Chapter 6
The cold autumn wind whipped down Main Street, carrying with it the bitter scent of scorched rubber and exhaust fumes. Jax didn't flinch as Victor took another slow, deliberate step closer, his hand remaining buried inside the deep pocket of his charcoal overcoat. The memory of that Chicago warehouse—the smell of copper and gasoline, the flashing red lights of police cruisers reflecting off wet pavement, and the agonizing choice to abandon his old life—flashed behind Jax's eyes with blinding clarity.
“The ledger is gone, Victor,” Jax lied smoothly, his voice dropping an octave as he shifted his weight, preparing to lunge if the coat pocket produced a firearm. “I burned every single page the night I took the boy. You're chasing a ghost.”
Victor stopped walking, letting out a low, patronizing chuckle that lacked any real warmth. He pulled his hand halfway out of his pocket, revealing not a gun, but a heavy, gold-plated silver pocket watch—the exact same timepiece Jax’s father had hocked to pay off his first round of debts a decade ago. The sunlight glinted off the engraved casing, a direct psychological strike aimed straight at the biker’s deepest vulnerabilities.
“You always were a terrible liar, Jax,” Victor said, his smile vanishing as his eyes hardened into chips of slate. “People like us don't just burn ledgers. We hoard them like treasure maps, hoping one day we can trade them for a clean slate. But the only way you get a clean slate is six feet under. Now, where is the boy's biological father? Is the drunk finally dead, or is he still hiding in that moldy trailer waiting for you to bring home groceries?”
Leo let out a sharp gasp behind Jax, his tiny fingers clutching even tighter onto the biker's leather vest. The mention of his real father—a broken, alcoholic shadow of a man who spent his days staring at blank television screens—hit the eight-year-old like a physical blow. Jax felt a hot surge of protective rage boil up from his stomach, threatening to override his tactical patience.
“Keep his name out of your mouth,” Jax warned, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest.
“Or what? You'll punch me?” Victor mocked, taking another step forward, clearly enjoying the psychological torture. He signaled with his left hand toward the black sedan. The rear door slowly swung open, and a second heavy-set man stepped out, wearing a thick canvas jacket and holding a heavy iron tire iron casually against his thigh. The trap was closing in, and the open road was completely blocked off.
Jax’s mind raced at a thousand miles an hour. He couldn't fight two armed men in broad daylight while keeping Leo safe from crossfire. He needed a distraction, and he needed it right now. His gaze darted frantically toward the school entrance behind him, where Mrs. Gable was peeking nervously through the glass double doors, still holding her useless wooden ruler.
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Suddenly, a loud, familiar metallic clatter echoed from the alleyway beside the school. A stray alley cat knocked over a row of empty aluminum cans, creating a sharp, echoing crash that momentarily startled Victor and his accomplice.
It was all the opening Jax needed. With explosive speed, he grabbed a handful of loose gravel from the planter box and hurled it directly into Victor’s face, blinding the man momentarily, before grabbing Leo under the arms and sprinting full speed toward the side alley.
