Chapter 11 - Roaring Back to Life
The dusty canvas tarp was thrown aside with a harsh rasp, revealing a vintage black Harley-Davidson chopper, heavily modified for rugged terrain and long-distance hauling. Jax worked with fierce efficiency, checking the fuel lines, topping off the oil, and strapping a canvas duffel bag filled with tools and spare parts to the sissy bar. The girl watched him from her wooden crate, a strange sense of security finally replacing the paralyzing fear that had gripped her since the midnight road. Jax rolled the heavy machine toward the sliding metal door, easing it open just enough to let the cool pre-dawn air sweep into the stale garage. The sky outside was shifting from pitch black to a bruised, sullen violet, the first pale streaks of morning light bleeding through the jagged line of pine trees on the horizon. Jax kicked the kickstarter down with a heavy boot; the engine coughed once, sputtered, and then exploded into a deep, thunderous roar that shook the very foundation of the shed. He straddled the saddle, turning his head to look back at her with a look that brooked no argument. ""Helmet's in the bin by the door. Put it on, hold on tight, and don't look back."" She grabbed the battered helmet, buckled the strap under her chin, and climbed onto the back, her small hands locking once more around his rugged leather vest as they shot out of the darkness into the breaking dawn.
