Chapter 4
The distant roar of motorcycles outside swelled as a fresh pack of riders blew past the diner, rattling the single-pane front windows and sending a momentary shiver through the neon 'Open' sign. Inside, the heavy atmosphere shifted abruptly. In the back booth, the two burly bikers who had been observing Jax and the boy exchanged a sharp, unspoken glance. One of them, a heavyset man with a braided gray beard and a scar splitting his left eyebrow, nudged his companion and slid out from the red vinyl seat with deliberate slowness. Heavy leather boots crunched against the worn linoleum as they began to close the distance toward the counter.
Jax didn't turn around to watch them approach, but his body coiled like a steel spring. Every muscle in his broad back tightened, his peripheral vision locking onto the reflection in the greasy front window. He knew these men. They were transient riders from a rogue chapter two states over—men who traded in stolen parts, bad whiskey, and worse secrets. They weren't part of Jax’s inner circle, but in the sprawling, lawless subculture of the rally, everybody knew everybody, and everyone smelled weakness the moment it surfaced.
"Everything okay down this end of the counter, Jax?" the scar-faced biker asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp meant to intimidate. He stopped two paces away, towering over the small form of eight-year-old Leo.
