there’d be danger when she went off with him, but she didn’t give me a choice. Now it’s happened already, just a handful of months later, and I can’t allow her any more choice than she gave me. You didn’t grow up as brother and sister, Jackson, but she’s your flesh and blood, and you care for her. I know you do. Just like I know you understand the danger loving this bastard is puttin’ her in. So, yes, I expect you to promise me, to swear on your father’s soul, that you will send her home to me.”
The line crackled with static.
“Jax?” she said, worried that she’d lost the connection.
“I’m still here,” he said, his rough voice a distant ghost.
“Promise me.”
“I promise. I’ll send her home even if I have to bring her there myself.”
Jax hung up without saying good-bye. Maureen kept the phone to her ear for a few seconds, listening to the static and the ghost of a past she’d cherished and a future she’d never had.
8
The Sons rode into Birdland’s parking lot two by two, Joyce and Chibs in front, Jax and Opie in back. Harley engines roared the news of their arrival, and a handful of people in the lot glanced up and watched as they rolled by. Jax ignored them, just as he’d ignored their surroundings on the ride over. The day had seemed like an eternity, but now night had fallen and it was time for answers.
They parked their bikes in the corner of the lot, far from the exit but near a stretch of dirt that led out to the curb. If they needed to make a quick departure, they wouldn’t worry about pavement. One by one, they killed the engines and removed their helmets.
They started toward the entrance to Birdland, admiring the neon sign depicting a woman with wings. She had them covering her breasts one moment, and the next they were unfurled, revealing small hearts over her nipples. Classy joint, Jax thought, but he appreciated the oddness of it. Jazz music played from speakers outside the door as they approached.
Opie sidled up beside Jax. “You sure you don’t want me to ask the questions?”
Jax glanced at his dour expression, the concern in his eyes. “I’ve got it.”
“I’ve seen that look on you before, Jax,” Opie said quietly. “I’m just thinking you may not get answers if everyone you ask thinks you’re a heartbeat away from caving in their skulls.”
Jax shot him a look that silenced him. “Cover my back, Op.”
Opie nodded. He didn’t seem satisfied, but he wouldn’t push it any further.
Joyce led the way, opening the door and moving into a darkness broken by flashing colored lights. Jax and the others followed, taking in every detail, watching for exits and for trouble. The foyer had a bathroom door, an old pay phone, and a curtained-off section that could’ve been anything—a party room, a coat check, stairs leading to an attic. A single doorman sat on a stool beside a podium, a black bodybuilder with a shaved head and a thin goatee. A strong guy, but not a fighter. Jax could see it in the way he held himself, even the way he stood and fronted them as they approached. He was a man used to intimidating with his size. Maybe he’d been in his share of scuffles in this place, a fistfight now and again, but he wasn’t a boxer, a soldier, or a street fighter, and so Jax wasn’t worried about him until he saw the bulge of the gun sticking from his belt, underneath his shirt, and he reassessed. The gun was a threat, even if the doorman might not be.
“This is a nice place,” the doorman said. “Boss doesn’t like trouble.”
Chibs held out his hands, palms open. “No trouble here, brother.”
The doorman sized them up. “Twenty-dollar cover, right?” Joyce asked, handing over a pair of folded tens.
The doorman hesitated, studying Joyce in apparent disapproval, then took the bills. As the others passed him, he took their money without another word, but as they moved through an arched doorway flanked by two huge bouncers, Jax knew they’d
The line crackled with static.
“Jax?” she said, worried that she’d lost the connection.
“I’m still here,” he said, his rough voice a distant ghost.
“Promise me.”
“I promise. I’ll send her home even if I have to bring her there myself.”
Jax hung up without saying good-bye. Maureen kept the phone to her ear for a few seconds, listening to the static and the ghost of a past she’d cherished and a future she’d never had.
8
The Sons rode into Birdland’s parking lot two by two, Joyce and Chibs in front, Jax and Opie in back. Harley engines roared the news of their arrival, and a handful of people in the lot glanced up and watched as they rolled by. Jax ignored them, just as he’d ignored their surroundings on the ride over. The day had seemed like an eternity, but now night had fallen and it was time for answers.
They parked their bikes in the corner of the lot, far from the exit but near a stretch of dirt that led out to the curb. If they needed to make a quick departure, they wouldn’t worry about pavement. One by one, they killed the engines and removed their helmets.
They started toward the entrance to Birdland, admiring the neon sign depicting a woman with wings. She had them covering her breasts one moment, and the next they were unfurled, revealing small hearts over her nipples. Classy joint, Jax thought, but he appreciated the oddness of it. Jazz music played from speakers outside the door as they approached.
Opie sidled up beside Jax. “You sure you don’t want me to ask the questions?”
Jax glanced at his dour expression, the concern in his eyes. “I’ve got it.”
“I’ve seen that look on you before, Jax,” Opie said quietly. “I’m just thinking you may not get answers if everyone you ask thinks you’re a heartbeat away from caving in their skulls.”
Jax shot him a look that silenced him. “Cover my back, Op.”
Opie nodded. He didn’t seem satisfied, but he wouldn’t push it any further.
Joyce led the way, opening the door and moving into a darkness broken by flashing colored lights. Jax and the others followed, taking in every detail, watching for exits and for trouble. The foyer had a bathroom door, an old pay phone, and a curtained-off section that could’ve been anything—a party room, a coat check, stairs leading to an attic. A single doorman sat on a stool beside a podium, a black bodybuilder with a shaved head and a thin goatee. A strong guy, but not a fighter. Jax could see it in the way he held himself, even the way he stood and fronted them as they approached. He was a man used to intimidating with his size. Maybe he’d been in his share of scuffles in this place, a fistfight now and again, but he wasn’t a boxer, a soldier, or a street fighter, and so Jax wasn’t worried about him until he saw the bulge of the gun sticking from his belt, underneath his shirt, and he reassessed. The gun was a threat, even if the doorman might not be.
“This is a nice place,” the doorman said. “Boss doesn’t like trouble.”
Chibs held out his hands, palms open. “No trouble here, brother.”
The doorman sized them up. “Twenty-dollar cover, right?” Joyce asked, handing over a pair of folded tens.
The doorman hesitated, studying Joyce in apparent disapproval, then took the bills. As the others passed him, he took their money without another word, but as they moved through an arched doorway flanked by two huge bouncers, Jax knew they’d
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