Chapter 9: The Midnight Warning
The wind howled off the flats, rattling the loose tin roof of the rental house as I sat at the chipped Formica kitchen table, trying to make sense of the math homework Sarah had left behind in her old blue notebook. Every time a car tires crunched on the gravel outside, my heart leaped into my throat. Jax had been gone for hours, ever since he told me he had to settle some business with the club. Outside, the shadows stretched long and twisted under the amber glow of the single streetlamp swaying in the freezing gale.
The heavy front door didn't knock; it swung inward with a splintering crash that tore the deadbolt right out of the rotting wooden frame.
I scrambled backward off the chair, knocking it over onto the linoleum with a sharp clatter. Standing in the doorway wasn't Jax, but two men I didn't recognize—big, heavy-set guys wearing thick canvas jackets with the Iron Reapers insignia torn roughly off the sleeves. One of them had a jagged scar running from his jawline down into his collar, and his eyes scanned the small kitchen with undisguised contempt.
"Well, look what the stray cat dragged in," the scarred man muttered, stepping inside and tracking muddy snow across the clean floor Martha had helped me scrub just yesterday. He crouched down slightly, resting his heavy hands on his knees as he stared right at me. "So you're the little anchor that dragged our best rider down into the mud, huh?"
My throat went completely dry. I reached down instinctively into my jacket pocket, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold metal of the faded photograph and the small folded paper. "Jax isn't here," I whispered, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound brave. "You have to leave."
"Oh, we know he ain't here, kid," the second man chuckled, walking over to the small refrigerator and yanking the door open, looking for a beer before slamming it shut in disgust. "We just came by to deliver a message from Vance. Tell your old man—or whatever he is to you—that brotherhood doesn't end just because you take off a leather vest. We own these roads. And anybody who thinks they can walk away from us with a pocketful of secrets is gonna find out how fast things catch fire around here."
The scarred man stepped closer, his heavy leather boots stopping just inches from where I stood frozen against the counter. He reached out a massive, calloused hand, his thick fingers grabbing the collar of my old jacket and bunching the fabric until it choked off my breath. I didn't scream—I remembered Sarah telling me never to give people like that the satisfaction of a sound—but my hazel eyes locked onto his with a fierce, quiet defiance that made his smile falter for a fraction of a second.
May you like
"You tell Jax that the debt's still collecting," the man growled, giving me a rough shake that rattled my teeth before shoving me back against the counter so hard the plates in the drying rack rattled.
Before they could say anything else, the sound of a roaring motorcycle engine tore through the night outside, the exhaust pipes rumbling with a furious, unmistakable vibration. Headlights cut a blinding swath across the frosted front window as Jax’s bike skidded to a violent halt in the front yard. The front door groaned again as Jax kicked it wide open, his face pale with adrenaline, his eyes blazing with a wild, protective fury that filled the cramped room with sudden, suffocating tension.
