Chapter 4
The heavy matte-black door of the sedan swung wide open, hitting the sun-bleached asphalt with a sharp, echoing snap. A towering man in a sharp, slate-gray suit stepped out of the vehicle, his polished leather shoes crunching aggressively against the loose gravel of the residential street. He didn't look like a standard syndicate thug; he moved with the calculated, clinical precision of a federal operative who moonlighted as an executioner. He pushed his dark aviator sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, scanning the mouth of the alley with cold, dead eyes.
"I know you're in there, Jax," the man called out, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly devoid of human warmth. It carried effortlessly across the quiet pavement, slicing through the distant rumble of the biker rally. "You can drag that kid through the dirt all you want, but you're only delaying the inevitable. Bring the ledger, and maybe—just maybe—we let the boy live to see tomorrow."
Jax felt a hot surge of fury flood his veins, pushing past the cold terror that had gripped him moments before. He shifted Leo further behind his massive frame, sliding the hunting knife firmly into his palm. His mind raced through a dozen tactical scenarios, but none of them ended well with an eight-year-old civilian caught in the crossfire.
"Stay flat against the brick, Leo," Jax whispered, not breaking eye contact with the suited man at the end of the alley. "If I tell you to run, you sprint toward that blue dumpster and don't stop until you hit the woods. Do you understand me?"
"I'm not leaving you," Leo whispered back fiercely, his hazel eyes shining with unshed tears and stubborn defiance. "Mom said you'd protect me, but she said you always try to play the hero and get yourself killed. We have to go together."
Jax couldn't help the grim, humorless chuckle that escaped his lips. The kid had his spirit, that was for damn sure.
Out in the street, the suited man took three slow, deliberate steps toward the alley, his hand resting casually inside the tailored pocket of his jacket. "Eighteen years, Jax. We looked everywhere for you. Thought you drowned your sorrows in some Mexican ditch. But you had to stick close enough to keep an eye on the boy, didn't you? Sentimentality is a fatal flaw in our line of work."
"Go to hell, Marcus," Jax growled, stepping out from the shadows of the alley wall into the blinding midday glare. He raised his left hand, deliberately sliding his sleeve up to reveal the jagged wolf tattoo on his forearm, drawing Marcus’s full attention. "If you want the ledger, you're going to have to take it off my corpse."
Marcus smiled, a cold, predatory smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "That can be arranged."
Suddenly, the deafening roar of a modified Harley-Davidson exhaust pipe ripped through the afternoon air, shattering the tense silence. Down the street, a massive, rusted chopper tore around the corner, fishtailing violently across the gravel before slamming to a halt directly between Marcus and the mouth of the alley. The rider, a grizzled old biker with a graying beard and a heavy chain wrapped around his waist, kicked his kickstand down and killed the engine.
"Trouble, brother?" the biker barked, spitting a stream of tobacco juice onto the pavement as he reached behind his back and pulled out a heavy wrench.
Marcus’s smile vanished instantly. He reached into his jacket, his fingers wrapping around the grip of a suppressed pistol. But before he could clear leather, the roar of a dozen more engines echoed down the street as a pack of bikers answered the call, swarming the intersection and trapping the black sedan from all sides.
"Get on!" Jax yelled, grabbing Leo by the collar and hauling him toward the idling chopper.
May you like
As Jax threw the boy over the seat of the rescue bike, Marcus raised his pistol and fired a deafening shot that shattered the brick wall inches from Jax's head.
Jax swung his leg over the saddle, twisted the throttle wide open, and tore down the asphalt, leaving Marcus choking on a thick cloud of burning rubber and dust. But as they raced toward the highway, Jax knew this was only the opening skirmish of a war he could no longer run from.
