Chapter 8: Old Debt
Pete took two steps into the room, bringing the heavy smell of stale beer and exhaust fumes with him. Jax didn't step back an inch. His hand rested casually, almost by accident, near the heavy hunting knife he kept sheathed on his belt. The air in the room got so thick you could have cut it with a butter knife.
"You can't just walk away from the brotherhood, Jax," Pete said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its joking edge. "We built this club together out in the desert fifteen years ago. You think you can trade your cut for a raggedy-ass kid you didn't even know existed until yesterday?"
"I knew her," Jax said, and for the first time, his voice cracked just a fraction—not with fear, but with something old and heavy that had been buried under dirt for nearly a decade. "And he's my blood, Pete. You don't know the first thing about what I left behind in that town down south."
"I know you're making a mistake," Pete spat, shaking his head. He looked over at me, his eyes cold and appraising, like he was sizing up a piece of bad merchandise. "The boy's mother is gone. What are you gonna do with him when the money runs out? Put him on the back of a chopper with no helmet? Hand him over to the state? They'll chew him up in foster care before the winter frost hits."
"That's my business, not yours," Jax replied.
"It becomes our business when you start missing club runs to play house in a fleabag motel," Pete said, taking another step forward until his chest was almost touching Jax's leather vest. "The president gave you till sundown to clear your head. If you ain't at the warehouse by six with your bike gassed up, we come back. And next time, we won't be knocking."
May you like
With that, Pete turned on his heel, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel outside as he walked back to his bike. The other two men lingered for a second, their eyes locked on me like they were taking a photograph to remember my face, before following their leader into the glare of the afternoon sun.
When the engines finally roared to life and faded down the highway, Jax let out a long, shuddering breath, closed the door, and locked the deadbolt with a sharp, heavy click.
