Chapter 10 - The Ambush at Route 9
The diner on Route 9 sat beneath a sputtering neon sign that buzzed incessantly in the damp, freezing fog. Inside, the smell of burnt coffee and cheap grease hung thick in the air.
At a corner booth near the emergency exit, Richard Vance sat fidgeting with a packet of artificial sweetener, tearing the corner open and pouring the white powder onto the table in nervous little mounds. Across from him, Evelyn kept her fur-trimmed coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her eyes darting toward the front door every time a semi-truck rumbled past on the highway.
"He's late," Richard muttered, checking his cheap watch for the tenth time. "He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. If Nora leaves for her shift early, we blow the whole window."
"Calm down, Richard," Evelyn hissed under her breath, though her fingers were digging into her imitation leather purse. "Caleb knows what he's doing. Once he has the brat, Nora won't have a choice. She'll sign the quitclaim deed to save her precious little bastard, and we'll have the house back in our names before the new year."
"And what if Caleb hurts the kid, Mom?" Richard whispered, a sudden spasm of cowardice flickering across his features. "What if he takes her across state lines and doesn't give her back?"
"Then Nora deals with the consequences of her own choices," Evelyn replied coldly, not a trace of maternal warmth left in her voice. "She chose to cut us off. She chose to humiliate me on my own porch. If she loses her daughter, she has no one to blame but herself."
The diner's brass bell chimed above the entrance.
Richard looked up, expecting to see Caleb’s lanky frame and swaggering stride.
Instead, three men walked through the doors.
None of them were Caleb.
The man in the lead was tall, weathered, with an iron-gray beard and a heavy leather cut showing the president’s patch of the Iron Horsemen. Behind him walked two massive enforcers, their eyes scanning the diner with practiced, dead efficiency.
Jax walked straight to the corner booth and slid into the vinyl seat next to Richard, pinning the younger man against the wall. The two enforcers stood at the end of the table, blocking the aisle.
Evelyn gasped, pulling her purse to her chest. "Excuse me! This is a private table! Who do you think—"
Jax placed a heavy, scarred hand flat on the table, crushing Richard’s little mounds of sweetener into the Formica.
"Shut your mouth, Evelyn," Jax said, his voice dropping into a register so menacing the waitress at the counter immediately turned around and ducked into the kitchen.
Richard began to tremble violently, his knees knocking against the underside of the table. "Look, man, we don't want any trouble. We're waiting for Caleb—"
"Caleb isn't coming," Jax interrupted.
Evelyn's face twisted into an ugly grimace. "What do you mean he isn't coming? We had an agreement! He was supposed to take care of Nora's child!"
Jax slowly reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a battered silver flip phone, tossing it onto the table between them. The screen was cracked and splattered with dark, half-dried crimson droplets.
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"Caleb had an unexpected meeting with the club's disciplinary committee twenty minutes ago out behind the gravel pit," Jax said smoothly. "His phone kept ringing with your calls, Evelyn. So I figured I'd come deliver his answer in person."
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