Chapter 13
The trailer at the back of the salvage yard was buried deep inside a fortress of stacked car bodies, completely hidden from the main road. It was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of motor oil and old carpet, but it was warm and secure. Eli brought them a plate of canned stew and a jug of fresh water before leaving them alone, muttering something about checking the perimeter fence for leaks.
Leo sat at a small wobbly table in the corner of the trailer, eating the stew with a heavy metal spoon while Jax stood by the tiny window, peering out through a crack in the blinds toward the salvage yard entrance.
“Are we hiding, Jax?” Leo asked quietly, his spoon resting against the side of the bowl.
Jax turned away from the window and looked at the boy. There was no point in lying to him anymore; Leo was too smart for comforting fictions, and he had already lived through enough hard truths to handle the reality of their situation.
“Yeah, we’re hiding,” Jax admitted, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite the boy. “When I was your age—hell, even when I was twice your age—I thought being tough meant never running from anything. I thought standing your ground and swinging your fists was the only way to prove you mattered. But I was wrong, Leo. Running isn't always about cowardice. Sometimes, running is about protecting what actually matters.”
Leo tilted his head, his big hazel eyes searching Jax’s face. “Like me?”
“Like you,” Jax said softly, reaching across the table to place his massive, scarred hand gently over the boy’s small, pale fingers. It was the most affectionate gesture Jax had made in twenty years, and it felt completely natural. “You’re the only thing that matters now, kid. Everything else—the bikes, the club, the past—it’s all just scrap metal rusting in the sun.”
Suddenly, a loud, metallic crash echoed from the front of the salvage yard, followed by the angry roar of a high-compression V-twin engine revving against the dust.
Jax froze. His entire body went rigid, every instinct from his old outlaw days snapping back online with terrifying clarity. He pulled his hunting knife from its sheath with a silent, practiced motion and shoved it into his belt, standing up so fast his chair tipped over backward and hit the floor with a loud thud.
“Stay right here under the table, Leo,” Jax ordered, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding whisper that left no room for argument. “Don't make a sound, don't look out the window, and don't open this door for anyone except me. You understand?”
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Leo nodded, his face pale but remarkably steady. He immediately slid off his chair and crawled under the small wooden table, pulling the heavy canvas jacket around himself like armor.
Jax checked the clip of a heavy Colt .45 pistol he kept tucked in the small of his back—a relic he hadn't fired in a decade—and slipped out the trailer door, pulling it shut behind him with a silent, decisive click.
