Chapter 4 - The Alleyway Ambush
Jax's combat instincts flared instantly. He didn't turn to look; he grabbed Toby by the collar of his jacket, hoisted him entirely off his feet, and threw him behind an industrial grease barrel just as a steel pipe whistled through the air where the boy's head had been.
The blow caught Jax across the meat of his shoulder. Pain flared hot and sharp, radiating down his arm, but he absorbed the impact, spinning on his heel to drive a heavy heel into his attacker's knee. A bone snapped with a sickening crunch. A third Viper—a lookout left behind in the alley—howled and collapsed into the gravel.
""Get on the bike!"" Jax roared, pointing toward his battered, matte-black Dyna parked beneath the shade of an old elm tree.
Toby scrambled out from behind the grease barrel, his eyes wild with terror, scrambing across the dirt on all fours before pulling himself up against the motorcycle's hot chrome pipes. ""I don't know how!""
""Climb on the back and don't let go of my belt!"" Jax lunged forward, kicking the fallen man's pipe out of reach, then grabbed his own helmet from the handlebars. He shoved it roughly over Toby’s head. The helmet was twice the size of the boy’s skull, wobbling precariously on his fragile shoulders, but it was better than nothing.
Jax straddled the machine, his thumb mashing the starter. The engine roared to life with a deafening, throaty rumble that shook the boy’s entire frame. Toby instinctively wrapped his thin arms around Jax’s waist, burying his face into the rough leather back of Jax’s vest.
Behind them, the diner's backdoor flew open again. Martha stood framed in the doorway, her apron stained, holding a brown paper bag stuffed with bread and apples. ""Take the old canal road, Jax!"" she screamed over the engine noise. ""Creed has watchers on Route 9!""
Jax nodded once, kicked the gear into first, and dumped the clutch. The rear tire tore through the gravel, throwing up a cloud of dust that temporarily blinded the alley.
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They shot out into the blinding midday sun, tearing down a dirt path parallel to the highway. The wind ripped around them, pulling at Toby's jacket. Through the thick leather, Jax could feel the boy trembling violently. Toby wasn't crying; he was holding his breath, clinging to Jax with the desperate grip of a drowning survivor.
Jax glanced into his side mirror. Two distinct silhouettes of black choppers had just turned onto the dirt trail behind them, closing the distance fast.
