Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD-STAINED LEGACY
The ride to the Grim Bastards’ main clubhouse was silent, but the air vibrated with a tension that threatened to snap. Leo sat frozen in front of Jax, his small hands clutching the chrome handlebars, while Chibs rode parallel to them, his eyes scanning the tree lines. The clubhouse—an old, fortified auto-repair shop surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire—loomed ahead like a fortress of rust and iron.
As Jax pulled his chopper into the gravel lot, the heavy garage doors rolled up. A dozen bikers, all wearing the black leather cuts of the Grim Bastards, stepped into the light. At the center stood Clay, the grizzled, iron-fisted Vice President of the club, his face set in a hard scowl.
"Jax!" Clay barked, spitting a toothpick onto the dirt. "You’ve been off the grid for days, and now you ride in here with a stray pup and Chibs? The Iron Skulls are breathing down our necks. They claim you violated the border treaty."
Jax dismounted, lifting Leo down with him. He held the boy close to his flank, his hand resting on his hip near his concealed weapon. "The Iron Skulls lied, Clay. They didn't come for territory. They came for Clara. They took her from her home last night."
A murmur rippled through the gathered men. Clara was not an unknown name; the older brothers remembered the woman who had almost made their fiercest enforcer walk away from the club years ago.
"Clara?" Clay sneered, crossing his massive arms. "That was ancient history, Jax. We don't go to war over an old flame. The club has businesses to protect. We have a shipment coming from the south tonight. We can't risk a bloodbath for a woman who chose to leave."
"She didn't just leave, Clay," Jax stepped forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating register that commanded instant silence. He placed his hand on Leo’s head. "Look at him. Look at his eyes. This is my son. Leo. He’s blood, Clay. And the club’s charter says we protect blood above all else."
Clay’s eyes shifted to the boy. The hard lines of his face twitched. The other brothers—Opie, Tig, and Juice—stepped closer, their expressions shifting from skepticism to fierce, primal protectiveness.
"Is this true, Chibs?" Clay asked, his voice losing its aggressive edge.
"On my mother's soul, Clay," Chibs said, stepping up beside Jax. "The lad came looking for his father with a photo Jax gave Clara seven years ago. The Iron Skulls have her. If we don't act, they'll butcher her just to send us a message."
Opie, Jax’s oldest friend, stepped out from the crowd. He cracked his heavy knuckles, his gaze locked on Clay. "If the Skulls think they can kidnap a Bastard’s family and get away with it, we’re already dead as a club. I’m riding with Jax. Who’s with me?"
Tig and Juice raised their hands instantly, followed by a chorus of shouts from the younger prospects. Clay looked at the sea of raised hands, realizing the momentum had shifted. He let out a long, heavy sigh and looked at Jax.
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"Fine," Clay growled. "But we don't just ride blindly into their territory. Marcus Vance is a psycho, but he’s not stupid. This is a trap, Jax. He wants you. He’s using the woman to draw you out so he can take the president's chair by force. We do this smart, or we don't do it at all."
"I don't care about his traps," Jax said, his eyes burning with a cold, lethal fire. "I care about my family. We find out where they’re keeping her, and we burn it to the ground."
