Chapter 9
The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the dusty street outside the diner. The Sturgis traffic had thinned out, leaving an eerie, quiet calm in its wake. Jax knew he couldn't stay in this town. Dalton and the Iron Skulls would be back for their money—or worse, for payback—by sunrise.
“Finish that pie, Leo,” Jax said, standing up and laying a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “We’re riding.”
Martha wiped down the counter near them, her expression a mix of concern and respect. “You going back out on the road, Jax? With a kid?”
“I don't have a choice,” Jax replied grimly. “I can't leave him here, and I can't stay here.”
“Take my truck,” Martha offered quietly, reaching into her apron pocket and pulling out a spare set of keys. “It’s safer than the bike, and it’s got a heater. You can’t drag an eight-year-old across state lines on the back of a chopper with no windshield.”
Jax stared at the keys in her outstretched palm. Pride, thick and stubborn, rose in his throat, but he looked down at Leo’s small frame and swallowed it. He needed the truck. For the first time in his life, Jax accepted help without a fight.
“Thanks, Martha,” Jax said, his voice rough. “I’ll send it back when I can.”
“Just keep him safe,” Martha said, giving Jax’s shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze before turning away to wipe down another table.
Outside, the cool evening air bit sharply against their skin. Jax walked Leo over to his battered, primer-gray pickup truck parked in the alley behind the diner. He tossed his duffel bag and the small leather pouch into the truck bed, then opened the passenger door.
Leo climbed up into the cab, sliding across the worn vinyl seat. He looked smaller inside the truck than he had at the diner counter, swallowed by the oversized jacket and the magnitude of the journey ahead. Jax walked around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and turned the key. The engine coughed twice before catching with a deep, familiar roar.
As Jax shifted into gear and steered the truck out onto the deserted highway, a heavy silence settled inside the cab. They were driving away from the diner, away from Dalton and the Iron Skulls, and away from the only life Jax had ever known. But for the first time, he wasn't running away from something. He was running toward accountability.
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“Where are we going, Jax?” Leo asked softly, resting his chin against the window as the neon signs of the small town faded into the rearview mirror.
“Oregon,” Jax said after a long pause, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Your mom talked about the coast once. Said she wanted to see the ocean before she died. We’re going to go see it for her.”
