Chapter 8
Jax didn't move. He absorbed the shove without flinching, his boots firmly planted on the floor. For a fleeting second, the old urge to retaliate screamed in his mind, telling him to put Dalton through the front window. But he looked back over his shoulder and saw Leo trembling, clutching the edge of the counter with white knuckles.
Violence didn't solve anything. It just bred more violence. It was the exact reason he had ruined his life, and he refused to let it contaminate the boy’s world any further.
“I’m done with the club, Dalton,” Jax said, keeping his voice steady and controlled. “You know that. I handed in my patch five years ago. Leave us alone.”
Dalton laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You don't just quit the Skulls, Jax. You know the rules. You owe us for the transport run you ditched.”
“I’ll wire the money,” Jax lied smoothly, just trying to diffuse the situation. “By tomorrow morning. Just get out of here.”
Dalton’s eyes narrowed, weighing the options. He looked at Martha, who was reaching quietly under the counter for the heavy shotgun she kept for emergencies, and then at the other customers staring uncomfortably from their booths. Recognizing that starting a full-scale riot in the middle of a crowded town during rally week was bad for business, Dalton spat on the floor.
“Tomorrow morning, Jax. Full amount, or we come looking for you. And wherever you’re hiding, we’ll find you.”
Dalton turned on his heel, signaling his partner, and the two men stomped back out the door. The roar of their engines tore through the afternoon air as they sped away down Main Street.
Inside the diner, the tension slowly drained out of the room, leaving behind an exhausted silence. Martha let out a long, shaky breath and pulled her hand away from the hidden shotgun. She walked over, setting a fresh cup of coffee down in front of Jax with a trembling hand.
“You okay, kiddo?” Martha asked gently, leaning down to look at Leo.
Leo nodded slowly, though his face was pale. He looked up at Jax with a mixture of fear and newfound awe. “You didn't hit him.”
Jax sat back down on his stool, feeling every one of his forty-eight years pressing down on his bones. He ran a hand through his messy hair, letting out a heavy sigh. “Hitting him wouldn't have fixed anything, Leo.”
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“Mom said angry men always make the loudest noise, but they don't say anything worth hearing,” Leo murmured, echoing Clara’s voice across the years.
Jax closed his eyes, a profound wave of grief and clarity washing over him. Clara had known him better than he had known himself.
