Jax’s POV
The first gray light of dawn was just scratching at the dusty windows of the clubhouse when the rumble of a single, hard-ridden Harley cut through the quiet. I was already up, sitting at the scarred oak table in the common room with a cup of black coffee that tasted like motor oil and bitterness. I hadn’t slept much. The conversation with Tyler, the look in his eyes when he talked about Layla, it was all sitting in my gut like a lump of cold lead.
The engine died outside. Boots hammered on the porch steps, fast and urgent. The door banged open and Riley, one of our Prospects, stumbled in. His face was pale under the grime, his coat dusty from the road. Prospects are the greenhorns, the ones trying to earn their patch. Their main jobs are running errands, cleaning up, and being
