Chapter 4: The Kitchen Escape
Leo didn't hesitate. Years of moving from place to place, of learning to read the subtle shifts in dangerous men's body language, had taught him how to survive.
He darted past the swinging kitchen doors just as the second biker lunged forward with the iron pipe, aiming a brutal blow at Jax's head.
Jax ducked beneath the arc of the swing, driving a devastating right hook straight into the man's ribs with a sickening crunch.
The man collapsed against the counter, gasping for air as Martha cowered in the corner, clutching a wooden rolling pin she had managed to grab.
Reaper scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his split lip, his eyes wild with fury.
"Kill him! Kill him and burn the place down!" Reaper roared to the third biker, who had remained standing near the entrance, pulling a heavy-duty chain from beneath his jacket.
Jax backed slowly toward the kitchen doors, keeping his eyes locked on his attackers.
He knew he couldn't afford a protracted fight; every second wasted here brought whoever was hunting Sarah closer to her motel room.
With a swift kick, Jax sent a heavy metal trash can sliding across the slick floor, tripping the third biker and sending him crashing into a rack of glass mugs.
Without waiting to see if they got back up, Jax threw his weight against the swinging doors, bursting into the warm, grease-slicked sanctuary of the diner kitchen.
The kitchen was empty, save for a terrified prep cook hiding behind a stainless-steel prep table.
"Where's the boy?" Jax barked, grabbing a heavy butcher's knife off the magnetic strip on the wall, testing its balance before sliding it into his belt.
"Out... out the delivery exit!" the cook stammered, pointing a trembling finger toward the back alley.
Jax threw open the heavy metal back door, stepping out into the cool evening air just as the first heavy raindrops began to pelt the asphalt.
The alleyway was dark, illuminated only by the flickering neon sign of the diner casting long, eerie red shadows across the puddles.
"Leo!" Jax called out, his voice cutting through the rising wind.
A small form detached itself from the shadows beside a row of overflowing green dumpsters.
Leo emerged, clutching the faded photograph tightly to his chest, his breathing ragged.
"I'm here," Leo whispered, shivering in his thin, old jacket.
Jax strode over, dropping to one knee so he was eye-level with the boy, ignoring the mud soaking into the knees of his jeans.
"You okay? Did they touch you?" Jax asked, his large hands gently gripping Leo's shoulders, searching for any hidden injuries.
"I'm fine," Leo said, his lower lip trembling slightly despite his brave front. "We have to go. They're coming for her, Jax. I heard them talking on the radio."
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Jax froze, his blood running cold.
"Radio?" Jax repeated sharply. "Who was on the radio, Leo?"
