Chapter 5
The drive to Red Creek Storage took forty-five minutes on the back highways, away from the tourist traps and the interstate motels. Jax rode his shovelhead at a steady, deliberate pace, keeping the heavy machine in a high gear so the engine thrummed deep in the chassis. Leo rode behind him, his small arms wrapped tightly around Jax’s thick waist, his cheek pressed firmly against the leather of the vest. For the first time in nearly a decade, Jax felt the physical weight of another human being depending entirely on his balance and his control of the road. It was an uncomfortable, terrifying sensation, like wearing a tailored suit made of broken glass.
They pulled up in front of a row of rusted corrugated metal lockers tucked behind an abandoned auto-repair shop. The property was enclosed by a chain-link fence topped with sagging barbed wire, the gate hanging half-off its hinges. The wind whistled through the empty corridors between the units, blowing dried tumbleweeds against the metal doors.
Jax cut the engine, the sudden silence ringing in their ears as the hot metal of the exhaust began to tick and cool in the dry air. He kicked down the stand, swung his heavy leg over the saddle, and pulled a heavy iron ring of keys from his belt loop.
“Stay here by the bike, Leo,” Jax instructed, his voice flat and authoritative as he scanned the perimeter for any sign of movement. The old auto shop was dead silent, abandoned years ago when the county water table went dry.
“I'm coming with you,” Leo said, already stepping past the front tire. “Momma said I had to see it open with my own eyes so I’d know it wasn't a trick.”
Jax looked down at the boy, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw—a trait inherited directly from a bloodline that refused to bend even when it was breaking. With a short, resigned sigh, Jax nodded once. “Fine. But stay behind me. Don't touch nothin’ until I tell you.”
They walked down the gravel aisle until they reached Unit 42. The padlock hanging from the hasp was coated in a thick layer of orange rust, the metal pitted by years of desert heat and freezing winter nights. Jax pulled a small can of penetrating oil from his back pocket, sprayed the mechanism, and waited thirty seconds before sliding a heavy skeleton key into the cylinder. With a sharp twist and a loud, echoing snap of cracking rust, the lock gave way.
Jax pulled the heavy metal door upward. It groaned loudly on its dry tracks, throwing a harsh, screeching echo across the empty yard. As the door rose past waist height, a thick cloud of dust billowed out into the sunlight, carrying the scent of old paper, mothballs, and dried motor oil.
Leo ducked underneath Jax’s arm before the older man could stop him, stepping directly into the dark, cool interior of the locker. The unit was small, packed tight with plastic storage bins, stacked tires, and a battered wooden workbench covered in tools that hadn't been touched in years.
“Look,” Leo whispered, pointing a trembling finger toward a stack of cardboard boxes shoved deep into the rear corner behind an old transmission housing. “That's the box Momma talked about. The one with the blue ribbon.”
May you like
Jax stepped into the shadows, his heavy boots crunching on the grit covering the concrete floor. He reached past the transmission, ignoring the greasy grime that smeared across his leather sleeve, and pulled the cardboard box out into the pale light filtering through the open doorway. The cardboard was damp, soft at the corners, tied shut with a length of faded blue fabric that matched the blanket from the old photograph.
Jax knelt down on one knee, his large, scarred hands working carefully at the knot. Leo knelt right beside him, holding his breath as the lid finally came loose, revealing the contents hidden away from the world for six long years.
