Chapter 1 - The Diner That Held Our Ghosts
The roar of Harley engines out on Main Street felt muffled, as though submerged beneath miles of cold water. In the neon haze of the diner, Jax stared down at the counter. The grease-stained laminate reflected the trembling paper in the boy's hand.
"Say that again, kid," Jax rasped, his gravelly voice scraping against the back of his throat. He didn't want to look at the folded scrap. He couldn't. His weathered fingers, calloused from thirty years of wrenching steel and throwing drunken punches in alleyways, remained frozen half an inch above the old photograph.
The boy didn't blink. His hazel eyes were unnervingly still. "Mom said you left before I was born. She said you rode out the night the rain washed the bridge away."
Behind the counter, the coffee pot in Clara's hand shuddered, splashing dark liquid over her apron. "Jax..." she whispered, her gaze darting between the weathered biker and the child. "Who is his mother? Who sent this boy in here during rally week?"
Jax’s jaw clenched so hard his molars screamed. He knew who had the other half of that photo. He had buried that memory fifteen years ago in a shallow ditch in Nevada, or so he had convinced himself every time he opened a fresh bottle of bourbon.
"What's your name, boy?" Jax asked, his chest tight.
"Toby," the boy said softly. He unfolded the paper with agonizing slowness. "Mom said if I found the man with the silver wolf inked on his forearm, I had to give him this. Before sundown."
Jax slowly turned his left arm, exposing the faded blue-gray ink beneath the scarred leather cuff. The silver wolf snarled back at him, an emblem of a life soaked in gasoline and regret.
May you like
Toby laid the scrap flat on the counter beside the picture. It wasn't a letter. It was an obituary clipping dated three days ago, bearing a woman’s portrait and a single, handwritten line across the top: They know where he is.
Before Jax could speak, the diner's bell chimed. Three men in matching black cutoffs stepped through the front door, their shadows stretching long and heavy across the checkered floor.
