Chapter 12 - THE MOTORCYCLE REVOLT
The realization struck Mark like a physical blow, sending a surge of pure adrenaline straight through his veins.
"A fake death certificate?!" Mark shouted over the roar of the wind and rain, pulling Julian closer by his lapels.
Julian just wheezed, blood mixed with rainwater dripping down his chin as he smiled his sickening, broken smile.
"She... she bribed the coroner at midnight, Mark," Julian gasped out, his eyes wide with unhinged triumph.
"She presented the court with a signed affidavit claiming the toddler drowned during your frantic escape!"
"By now, the head vault officer has opened Box 419 for her!"
Mark threw Julian back onto the wet wooden planks with disgust, leaving his brother groaning in the rain.
"Jax!" Mark bellowed, turning toward the shadows of the shipping containers.
Jax emerged from behind a crane, wiping grease and rain from his forehead, his heavy steel chain dripping with sea spray.
The remaining tactical guards were either disarmed or lying unconscious on the dock floor.
"I heard him," Jax grunted, his raspy voice cutting through the storm. "Downtown is ten miles away."
"The morning traffic is going to be locked solid in twenty minutes."
Jax whistled sharply toward his crew, who were idling their heavy custom motorcycles near the entrance gates.
"We ride on the shoulders," Jax ordered, tossing a spare matte-black helmet straight to Mark.
"We take the bikes!"
Mark caught the helmet, strapping it tightly under his chin as he ran toward the roaring machines.
"What about Eleanor's decoy?" Jax asked, pointing toward the shivering woman cowering behind the crane.
"Leave her for the harbor police!" Mark shouted, swinging his leg over the passenger seat behind Jax.
"If my mother gets into that box, she destroys the original will and vanishes with Leo's future!"
Jax revved his heavy V-twin engine, sending a thunderous roar echoing off the corrugated metal walls.
Five other bikers pulled up alongside them, their headlights piercing through the thick grey morning fog like knives.
"Keep up, boys!" Jax roared into the wind. "We're crashing a bank!"
With a deafening chorus of exhausts, the motorcycle convoy blasted out of Pier 41, tires throwing up roostertails of rainwater.
They tore onto the highway, swerving through early morning commuter traffic at breakneck speeds.
Sirens began to wail in the distance as traffic patrol cars tried to pursue the speeding bikes, but Jax’s crew blocked the lanes, shielding Mark as they surged toward the financial district.
Mark gritted his teeth against the freezing rain stinging his face, clutching Jax's leather vest tightly.
His mind raced to his wife and child safe in the rail yard, and then to the cold, calculating eyes of his mother.
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"Hold on, Sarah," Mark thought, his chest tightening with desperate urgency.
"We are taking back what belongs to our son."
