Chapter 12 - The Window to the West
The muted voice of Sheriff Miller booming through the front door echoed down the narrow hallway, muffled by Ray’s defensive interjections.
“I told you, Sheriff, it’s a misunderstanding! Just some old business to clear up, nobody’s in danger here!” Ray’s voice sounded tight, strained with the desperate effort of a man trying to hold back a tidal wave with a wooden broom.
Jax didn't hesitate. He grabbed Billy’s small, cold hand in his massive, scarred grip and pulled the boy down the short corridor toward the rear of the house. At the end of the hall was the small, utilitarian bathroom with a frosted glass window overlooking the overgrown backyard and the sprawling fields of dry corn stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
The emergency lights from the sheriff’s cruiser out front cast erratic red and blue reflections against the hallway wallpaper, but the back of the house remained cloaked in deep, protective shadows. Jax pushed the bathroom door open, set the duffel bag down on the linoleum floor, and shoved the window upward. It jammed halfway with a harsh screech of rusted aluminum, but with a sharp, controlled heave of his muscular forearm, Jax forced the frame all the way open, letting in a rush of warm, dry prairie air scented with dust and wild grass.
“Can we fit?” Billy whispered, his hazel eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wild, unadulterated excitement. He looked less like a terrified child and more like a young outlaw preparing for his first big escape.
“We’ll make it fit,” Jax replied grimly, hoisting the canvas duffel bag through the opening first and dropping it quietly onto the soft dirt outside.
He turned back to the boy, kneeling down and scooping Billy up under the arms as if he weighed no more than a feather. With a smooth, practiced motion, Jax lifted him up and pushed him gently through the open window frame, catching him securely as the boy’s scuffed sneakers found purchase on the wooden deck below.
“Stay low against the side of the house,” Jax instructed in a low whisper, pulling himself up onto the porcelain edge of the bathtub and squeezing his broad shoulders and tattooed arms through the narrow opening.
As he dropped down onto the grass beside Billy, the distant sound of the front door swinging wide open echoed through the house, followed by Sheriff Miller’s booming shout: “Ray, I’m coming in! Step aside!”
“Run,” Jax murmured, grabbing Billy’s hand once more.
They darted across the overgrown backyard like two shadows, keeping low beneath the line of overgrown lilac bushes that separated Ray’s property from the abandoned railway tracks running parallel to County Road 4. The gravel crunched softly under their shoes, but the roaring wind rustling through the dry cornstalks effectively masked their escape.
Fifty yards down the tracks, partially hidden behind a rusted-out grain silo, Stone and the rest of the Midnight Serpents sat astride their idling choppers, engines rumbling with a low, patient vibration. When Stone saw Jax and the small boy emerge from the tall grass, he revved his throttle twice, signaling that the escape route was clear.
Jax hauled Billy up onto the heavy leather passenger seat behind Stone’s saddle, securing the boy’s small arms tightly around the massive biker’s waist with a heavy canvas strap.
“Hold on to him and don't look back,” Jax commanded Stone over the roar of the exhaust.
“Where to, captain?” Stone yelled back, his scarred face expressionless as he checked his mirrors.
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Jax swung his leg over his own chopper, kicked the starter pedal with a vicious downward thrust, and watched the engine roar to life with a deafening, beautiful thunder. He pulled his tinted riding glasses down over his eyes, feeling the cold, famili
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