Chapter 6 - A Debt Unpaid “Going somewhere, old man?”
Jax spun around instinctively, his fist already cocked back, but he checked his punch just in time. Standing behind him was Miller, his old road captain from the Iron Cross days, a man Jax hadn't seen since the federal raid in Nevada ten years ago. Miller looked older, his face webbed with deep wrinkles and a thick graying beard, but his eyes were as sharp and predatory as a hunting hawk's.
Jax lowered his fist, breathing heavily as he looked past Miller back toward the dark blue sedan. But the driver’s window was already rolling up with a mechanical whir, and the car lurched forward, tires kicking up gravel as it sped out of the lot and vanished down the two-lane highway.
“You missed your window, Jax,” Miller chuckled, shaking his head. “That boy inside. Word travels fast when an eight-year-old kid walks into a biker bar asking for a ghost.”
Jax’s jaw tightened. “He ain't just some kid, Miller. He’s Clara’s boy.”
Miller’s smirk faded instantly. The old road captain let out a long, low whistle, his gaze dropping to the asphalt between them. “Clara Vance? Damn it, Jax. I thought you told me you cut all ties with that whole mess before we crossed the state line. If the Syndicate finds out he exists—let alone that he’s holding that paper trail—they won't just come after you. They’ll burn Oakhaven to the ground.”
“They already know,” Jax muttered, reaching into his vest to touch the hidden photograph. “Some suit in a sedan just laid out the terms. Walk away, or the kid ends up in a box.”
“And what did you say?” Miller asked, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“I didn't say damn thing before you showed up and played guardian angel,” Jax snapped back, though there was no real venom in his voice. He trusted Miller more than anyone alive, but right now, trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. “How did you find me here, Miller? I haven't ridden with the club in a decade.”
Miller pulled a battered pack of cigarettes from his leather jacket, tapped one out, and offered it to Jax. Jax shook his head, so Miller shoved it between his own lips and lit it with a heavy Zippo lighter.
“I didn't track you, Jax. I tracked the money,” Miller said through a cloud of blue smoke. “Someone’s been buying up old land titles around Oakhaven. Land that belongs to the Vance family. The same land where Clara’s old man used to run his chop shop before the Feds seized it in ninety-eight. If that boy is Clara’s legal heir, he owns the deed to the whole property. And whoever is in that sedan wants that land clear before the state auctions it off next month.”
Jax stared at Miller, the pieces of the puzzle violently snapping together in his mind. It wasn't just about personal history or long-lost family secrets; it was about millions of dollars in hidden assets buried under an abandoned gravel pit in Northern California.
“We need to get to Oakhaven,” Jax said, turning sharply toward the diner doors. “Before that sedan reaches the clinic.”
“Hold on,” Miller said, grabbing Jax’s heavy arm. “Look behind you.”
May you like
Jax turned back around. Pulling into the gravel lot with a screaming engine and flashing red-and-blue lights was a local county sheriff’s cruiser, its tires sliding to a halt directly blocking the exit.
---
