Chapter 7: The Journey to the Outskirts
The motorcycle roared to life with a deep, concussive rumble that rattled the loose gravel beneath their tires. Jax straddled the heavy machine, his boots resting firmly on the pavement as he adjusted the mirrors. He looked back at Leo, who was standing beside the rear wheel, clutching the oversized leather jacket around his chest to keep the chilly night air from slipping through.
“Get on behind me, kid,” Jax instructed, patting the leather passenger seat behind him. “Hold on tight to my waist, wrap your arms all the way around, and don't let go no matter how bumpy the road gets. Understand?”
Leo nodded seriously, stepping up onto the footpeg and clambering awkwardly onto the broad seat behind Jax. His small arms wrapped around the biker’s thick waist, his hands locking together tightly against the heavy leather vest where Sarah’s note rested safely in the pocket. Jax felt the sudden, grounding weight of the boy pressing against his back—a tangible reminder that he was no longer riding alone, and that every twist of the throttle now carried a profound responsibility.
Jax eased the clutch out, and the heavy chopper glided away from the curb, slipping quietly down the dim side streets away from the neon glow of the diner and the noisy crowds of the rally. They kept their speed low, avoiding the main drag where the majority of the club members were gathered outside the local bars. The cool night wind rushed past them, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and distant exhaust fumes as they headed toward the quiet outskirts of the small town.
The ride was tense. Every time a pair of headlights swept across the pavement ahead, Jax’s heart tightened in his chest. He took a labyrinth of forgotten back roads and gravel service tracks that wound through the thick woods surrounding the town, routes he had mapped out years ago when he wanted to disappear from the world.
After twenty minutes of winding through the dark, tree-lined highway, the streetlights completely vanished, replaced only by the piercing beam of Jax’s headlight cutting through the pitch-black darkness. Ahead of them, nestled off the shoulder of the road behind a rusted chain-link fence, sat Eli’s auto repair shop. The building was dark, save for a single amber work light glowing through the grimy window of the corrugated metal garage door.
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Jax guided the motorcycle off the paved road, crunching quietly over the gravel driveway toward the side of the building. He cut the engine, and the sudden silence of the woods rushed in around them, broken only by the loud, rhythmic ticking of the cooling exhaust pipes.
“We’re here, Leo,” Jax said softly, swinging his leg over the seat and planting his boots on the ground. He turned and helped the boy slide off the heavy machine, checking to make sure Leo was steady on his feet before walking toward the side door of the dimly lit workshop.
