He looked slowly from them to me, and then back to them. "You’re right," he said at last, casting a sidelong glance at his bike, easily twenty yards away. "Come on. We’re getting the hell out of here."

Chapter Twenty-Six

THE REAPERS

Jax grabbed my hand and we hurried across the dirt yard, heading toward the curb where he’d parked his bike by the sole streetlamp that was lit on the block.

"Hey, ain't no need to go nowhere, honey," the biker with the red bandana shouted over the roar of their six idling motorcycles in the middle of the street. "We're just 'bout to get the party started."

I shivered in revulsion at Bandana's drunken drawl and picked up my pace as I sidestepped empty beer cans.

Jax must’ve seen the worry on my face because he said, "They're probably local drug dealers. This neighborhood was overgrown with them when I was a kid. It's why most people stay inside." He squeezed my hand gently. "They’re just trying to mess with us. Ignore them."

Everything about Jax's childhood filled me with more and more grief. But his calmness kept me steady, even if an inkling of apprehension bubbled just under my skin. I tried to make the best out of the situation. "Well at least they can't rob me since I left my purse on the bus. But let's just get out of here."

We finally reached his motorcycle and hopped onto the cushioned seat. Safely on his bike, I rested my head on his back and took one last look at the jerry-rigged trailers that served as his childhood home.

I was grateful that Jax brought me here and opened up to me, even though the story about his dad left me completely heartbroken. But that was the past, and we still had our entire future ahead of us.

A sudden silence filled the air as the bikers all turned off their bikes and left them parked in the middle of the street. The way they aligned their bikes looked like it was going to be tricky for Jax to weave his bike through. I was about to tell him that backing up might be a good option instead, but a quick glance behind me revealed some deep potholes in the street.

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the neighborhood. One of them must’ve thrown a bottle.

Twitching with an urgent desire to flee, I wrapped my arms around Jax’s waist. "I’m ready whenever you are."

He jammed the key into the ignition and kicked down on the bike's starter.

The engine revved for a second but quickly sputtered out. The failing motor sounded like a dying animal and I desperately hoped it was just a one-time glitch.

"Uh . . . Jax . . . ?" I asked, trying to mask my concern.

"It can be a little tricky sometimes," he said coolly. "No biggie."

All six bikers simultaneously slithered off their bikes and started strolling towards us. One had a long, braided goatee, another was bald with a drooping mustache that covered his mouth. Another had a face completely covered in tattoos. One wore a sleeveless leather vest covered in patches, while one wore a spiked helmet. And then there was Bandana, who seemed to be the gang’s mouthpiece. Wearing faded leather and ripped denim adorned with chains and spikes, they seemed more dangerous than any other bikers I'd seen before. And every step across the potholed asphalt they took made my heart pound harder and faster.

I gripped onto Jax even more tightly and he kicked down on the bike’s starter again.

This time there was only a soft click, and it sounded as if something important was broken. I gulped.

"Boss didn't say he was inviting over any fine-ass foxes tonight," Bandana said as he rubbed his chubby belly. "But I can't say I don't like it."

My skin crawled at his skeeviness. Why the hell are these guys bothering us? We weren’t there to bother any of them. Jax was right, maybe if we just ignored them, they'd leave us alone.

"Everything okay, Jax?" I asked softly, trying to ignore the approaching thugs, but the quiver in my voice betrayed my nervousness.

"Everything's fine." His voice was sharp and low, but he thankfully didn't sound discouraged.

"Everything sure don't sound fine," Bandana said as he led the gang towards Jax’s stalled bike. "Tell you guys what. We'll entertain the fine lady while you go take a walk. Maybe you'll luck out and find a mechanic to fix up your Big Wheel."

I felt Jax's body flex up at the guy's words. "My bike’s fine," Jax said back to him. "We’ll be out of here in a second."

The bikers let out spine-chilling laughs as they stopped in the street and formed a semicircle around the bike. Up close under the streetlamp, they seemed even more intimidating. They all had faces made for mugshots, with wild eyes that seemed to act like radars for mindless violence. I could make out a big patch they all wore on their chest of a skeleton in a purple hooded robe clutching a sickle with one bony hand and a naked lady with the other. It had the words The Reapers written beneath it.

My stomach twisted. We needed to get out of here now.

"Hurry, Jax," I cried, patting his arm.

"I’m trying," Jax replied. He was beginning to sound frustrated. Once again, he turned the key and kicked the lever, but the bike failed to start.

"See kid, the thing is," said Bandana, "the cops don’t come around here, so we gotta solve our own problems. And when little shits like you start snooping around, that means we got ourselves a problem on our hands. So, first things first, we’re gonna hold you two under a citizen’s arrest and give this little tart here a thorough strip-search."

"Back off," Jax barked.

Bandana took a mean swig on a bottle of booze, but kept his beady black eyes trained on Jax. He pulled away the bottle, wiped off his scruff, and said, "What the f**k you say to me? Who the hell you think are, trying to boss me around? We just told you that we’re in charge around here. Looks like we’re gonna have to teach you how to respect the local authority."

His threat sounded real, and I feared if Jax didn’t get the bike started a fight was going to break out.

The thugs started tightening the semicircle around us. The thug wearing the spiked helmet whipped something out of his pocket and started flailing it around, making metallic clinking sounds with it. His hand stopped moving and a piece of metal protruded from his fist. I gasped when realized it was a butterfly knife.

Jax suddenly leapt off the motorcycle and grabbed my arm, pulling me off with him. My heart felt like it was pounding in my throat. I held onto Jax as we stepped away backwards, not wanting to take our eyes off the thugs. They blocked off the street and sidewalk, and the only direction available to us was back toward the trailer homes of Jax’s youth.

Jax shielded me with his arm as we backed up. "Stay close, Riley."

"Look, we don't want any problems," Jax said, "but if you think you're going to start something, we're sure as hell going to finish it."

I pulled on his arm and whispered, "I think we can make a dash for it if we head to the left."

His dark eyes darted to the side and he nodded slightly.

He nudged me, and we turned and hurried past the left edge of the thugs’ semicircle, as I snugly held onto Jax’s strong arm. I held my breath, hopeful we’d make it past these thugs and their bullshit.

I suddenly felt a hand wrap around my arm, yanking me back.