Chapter 9 - Headlights in the Fog
The blinding glare of twin halogen headlights sliced through the swirling mountain fog across the highway, pinning Jax and Leo against the grimy brick wall of the bus depot. The distinctive, heavy roar of a custom V-twin engine echoed off the empty pavement, followed immediately by the harsh screech of rubber locking up as a heavy motorcycle slid sideways to a halt right in front of the terminal steps.
Jax instantly shoved Leo behind his back, his hand flashing down to the heavy hunting knife strapped to his belt. His muscles coiled like steel springs, ready for a violent confrontation.
The engine died, leaving only the ticking sound of cooling exhaust pipes. A tall, imposing figure stepped off the bike, the heavy leather vest adorned with the Iron Vipers insignia catching the dim amber glow of the depot’s security light. It wasn’t Vance or Silas. It was a man older than Jax, with iron-gray hair pulled back into a ragged ponytail and a deep, jagged scar running across his left cheek.
It was the Old Man—Marcus, the ruthless founder and president of the club.
Marcus didn’t draw a weapon. Instead, he slowly pulled off his heavy leather riding gloves, tucking them into his belt, and took two deliberate steps toward the stairs. His cold, calculating eyes swept over Jax before landing squarely on Leo, who peeked out nervously from behind Jax’s protective stance.
“You really thought you could just ghost the family and ride off into the sunset with a fresh start, Jax?” Marcus asked, his voice surprisingly calm, carrying that dangerous, quiet authority that had kept the club under his thumb for two decades.
“It’s over, Marcus,” Jax replied, his voice hard as iron. “I handed in my patch. I’m done with the drugs, the runs, and the violence. Leave the boy out of this. He has nothing to do with the club.”
Marcus let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head slowly. “In this life, nobody ever really leaves, Jax. You know that better than anyone. You carry our brand on your skin, and you carry our secrets in your head. And now, you’re dragging a kid into a war that’s going to consume everything you touch.”
“I’m warning you, Marcus,” Jax growled, taking a threatening step forward, his hand tightening around the hilt of his knife. “Step away from the bike.”
“Easy, boy,” Marcus warned, raising a single hand while his other slipped casually inside his vest pocket. “I didn’t come here to start a bloodbath in the middle of a bus station parking lot. Vance and Silas are hot-headed fools. They want to tear you apart piece by piece. But I’m offering you a clean exit—under one very specific condition.”
Jax narrowed his eyes, suspicious of any deal offered by a man who traded in human misery. “What condition?”
Marcus smiled, a cold, chilling expression that didn’t reach his eyes. He pulled a small, heavy manila envelope from his vest and tossed it onto the concrete steps between them.
“You take the boy, get on that bus, and ride straight out of state,” Marcus said smoothly. “Never look back, never mention our name to anyone, and leave the duffel bag of club cash you hid in your garage three years ago right where it is. We consider the debt settled.”
Jax stared down at the manila envelope, then back up at Marcus’s unblinking eyes. A cold realization washed over him. The club didn’t want him dead; they wanted their stolen money back, and they wanted him gone before the federal authorities started sniffing around the interstate network.
“The money’s gone, Marcus,” Jax said flatly. “I spent it on medical bills when the boy’s mother was sick.”
Marcus’s smile vanished instantly, his face turning into a mask of pure granite. He pulled his hand out of his vest, revealing the heavy grip of a suppressed automatic pistol.
May you like
“Then I guess we do this the hard way,” Marcus whispered, raising the barrel of the gun directly toward Leo’s chest.
---
