Chapter 12
The motorcycles ground to a halt fifty yards down the road, their engines dying with a series of loud, metallic ticks as the hot metal cooled in the freezing night air. Four distinct silhouettes dismounted, their heavy boots crunching loudly on the gravel. Even in the gloom, Jax recognized the bulky, leaning posture of Vance, flanked by three of his most volatile clubmates, all carrying heavy iron chains and crude wooden clubs.
“Jax!” Vance’s voice bellowed out into the quiet desert night, dripping with malice and cheap whiskey. “We know you’re in there, old man! You think you can choke me out in front of my brothers and just hide in the dirt like a rat?”
Jax remained entirely motionless in the shadows beside the auto parts, his finger resting lightly on the trigger guard of the Remington shotgun. He didn't call back. Every second Vance spent shouting into the empty air was a second the brutes wasted their energy and grew more reckless.
“Come on out!” another voice yelled, a younger, shriller tone belonging to a punk named Skeeter. “We’re gonna burn this little shack to the ground, with you and your rat-faced kid inside it!”
At the mention of Leo, something inside Jax snapped. The calculated, cold patience he had maintained vanished, replaced by a dark, feral rage. He stepped out from the shadows, his massive frame blocking the moonlight, the long barrel of the shotgun gleaming dully in his grip.
“You’re trespassing, Vance,” Jax’s voice cut through the desert silence like a razor, calm, steady, and terrifyingly cold. “And you brought your mouth where it doesn't belong.”
Vance and his men spun around, raising their weapons as they caught sight of Jax standing alone in the open space between the workshop and the cabin. Vance let out a harsh, nervous laugh, stepping forward with a heavy iron chain dangling from his right hand.
“Look who decided to join the party,” Vance sneered, spreading his arms wide. “Where’s your little bastard, Jax? Is he hiding under the bed wetting his pants? We’re gonna teach you both a lesson about respect tonight.”
“You take one step closer to that cabin,” Jax said, raising the shotgun until the twin barrels were pointed directly at Vance’s chest, “and I’ll blow your heart out through your back. Try me.”
May you like
The two other bikers flanking Vance hesitated, taking a half-step backward as they looked down the barrel of the loaded weapon. But Vance was too drunk, too driven by wounded pride and public humiliation at the diner, to calculate the danger.
“He’s bluffing!” Vance roared, taking a lunge forward. “Take him down!”
