Chapter 5 - Shattered Glass and Burning Rubber
The collision was violent and absolute. Jax slammed his shoulder into David’s midsection, driving the smaller man hard against the entryway drywall. A decorative mirror fell and shattered against the floorboards, spraying glittering shards across the runner rug.
""Run, Clara!"" Jax bellowed, wrestling David’s wrist toward the ceiling. A compact semi-automatic pistol dropped from David’s grip, skittering across the floor.
Clara didn't hesitate. Survival instincts honed through months of paranoia took command of her limbs. She didn't scream; she didn't weep. Clutching Leo to her chest with both arms, she bolted toward the rear kitchen exit, kicking open the screen door. The morning heat hit her like a wall.
Behind her, a loud, dull thud echoed through the house, followed by the sound of breaking wood and a vicious curse.
She tore across the manicured lawn toward the detached garage. In her mind, she replayed every quiet morning, every breakfast where David had handed her the baby's cup, every evening he had sat reading the paper with detached curiosity. The entire foundation of her peaceful domestic reality had been a calculated execution waiting for an inheritance to trigger.
She reached the side door of the garage, yanking it open. Jax’s vintage Harley-Davidson was parked just outside the perimeter fence, hidden in the brush along the back alleyway—its engine already ticking with residual heat.
Footsteps pounded across the grass behind her. Clara spun around, Leo tucked tightly under her arm, bracing for David.
It was Jax. Blood trickled from a split in his eyebrow, and his knuckles were scraped raw, but he was moving with terrifying purpose. He caught her by the elbow, pulling her toward the alley.
""The car's wired,"" Jax rasped, breathing hard. ""Your station wagon has a tracker under the rear axle. We take the bike.""
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""We can't take an infant on a motorcycle!"" Clara cried, looking down at Leo.
The baby didn't cry. His wide eyes looked up at Jax, then at the road ahead, his tiny hands clutching the zipper of his jumpsuit with absolute stillness.
