The Biker In The Princess Gown And The Dying Brother’s Promise
CHAPTER 4: THE FIRE AT GREENBRIER
“Form the line at the bridge!” Dutch roared, his voice cutting through the roar of the fire like a battlefield command.
Dutch swept his pink tulle skirt upward, tucking the hem securely into his heavy leather belt to free his combat boots. He reached into the hall gun cabinet, pulled out a twelve-gauge tactical breaching shotgun, and handed it to Preacher, while grabbing two commercial dry-chemical fire extinguishers from the kitchen wall.
“Tank! Take four brothers to the spring box!” Dutch barked. “Hook the gas-powered irrigation pump to the cabin sprinkler line! Keep the roof wet so the cedar shakes don’t catch the embers! Bear, cover the rear timberline!”
The heat radiating from the burning barn was intense, a roaring vortex of twenty-foot orange flames consuming the antique cedar beams and sending a shower of burning sparks into the afternoon sky.
Racing across the wooden footbridge spanning the creek, the two heavy yellow bulldozers lowered their six-foot steel blades, aiming straight for the historic log cabin!
Behind the bulldozers came Julian Sterling’s armed enforcers, wearing tactical masks and shouting obscenities as they opened fire with high-velocity semi-automatic rifles into the trees!
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
Rifle rounds splintered the porch railing, throwing clouds of pine bark across the lawn.
“They’re trying to burn the cabin to destroy the safe!” Preacher shouted, returning fire with non-lethal heavy beanbag rounds that shattered the lead bulldozer’s safety glass, forcing the driver to duck behind the steel dash.
Dutch didn’t wait for the bulldozers to cross the creek.
In full pink ballgown regalia, his black leather vest catching the glare of the flames, the three-hundred-pound giant sprinted down the lawn with the unstoppable momentum of a freight train.
He reached the wooden timber bridge five yards ahead of the lead bulldozer.
Mounted on the bridge abutment was a heavy sixty-foot steel logging winch cable tied to a massive two-hundred-year-old white oak tree. Dutch grabbed the heavy forged steel grab-hook, leaped onto the tracks of the advancing bulldozer, and jammed the hook directly into the machine’s primary drive sprocket!
The heavy steel cable snapped tight with a deafening metallic GROAN.
The bulldozer’s fifty-horsepower diesel engine screamed in agony as the drive tracks locked solid. The massive thirty-ton machine shuddered, tilted sideways, and stalled dead in the center of the bridge, completely blocking the second bulldozer from crossing the creek!
The contractor driving the stalled machine kicked his cab door open, raising a nine-millimeter pistol.
Dutch grabbed the man by the collar of his denim jacket, hauled him out of the cab with one arm, and hurled him ten feet into the freezing, waist-deep rapids of the mountain creek below!
From the pasture fence, an enforcer armed with a hunting rifle leveled his barrel directly at Dutch’s chest!
BANG!
The rifle round tore through the left sleeve of Dutch’s pink satin corset, grazing his tattooed bicep with a sear of white-hot fire, before burying itself in the wooden bridge post behind him.
Dutch didn’t even flinch. He ripped the fire extinguisher from his belt, pulled the safety pin, and blasted a blinding, fifty-foot jet of pressurized sodium bicarbonate directly into the shooter’s face!
The enforcer screamed, dropping his rifle as the white chemical powder blinded him, stumbling into the briars where Bear tackled him to the ground, pinning him with a heavy boot to his spine.
Seeing their heavy equipment disabled and three of their men disarmed in less than two minutes, the remaining arsonists broke into a panicked rout, scrambling back into their pickup trucks and speeding down the mountain road in full retreat.
Tank engaged the irrigation pump, and a steady, drenching curtain of cold spring water cascaded across the roof of the log cabin, extinguishing the falling embers and saving the historic homestead from destruction.
The fire in the barn was contained to the hayloft, the stone foundations holding firm.
Dutch walked back up the porch steps, his pink gown scorched with soot, his left bicep bleeding from a minor flesh graze, but his slate-gray eyes blazing with cold, righteous triumph.
Eleanor stepped out onto the porch, carrying a clean white tea towel and a bottle of iodine. She looked at the torn pink satin on his shoulder, tears glistening in her eyes as she gently wiped the blood from his bicep.
“You took a bullet for Ray’s cabin, Dutch,” Eleanor whispered softly.
Dutch smiled, his deep baritone rumbling with tender affection. “A little scratch on the dress won’t stop this prom, Eleanor.”
Preacher ran up the steps, holding his field tablet, his single eye wide with urgent dread.
“Dutch! Sterling’s lawyer just filed an emergency motion at the Sevier County Courthouse!” Preacher yelled. “The probate docket closes at 1:00 PM today! That’s forty minutes from now! If we don’t present this trust before the judge signs the default decree, the state officially transfers legal ownership to Sterling’s corporate fund!
Bear and Tank dragged the two captured arsonists to the front porch steps, binding their wrists with heavy zip-ties. “These two cowards are private contractors hired by Sterling’s development shell company, Dutch. We found the commercial accelerant drums and an emergency work order in their truck cab marked with Sterling’s direct corporate seal. They had orders to burn the cabin to the ground before noon so the estate would be classified as an abandoned total loss under county emergency statutes.”
Dutch stood over the bound men, his pink satin gown scorched by embers, his slate-gray eyes boring into their faces with terrifying coldness. “You took twenty pieces of silver to burn a widow’s home while her husband lies in a mortuary. You’re going to tell the state fire marshal every word Sterling spoke to you, or I will let these twenty brothers introduce you to mountain justice.”
