Jax Monroe stepped from his apartment with a grudging sigh. No rain as of yet, but the morning was still gray, and the air felt damp as he flipped up the collar on his leather jacket and prepared to mount his chopper. Catching a quick glimpse of his face in the bike’s blindside bar end mirror, he took note of the dark circles pooling under his eyes. With the weight of the knowledge of what was just around the bend bearing down on him for the better part of the night, Jax was left to toss and turn. A small part of him that still believed in miracles wished the deed did not have to be done, but now, as first light poked through a cloudy sky, there was no going back on his word – even if it stuck in throat and made him want to vomit.
Paying no mind to the red light on the corner of Hillside and Elm, Jax barreled through the intersection. Let anyone else, law enforcement included, catch sight of him breaking the rules right out in the open, such as it was, one glimpse of the silver skull and crossbones with wide blue wings emblazoned across his back would bring any thought of seeking retribution to an immediate and definitive halt. No one in Deerfield dared to take any kind of stand when it came to the Black Legion. It was an unspoken rule that kept Jax and his crew safe when it came to everything from cutting a corner to receiving due payment and the proper amount of respect, which was the current order of the day.
Pulling up alongside the Gorge, open for business with the keg already tapped and bodies in the stools at ten-thirty in the morning, Jax saw Artie sucking on a smoke as he leaned against the side of the building. The burly bald man gave Jax the high sign, and Jax grunted something that almost passed for hello as he stepped to his side.
“See that you’re right on time,” Artie started. “Thought for sure you’d find a way to blow this one off.”
Artie’s attempt at a low blow came with a teasing smile, and Jax wasn’t in the mood for either as he glanced into the bar and caught sight of his other brother draining a pint of stout. “What’s that?” Jax asked. “His fourth round?”
“Nah,” Artie assured him. “Only been here for like five minutes. You know how Mitch rolls – likes to fuel up before he goes to work.”
Not that the man couldn’t hold his liquor. If anything, a few drinks made Mitch sharper, far more lethal as if such a thing were possible. Jax felt his hand start to shake, and Artie caught on before he could hide it.
“Maybe you could do with your own shot of something,” Artie suggested. “Little liquid courage never hurt anyone.”
“I’m good,” Jax assured him. “Rather just get this over with.”
“I hear that,” Artie confessed. “But the man knows the deal. Borrow from the Big Boss, and you best pay the piper on time.”
Jax formed a counterargument in his head, the words mercy and common sense dictates flashing across his brain. But he before he could give voice to any kind of an alternative, Mitch appeared with stray suds on his orange beard and a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Hey there, kid,” Mitch said as he roughly slapped Jax’s back. “Big Boss will be glad to know that you got your panties out of a knot.”
Jax seethed under his breath and wanted nothing more than to form a fist and slam it into Mitch’s smug face. But what would that accomplish? Maybe he’d get in a few good shots; maybe he’d go so far as to take him down. But that had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and it was better for Jax to go along for the ride, maybe see if there was still a way that he could be of some help. “Let’s just do this,” Jax grumbled.
“Read my mind, kid,” Mitch said with a cold laugh. “Time to shake the tree. See what spills.”
As the trio pulled away from the Gorge and headed for the far end of town, Jax gripped his handlebars tighter. Taking a quick look over his shoulder, he remembered a simpler time, a time when he was able to kick off his boots and talk to someone who listened without expectations or demands. When they talked, it was about nothing at all. Nothing important, just the air swirling around them and the feel of the water running over their bare toes. Sometimes they smoked; other times they made no move and just stared up at the trees. One word for it: peace. He missed that; it had been in short supply since…
“Here we are, boys!”
Mitch pounded his fist into his palm and stomped towards the door. Exchanging a quick look with Artie, Jax felt for his gun in his belt. Last thing he wanted to do was pull the trigger, but if he needed to make a point, the piece might come in handy.
“Yo, loser!” Mitch bellowed as he slapped his hand to the frame. Looking past the redhead, Jax thought he saw a small figure crouching in a corner, trying to be invisible. Go for it, man. Don’t make a sound. Might put him off.
But Mitch was quick to follow Jax’s stare.
“You believe this bitch?” he said with a smirk. “Like he think I don’t got eyes in my head.”
Mitch lifted the heel of the boot to the door when Jax suddenly seized his arm with every inch of strength at his disposal.
“Guy, why don’t we just---?”
“Why don’t you just remember who outranks you, Golden Boy?” Mitch hissed. “Gonna give a full report when this is all said and done.”
Artie held him back, and Jax endured the powerless sensation already washing over him.
“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Break it down then.”
“Now that’s my kind of music!”
Not needing another cue, not needing any kind of permission in the first place, Mitch bashed his boot against the frame. As soon, it nearly came flying off the hinges and he pounced into the house. Moving fast to follow, Jax was at his back and soon saw a withered man shaking below a head of thinning gray hair. He peered through his fingers, but as soon as he saw Jax, a weight seemed to leave his shoulders.
“They sent you,” he said, his voice full of hope. “So maybe we can work this or---”
“Talk is cheap! And so are you after a bad streak.” Mitch pulled the man to his feet and slammed his body into the wall. The house shook all around them as Mitch plucked his blade from his boot and pressed the tip to his latest victim’s quivering cheek. “So the Saints didn’t cover the spread,” Mitch started. “Now who the hell told you to bet against the house?”
“I…I had a tip,” the man said in a quaking voice. “Thought that it was a sure thing.”
“Stopped being that as soon as you got close to it.”
Bringing the blade down the man’s flesh, he cried out in agony and started to scramble away. Despite the fear that had to be rushing though his veins, he suddenly moved with surprising speed. Dropping to the floor, he attempted a desperate crawl towards some imaginary point of safety, his eyes still pleading with Jax for aid. Jax started to offer his hand when Mitch whirled around and crushed his foot into the man’s side. Turning to his back with a great cry, he futilely tried to shield his face from the impending blows, but Mitch was smiling as he attacked without mercy, his threatening screams reaching for the rafters.
“Now we’ve been more than patient,” Mitch said as he punctuated each word with a fresh strike. “But time is fucking money. Make good on your debts, or your minutes are up.”
“I don’t have it!” the man pleaded. “But I…I swear I’m good for the vig. I…I just need a little more---”
“Oh! Too bad! Clock just fucking ran out!”
Jax watched with wide eyes as Mitch brought the blade close to the man’s ear.”
“Not quite a pound of flesh,” Mitch said. “But maybe this’ll get you out of the kiddie pool.”
A fresh wave of sweat trickled down Jax’s back at the sight of Mitch’s knife slicing into the man’s skin, blood gushing with no hope of stopping.
No. No I can’t let this…
“Hold up!” he screamed. Jax started to charge forward when Artie held him back with his meaty hands.
“You’re here to watch the door,” Artie reminded him. “And to prove that you can---”
“Well maybe I fucking can’t!”
Shaking Artie off with a sharp shrug, Jax paid no mind to the sound of his body crumpling to the floor as he forced Mitch away from the marked man.
“What is your deal, kid? I…fuck!”
Jax twisted Mitch’s hand behind his back and sent him to his knees, his feet on his ankles as he held the bully in place.
“I’ll take his marker,” Jax said. “For one more week.” Tossing Mitch away like a wadded up piece of tissue, Jax kicked his shins for good measure and hovered over him. “One more week,” he repeated as he drew his gun and aimed for Mitch’s head. “Who the fuck cares if you think you outrank me? You ain’t blood.”
Mitch fumed as he struggled to his feet and moaned in pain. “Neither are you. And Boss is gonna hear about this.”
“So why don’t you run home like a little girl and start the fuck talking.”
With his knife still in his hand, Mitch appeared ready to start slashing into the air when Artie finally intervened.
“If it’s good for another week,” he started, “then this is a numbers thing. Changes the playing field. And it ain’t your call.”
Mitch snarled and spat at the battered old man before hurrying from the house.
“Let’s see you spin your way out of this one, prick!”
He took off with a grunt and a roar. Artie was fast to follow, and Jax pushed his gun back into its holster as he helped Sully to his feet.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’ll live,” Sully said. “Thanks to you.”
“One week,” Jax cautioned. “That’s all the time I can buy you.”
“I’ll make good,” Sully promised. “And thanks, again.”
Turning on his heel, Jax focused his stare on a familiar face peering from behind a picture frame. Bright blue eyes. Blonde hair that curled just below her chin. And a smile that he found impossible to forget.
“I didn’t do it for you,” Jax said. “You’re back on the clock, old man. Better come up with some kind of a Hail Mary.”
And with that, Jax leapt back on his bike and prepared himself for the consequences of his call.