Chapter 7: The Club Gathers
By noon, the parking lot outside Room 14 sounded like a thunderstorm trapped in a tin shed. Three Harley-Davidians roared into the space right in front of our door, kicking up white gravel against the rental car parked three stalls down. The heavy rumble vibrated right through the floorboards, making the cheap metal lamp on the nightstand rattle.
Jax looked out the window, his expression flattening into that hard, unreadable mask I had first seen across the diner counter. Without turning around, he reached back and tapped the top of my head with two heavy fingers, a gesture that wasn't unkind, though it lacked any softness.
"Stay by the bathroom door, Leo," he muttered. "Don't open it for nobody. If I tell you to crawl out the back window into the ditch, you do it without asking questions."
"Are they gonna hurt you?" I whispered, my fingers gripping the hem of my jacket.
"Nobody's hurting nobody," Jax said, though his voice had an edge that made my stomach twist.
The door didn't even knock this time; it just swung open with a loud bang as the latch gave way under a heavy boot. Big Pete filled the doorway, his shoulders nearly brushing the aluminum frame. He wore a faded leather vest covered in club patches, a thick gray beard matted with road dust, and eyes that looked like broken glass. Two other men stood behind him in the shadow of the overhang, arms crossed over their chests, watching the room like hawks.
"We've been waiting twenty miles down the strip, Jax," Pete said, his voice deep and rumbling like an idling engine. He didn't look at me at first, but his gaze swept the room, taking in the small cot, the paper bag of pastries, and the general mess of our temporary life. "The president wants to know if you're riding or if you've gone soft in your old age."
Jax stepped away from the table, putting himself right between Pete and where I stood by the bathroom door. He didn't puff out his chest, but he looked twice as tall in the narrow room.
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"I'm done riding with the pack, Pete," Jax said, his voice entirely flat. "Tell them I cashed out."
Pete’s eyes finally dropped down, past Jax's shoulder, fixing right on me. A slow, ugly smile spread through his beard. "Well, I'll be damned. The past comes back to collect interest, doesn't it?"
