Chapter 4: A Debt Unpaid
Jax stood up slowly, the leather of his vest settling against his broad frame with a soft sigh. He didn't look like a customer finishing a cup of coffee; he looked like a commanding officer assessing a perimeter before a night raid. The movement was enough to make the two civilian patrons sitting near the jukebox glance up nervously and quickly pay their tab, leaving a scattering of damp bills on the laminate table before hurrying out into the gray afternoon.
""Clara,"" Jax called out, his voice cutting across the diner with effortless authority.
The waitress flinched, the towel slipping from her fingers to land softly on the counter. She did not approach immediately. She wiped her hands on her blue apron, taking a deep, shuddering breath that visibly lifted her shoulders, before walking slowly out from behind the counter. Her steps were measured, carrying the defensive posture of someone who had spent years guarding her flanks. She stopped a few feet away from the end of the table, her hazel eyes—so remarkably like Leo’s—flitting briefly to the spilled coins and the patch in Jax’s hand.
""You're Jax,"" she said, her voice raspy, carrying the dry rattle of someone who spoke too seldom and worried too much. ""Ray had your picture in the back of his tool chest. Taken down in Corpus Christi. You haven't aged well.""
A faint, humorless ghost of a smile touched the corner of Jax’s mouth. ""The road takes its toll on the paint, Clara. But it looks like it’s been taking a much heavier toll here.""
""Ray’s been gone six months,"" Clara said quietly, her chin lifting slightly. ""Not just 'gone' like he walked out the door for cigarettes. Gone under the dirt in an unmarked plot three towns over because his heart gave out under a truck chassis he was trying to fix in the rain. He left me the house, two broken wrenches, and a ledger full of names that make your old club look like a Sunday school picnic.""
Leo moved to stand beside his mother, sliding his small hand into the pocket of her blue apron. Clara looked down, her fingers instantly closing around her son's small hand, squeezing with a fierce, protective pressure that turned her knuckles white.
""The men coming to the house,"" Jax said, taking a half-step forward. ""They aren't bill collectors, are they?""
Clara let out a harsh, dry laugh that had no humor in it. ""Bill collectors leave when you show them an empty bank account. These men want the ledger back. They say Ray kept records of every crooked title, every laundered dollar, and every vehicle that came through his shop with a scraped VIN number. They think I have it hidden in the floorboards.""
May you like
""Do you?"" Diesel asked from down the table, his voice low and flat.
Clara turned her gaze to Diesel, her eyes flashing with sudden, sharp anger. ""If I had it, mister, I wouldn't be working twelve-hour shifts scrubbing grease off Formica just to keep the lights on. We'd have been gone to Canada a year ago.""
