Chapter 2: Shadows in the Sun
Arthur began to tremble. His arrogance, previously fueled by his status and his bank account, disintegrated the moment he felt the physical reality of the man in front of him. But he was a man accustomed to having the last word.
"You have no idea who I am," Arthur stammered, his bravado replaced by a whining, high-pitched desperation. "I have connections. I have influence. You touch me, and you'll spend the rest of your life in a hole!"
Jax let out a short, dry laugh. He signaled toward the bikes. "Influence? In the desert? Let's see how much pull you have when the sun goes down."
As if triggered by a secret signal, the rest of the club—fifteen men, all carved from the same rough granite as Jax—stepped out of the shadows cast by the rest stop’s overhang. They didn't speak. They didn't posture. They simply stood there, a wall of leather and muscle, forming a half-circle that effectively cut Arthur off from his SUV.
Arthur’s eyes darted between them, the realization hitting him like a physical blow: he had backed himself into a corner with the one group of men in America who feared absolutely nothing.
"Elena," Jax said, not taking his eyes off Arthur. "You okay, darlin'?"
Elena, still clutching her belly in the dust, nodded weakly. "I... I'm alright. Please, just don't kill him. I just want to go."
"We aren't here for murder," Jax said, though the steel in his eyes suggested he was at least considering it. "We're here for an education."
Jax turned his attention back to Arthur. "Here’s the deal. You’re going to walk over to your car, you’re going to open the door for your wife, and you’re going to drive her to the nearest hospital. You’re going to get her checked out. And then, you’re never going to touch her again. Because if I ever see your face on this road, or if I hear a single whisper that she’s been hurt, I won't be the one coming for you. It’ll be the boys."
"You can't tell me what to do!" Arthur shrieked, though his voice lacked any real conviction.
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Jax didn't argue. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that only Arthur could hear. "I don't care about your money, Arthur. I don't care about your SUV. You are a small, pathetic man, and you’re currently standing in front of giants. You’re going to walk to that car, or I’m going to make sure you never walk anywhere again."
Arthur looked at the fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on him. He saw no mercy. He saw only a cold, functional, and terrifying readiness to apply violence. He turned, his legs feeling like lead, and shuffled toward the silver SUV. He didn't look back. He didn't threaten. He was completely, utterly broken.
