Chapter 6 - A Ghost in the Mirror
The heavy leather of Jax's vest creaked as he stood fully upright, towering over the counter while the rest of the diner held its collective breath. Big Jim crossed his massive arms, narrowing his eyes in silent warning, weighing whether his road captain was about to abandon the patch for a ghost from his past. Jax didn't blink. He slid the faded photograph and the small folded paper into his inner vest pocket, right over his heart, before looking down at the eight-year-old boy who had upended his entire world in less than two minutes.
""Stay here,"" Jax muttered to the kid, his voice rough and unaccustomed to gentleness. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Big Jim by the elbow and steered him firmly toward the back exit near the kitchen doors, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the club. The heavy metal door swung shut behind them, cutting off the hum of the jukebox and plunging them into the dim, oily light of the alleyway behind the diner.
""What the hell are you doing, Jax?"" Jim demanded, wrenching his arm free. ""We ride out to the state line in twenty minutes. You can't let some stray kid derail this club's run. If word gets out you've got loose ends, the charter will eat you alive."" Jax leaned his back against the brick wall of the diner, pulling a crushed pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapping one out with steady fingers, though his mind was chaos.
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""That kid isn't a stray, Jim. That's Sarah's boy,"" Jax said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the chilly afternoon air. Jim went quiet, the anger fading from his weather-beaten face, replaced by a grim realization. Every veteran in the club remembered Sarah; she was the one good thing Jax had walked away from when the iron fever took hold of him.
Before Jim could offer advice, the backdoor of the diner creaked open. Martha stood in the threshold, her face pale and urgent. ""Jax, you need to get back inside right now. The kid... he just collapsed."" Jax dropped his cigarette into the dirt, crushing it under his boot heel as a wave of pure terror gripped his soul.
