Chapter 6
Vance clawed at Jax’s wrist, his face turning a mottled shade of purple as the biker’s grip cut off his air supply. The other members of the Iron Skulls instantly reached for the knives and heavy chains tucked into their belts, stepping forward to back up their leader. Martha froze behind the counter, her hand hovering over the telephone, while other patrons scrambled toward the far booths to get out of the line of fire.
Jax didn't strike him. Instead, he leaned in close until his face was inches from Vance’s bulging eyes. The rage boiling inside Jax was immense, but his voice remained dangerously cold and controlled.
“You ever reach a hand toward my boy again,” Jax whispered, the words carrying clearly across the silent room, “I won’t just choke you out. I’ll leave you out in the salt flats for the vultures. Do we understand each other?”
Vance choked out a desperate, rattling wheeze, nodding frantically. Jax held him there for another agonizing second before shoving him backward. Vance stumbled over a chair, crashing hard onto the floor, coughing and gasping for air while his clubmates rushed to pull him up. Glaring with a mixture of hatred and newfound fear, Vance spat on the floor.
“You’re dead, old man,” Vance spat out hoarsely, pulling himself up with the help of his associates. “You and your little bastard. We’ll see how brave you are when you’re out on the highway tonight.”
With angry shouts and shoving shoulders, the Iron Skulls backed out of the diner, the heavy glass door slamming shut behind them with a force that rattled the frames. The tension in the room dissipated into a nervous hum, but the air remained charged with a dangerous, impending reality.
Jax stood motionless for a moment, his chest heaving slightly as he regulated his breathing. He closed his eyes, cursing himself silently. He had wanted to keep a low profile, to handle this reunion away from the violence of his past life. But violence had a way of sniffing out men like him, and now, by bringing Leo into his world, he had painted a target on the boy’s back.
Slowly, Jax turned around. Leo was sitting on the stool, his hazel eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, but he hadn't cried. He looked at Jax with an expression that wasn't fear, but absolute, unwavering awe.
“You’re strong,” Leo whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
Jax let out a long, ragged sigh, kneeling down so he was eye-level with the boy. He placed a heavy, scarred hand gently on Leo’s thin shoulder, feeling the fragile bones beneath the oversized jacket.
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“Listen to me, Leo,” Jax said, his voice urgent and raw. “That wasn’t something to admire. That’s why I left fifteen years ago. My life is full of men like Vance. If you stay with me, you’re walking right into the crosshairs.”
“I’m not going back,” Leo replied stubbornly, jutting out his small chin in a gesture that looked so much like Jax’s own reflection that it hurt. “You’re my dad. Mom said you’d protect me. And you just did.”
