The Black Wolf Tag: A Disgraced Veteran Forced to Kneel by His Traitorous Best Friend Facing $4 Million Land Extortion and Devastating Tragedy
The lodge air crackled with a new, dangerous silence. Julian Lawson stood frozen, his foot still hovering where he’d kicked my fractured spine.
Damon Cross’s heavily armed mercenary staff, moments ago pointed at me, had shifted their assault rifles. The cold muzzles now aimed directly at Julian’s head, and then Damon’s.
It was the Black Wolf protocol. My tag, silver and engraved with the stylized wolf head, lay on the polished floor. It had spoken a language only these men understood.
“Stand down,” I rasped, my voice rough from pain and disuse. My gaze swept across the room. “Perimeter lockdown.”
One of the men, a lean figure with a scar bisecting his eyebrow, nodded curtly. “Copy that, Lawson.”
He spoke into a discreet comms unit. “Perimeter lockdown. Code Black Wolf. No egress, no ingress.”
Damon’s face went from smug to a mask of pure disbelief, then to rage. “What are you doing? I pay you!”
“The code is older than your cash, Damon,” I said, pushing myself up with a grunt. Pain flared through my back, but I ignored it.
“He’s giving orders,” Julian whined, looking terrified. “He’s just an old operative.”
“Quiet, Julian,” I commanded, my eyes on Damon. “Your encrypted hard drives. Where are they?”
Damon laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. “You think these grunts will help you steal from me? You’re delusional, Jack.”
“They’re not stealing. They’re following protocol,” I countered. “The same protocol you pledged to uphold.”
“I never pledged anything to a bankrupt drunk,” Damon spat.
The scar-faced merc stepped closer to Damon, the barrel of his rifle pressing lightly against Damon’s chest. “Watch your mouth, civilian.”
Damon’s bravado faltered. His eyes flickered to the merc, then back to me.
“Top floor,” he snarled. “The master suite. Locked vault.”
“The codes?” I asked.
He hesitated, then saw the determination in my eyes, and the unwavering stance of his own men.
“They’re biometric,” he said, grudgingly. “My fingerprint. And Julian’s.”
I felt a surge of grim satisfaction. “Get him to the vault. Both of them.”
The mercenaries moved with practiced efficiency. They grabbed Damon and Julian, their movements fluid and decisive. Julian struggled, but a merc clamped a hand over his mouth.
“And secure all external communications,” I added. “No calls in or out. No exceptions.”
The scar-faced merc gave another nod. “Understood, Lawson.”
He gestured to two of his men. “You two, with Lawson. Ensure the integrity of the data.”
I watched them march Damon and Julian out of the room. The lodge, which moments ago felt like my prison, was now a staging ground. The tables had turned, not by my hand, but by a hidden code that still held sway.
It wasn’t a victory. It was merely the start of a new, even more dangerous fight.
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