Chapter 10
The alley behind the Rusty Spur was narrow, flanked by rusted corrugated metal dumpsters and flickering security lights that buzzed with an irritating electrical hum. Parked near the back loading bay sat Jax’s machine—a massive, matte-black custom cruiser with chrome pipes that gleamed dully under the amber glow of the security bulbs. The heavy V-twin engine radiated residual heat into the damp evening air, ticking softly as the metal cooled down from the long afternoon ride.
Jax strode down the gravel incline with purposeful strides, keeping Leo close beside him under the protective shelter of his massive frame. As they reached the motorcycle, Jax pulled a spare pair of heavy leather riding gloves from his pocket, kneeling down to fit them onto the boy’s small hands. The leather fingers swallowed Leo’s hands, folding over several times at the wrists, but they provided a solid, substantial barrier against the cold wind and the abrasive texture of the open road.
"Keep your hands gloved, and when we get moving, wrap your arms right around my waist, underneath the vest," Jax instructed, his voice rising slightly to compete with the distant, chaotic roar of the main street rally. "If you feel tired or cold, just squeeze twice. I'll know."
Leo nodded firmly inside the oversized helmet, his hazel eyes reflecting the amber security light. He stepped onto the heavy metal footpeg with surprising agility for an eight-year-old, hoisting himself up onto the broad passenger pillion behind the driver's seat. True to his word, he slid his arms forward, burying his gloved fists deep beneath Jax’s leather vest, anchoring himself securely against the biker’s powerful back.
Just as Jax threw his leg over the saddle and reached for the ignition switch, the heavy metal door at the end of the alley slammed open. Footsteps crunched heavily across the loose gravel.
"Hey! Jax!" a harsh voice echoed down the narrow corridor.
Jax paused, his hand hovering over the key. He didn't need to turn around to recognize Vance’s abrasive cadence. Two bulky figures emerged from the shadows near the back loading dock, cutting off the clear exit route toward the main road. Vance had a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a malicious grin plastered across his scarred face.
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"Running off without saying goodbye to the club, brother?" Vance called out, taking a slow, rolling step forward. His eyes locked onto the small, helmeted figure clinging tightly to Jax’s back. "And bringing a stowaway for the ride? Management’s definitely going to have words about you smuggling runaways across county lines. Hand over the kid, Jax, and maybe we won't make a scene before you hit the highway."
Jax’s jaw tightened into a rigid line of pure steel. The shadows of his past were literally standing in the alley, trying to drag him back into the cycle of violence and isolation he had spent a lifetime escaping. But this time, he wasn't running alone.
