Chapter 2 - Echoes of a Forgotten Life
Jax snatched his hand back from the photo as if it were burning hot, his chest heaving under his heavy leather vest. The jukebox in the corner hummed a low, muffled tune, completely drowned out by the thunderous roar of motorcycle engines outside. Martha stepped closer, wiping down the counter with a cloth she had been clutching too tightly. Her eyes flicked from Jax’s pale, stunned expression down to the little boy standing bravely before him.
“Kid,” Jax finally muttered, his voice gravelly and harsh, a deliberate defense mechanism. “You’ve got the wrong guy. There’s a lot of bikers in this county. Faces blur together.”
Leo didn’t flinch. He unfolded the small piece of paper just enough for Jax to catch a glimpse of hurried, familiar handwriting—handwriting that belonged to Sarah, a ghost Jax thought he would never have to face again. “She kept it in the metal box under her bed,” Leo whispered, his hazel eyes shining with unshed tears. “She died two months ago. Before she went, she told me to find the man in the picture if I ever had nowhere else to go.”
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Martha stopped wiping the counter entirely. The raw vulnerability in the boy’s voice pierced through the tough diner atmosphere. She glared at Jax, her motherly instincts kicking into overdrive. “You’re not going to turn him away, are you, Jax?” she asked, her tone sharp as broken glass. Jax stood up slowly, towering over the counter, his mind racing through a maze of old paranoia and sudden, crushing guilt. He knew the MC laws; he knew the danger of letting anyone tied to his old life get too close. But looking down at those hazel eyes, he saw a reflection of choices that had haunted his darkest nights.
Before Jax could form a lie, the front door swung open violently, letting in a blast of hot summer air and the menacing laughter of Diesel, the club’s ruthless president.
