Chapter 8
The hazard lights of the black sedan flashed an eerie, pulsing orange against the wet asphalt of the access road.
Jax froze in the shadows, his hand tightening around the handle of the butcher’s knife as he studied the vehicle.
No one stepped out of the car. The windows were heavily tinted, impenetrable against the glare of the highway lamps in the distance.
It was a stakeout—patient, methodical, and entirely inescapable if they tried to charge forward on the motorcycle.
Jax slowly backed into the deeper gloom beneath the concrete overpass where Leo sat huddled against the rusted construction trailer.
"Jax?" Leo whispered, his voice tight with anxiety. "What is it?"
"We've got company blocking the exit," Jax murmured, crouching down so he was at eye-level with the boy. "Listen to me very carefully, Leo. If things go sideways, I need you to run through that drainage pipe behind you. It leads out to the creek bed. Follow the water downstream, and you'll hit the Horizon Motel in twenty minutes."
Leo’s eyes widened in horror, and he fiercely shook his head, grabbing the sleeves of Jax’s oversized leather vest.
"No! I'm not leaving you!" Leo hissed, a tear finally escaping his eye and cutting a clean path through the grime on his pale cheek. "Mom said you always run away! She said you left us because you didn't want us anymore!"
The words hit Jax harder than any physical blow he had ever sustained in all his years of fighting.
He stared at the boy, seeing the deep, unhealed wound of abandonment reflected in those big hazel eyes.
"I never wanted to leave, Leo," Jax said, his voice cracking with a raw, suppressed emotion that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a decade. "I left to keep you both breathing. But I'm right here now. And I'm not going anywhere."
Before Leo could reply, the heavy thud of approaching footsteps echoed off the concrete arches beneath the overpass.
A tall man in a tailored charcoal suit—completely out of place in the muddy wasteland—stepped out of the shadows, clapping his hands together in a slow, mocking rhythm.
"Touching family reunion," the man said smoothly, his voice cold and refined, carrying a distinct aristocratic edge that contrasted sharply with the rough thugs from earlier. "Ten years on the run, Jax, and you still haven't learned how to blend in."
Jax stood up slowly, stepping in front of Leo, keeping the knife concealed behind his thigh.
"Who sent you, Vance?" Jax growled, recognizing the man instantly from the old days of the syndicate.
Vance smiled, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit, utterly unfazed by the threat of violence.
"Nobody sent me, old friend. I'm just here to collect an old debt," Vance replied, his smile fading into a chillingly deadpan expression. "And unfortunately for you, that debt includes the boy and the woman."
Vance slowly reached inside his suit jacket, his hand hovering over a shoulder holster.
"Step aside, Jax, and maybe I'll let you walk away from this one."
Jax tightened his grip on the knife, his dark eyes narrowing with deadly intent.
"You'll have to carve through me to get to them," Jax whispered.
May you like
Vance chuckled darkly, snapping his fingers.
From the darkness behind the concrete pillars, three more men stepped out, raising heavy automatic weapons and training the laser sights directly on Jax's chest.
