling twisted in my gut. I hated that I had to bring her here. I hated that I had to drag her back into the very dirty, very aggressive hidden side of the city. But the board was rotting from the inside, and the Southern Cross Cartel was closing in. Melbourne was about to turn into where animals are killed, and the only place she would survive was under my roof, locked behind my steel gates.​"There's a complication, Jax," Kaelen interrupted my thoughts, his voice tight.​I looked up. "Speak."​Kaelen tapped the tablet, bringing up an infrared thermal sweep of the Byron Bay property taken less than twenty minutes ago by our drone relay.

​"MacIntyre wasn't the only one watching the cottage last night," Kaelen said, zooming in on two red silhouettes standing near the cliff edge behind her house. "Southern Cross scouts. Callan Vance’s men. They trailed her from the cottage to the regional train station."​A cold, deadly stillness settled over my blood. The temperature in the boardroom seemed to drop ten degrees.​"Callan Vance knows she's Evie's sister?" asked, my voice dangerously calm.​"They didn't know yesterday. They know today," Kaelen replied grimly. "Callan put a hit team on the 11:15 train out of Byron Bay. They aren't waiting for her to reach Melbourne, Jax. They're planning to take her and the boy off the cars before the train reaches the Victorian border."

​I stood up so fast my heavy leather chair slammed into the wall behind me.​"Where is the train right now?" I growled, unbuttoning my suit jacket and reaching inside my holster to check the slide on my custom Kimber .45.​"Crossing the regional bridge near Newcastle," Kaelen said, pulling out a second tactical radio. "They're moving through the mountain pass. Cell coverage is dark down there."​I didn't hesitate. I threw my suit jacket onto the table, pulling my black leather vest bearing the Iron Skull President patch over my shoulder, buckling it tight against my chest.

​"Get MacIntyre and six men on the bikes," I ordered, my eyes burning with a dark, unyielding rage that had been sleeping for four long years. "We take the helicopter to the border tracks."​"Jax, if we intercept that train in broad daylight, the police "I don't give a damn about the police!" I spoke angrily, stepping into his space, my chest heaving. "Callan Vance thinks he can lay a finger on my ghost? He thinks he can touch her boy?"

​I grabbed my keys off the granite table, my knuckles turning white as I looked at the wall monitor displaying her train's moving signal.​"I built this empire to protect her," I whispered into the quiet room, my voice laced with lethal promise. "If that train stops before I get there, I will burn this entire coast to ashes."