They Hung My Mom On A Tree, Save Her!” Little Girl Begged the Mafia Boss — What He Did Next…

The Rescue at Miller’s Ridge

Harrison saw it. At the top of the ridge, outlined against the stormy sky, was a massive dead oak tree.

It looked like a skeleton hand reaching out of the earth. Beneath it, three motorcycles were parked, their headlights on, creating a cruel spotlight.

And there she was. A woman was suspended from a thick branch.

A rope was tied around her neck, pulled taut over the wood. But she wasn’t dead, not yet.

She was balancing on her tiptoes on top of a rickety wooden crate. Her hands were bound behind her back.

Three men were circling her. They were laughing, drinking beer, and taking turns kicking the dirt near the base of the crate, making it wobble.

Every time the crate moved, the woman gasped, stretching her neck to keep the rope from crushing her windpipe. It was psychological torture.

One good kick, the crate would fall, and her neck would snap.

“Animals,”

Rigs muttered from the front seat.

Harrison felt a rage he hadn’t felt in years. He was a criminal, yes, he had killed men, but he had a code.

You didn’t touch women. You didn’t touch children.

And you certainly didn’t torture people for sport.

“We go in hard and fast,”

Harrison said into his radio.

“I want them alive at first. I want them to understand what’s happening before they die.”

“Understood,”

came the reply from the second car.

Harrison looked at Molly. She had her hands over her eyes, terrified to look.

“Stay down, Molly,”

Harrison said softly.

“Cover your ears.”

The SUVs crested the hill and roared toward the tree. The bikers turned, blinded by the sudden eruption of high beams that Harrison ordered back on.

They scrambled for the shotguns strapped to their bikes, but they were too slow. The Escalade didn’t stop.

The driver rammed the lead motorcycle, sending it flying into the darkness. The car skidded to a halt mere feet from the hanging woman.

Harrison kicked his door open before the wheels stopped rolling. He stepped out into the mud, his gun raised.

“Don’t move!”

he roared.

One of the bikers, a bearded giant with a scar running down his face, raised a sawed-off shotgun. Harrison fired once.

The bullet took the man in the right kneecap. He screamed and collapsed into the mud.

The other two men raised their hands, freezing as Rigs and three other security personnel surrounded them with assault rifles leveled at their chests.

Harrison didn’t look at the men. He looked up at the woman.

She was beautiful, even in this state. Her long dark hair was plastered to her face.

Her dress was torn and her legs were bruised. She was weeping silently.

Her eyes rolled back in terror, her toes barely gripping the edge of the crate.

“Steady!”

Harrison yelled to her.

“Don’t move. I’ve got you.”

He holstered his gun and sprinted to the crate. He wrapped his arms around her legs, taking her weight.

“Rigs, cut her down.”

Rigs climbed onto the hood of the Escalade, pulled a combat knife, and slashed the rope. Harrison caught her as she fell.

She was heavy, dead weight in his arms. She collapsed against his chest, gasping for air, coughing violently as oxygen rushed back into her bruised throat.

“Molly,”

she rasped, her voice a broken whisper.

“Molly, she’s safe,”

Harrison said, holding her tight.

“She’s in the car. You’re safe.”

He looked down at her. Her eyes met his.

They were a striking, unusual shade of violet-blue. Even filled with pain, they held a fierce intelligence.

She grabbed his lapels, her knuckles white.

“They wanted the ledger,”

she coughed.

“We’ll talk later,”

Harrison said.

He lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal-style toward the car. As he walked past the bikers, who were now kneeling in the mud with guns pressed to the backs of their heads, Harrison stopped.

The leader, the one with the shattered knee, looked up.

“Do you know who we are?”

he spat, trying to be tough.

“We’re with the Reapers. You touch us and the whole city burns.”

Harrison looked down at him with eyes as cold as the grave.

“The city is already mine. You’re just trespassing.”

He turned to Rigs.

“Load the woman and the girl. Burn the bikes.”

“And the men?”

Rigs asked.

Harrison looked at the rope still dangling from the tree.

“They like that tree so much. Leave them tied to it naked. If they survive the cold until morning, the police can have them. If not, nature has a way of cleaning up trash.”

The Accountant’s Secret

Harrison got into the back seat with the woman. Molly screamed,

“Mommy!”

and scrambled over the console.

The reunion was heartbreaking. The woman, whose name Harrison would learn was Ila, wept uncontrollably as she clutched her daughter.

Molly buried her face in her mother’s neck, wailing. Harrison watched them, feeling like an intruder in his own car.

He poured a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter in the center armrest and offered it to Ila.

“Drink,”

he said gently.

“It will help with the shock.”

Ila looked at him. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t hold the glass.

Harrison held it to her lips. She took a sip, coughed, and then took a larger swallow.

“Who are you?”

she asked, her voice raspy.

“I’m the man who answered the door,”

Harrison said.

“My name is Harrison Blackwood.”

Ila’s eyes widened. She knew the name.

Everyone in Seattle knew the name.

“Blackwood,”

she whispered.

“The mafia?”

“The term is outdated,”

Harrison said smoothly.

“But yes. Why did you save us?”

she asked, pulling Molly closer.

“Your daughter has a very loud voice,”

Harrison said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“And I don’t like bullies.”

He leaned forward.

“But you said something back there. You said they wanted the ledger. What ledger?”

Ila froze. The fear returned to her eyes, sharper this time.

She looked out the window at the passing city lights.

“If I tell you,”

she whispered,

“you’ll probably kill me too.”

“Try me,”

Harrison said.

“My husband,”

Ila began, her voice trembling.

“My late husband was an accountant. Not a normal accountant. He worked for the cartel, specifically for a man named Victor Krell.”

Harrison stiffened. Victor Krell was his biggest rival, a man who dealt in human trafficking and heavy weaponry.

A man Harrison had been trying to dismantle for three years.

“My husband stole ten million dollars from Krell,”

Ila continued.

“But he didn’t just steal the money. He stole the book, the list of every cop, judge, and politician on Krell’s payroll. He hid it before they killed him.”

Harrison’s heart hammered against his ribs. That ledger was the key to the city.

It was the nuclear option. With that book, Harrison could wipe out his competition and own the police force overnight.

“And do you have it?”

Harrison asked, his voice intense.

Ila hesitated. She looked at Molly, then back at Harrison.

“I know where it is, but I’m not giving it to you for free.”

Harrison respected that. She was leverage and she knew it.

“What do you want?”

“Protection,”

Ila said.

“Real protection. Not just for tonight, for life. For me and Molly. I want a new identity, a house where they can’t find us, and enough money to disappear.”

Harrison looked at her. He saw the bruises on her neck, the mud on her dress, and the fire in her eyes.

“Deal,”

Harrison said.

“But until we get that book, you stay with me at my estate where I can see you.”

Ila nodded slowly.

“Fine.”

Harrison tapped the glass partition.

“Take us home. Call the doctor. Tell him to meet us at the gate.”

As the car sped toward Harrison’s fortified estate on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, he realized his life had just become infinitely more complicated.

He had a war coming with Victor Krell, a beautiful widow with a golden ticket in her head, and a six-year-old girl sleeping in his tuxedo jacket.

He looked at Ila, who had closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over.

He felt a strange urge to reach out and brush a wet strand of hair from her face, but he stopped himself.

He was a monster. Monsters didn’t get the girl; they just guarded the tower.

But as they pulled through the massive iron gates of Blackwood Manor, Harrison made a silent vow.

No one would ever put a rope around her neck again. Anyone who tried would have to go through him.

And Harrison Blackwood was not a tree. He was the forest fire.