Jax’s POV
Weeks passed after the whole Burke mess. Too quiet weeks. I sat outside the clubhouse one evening with Grizz and Tyler while the sun dropped behind the desert hills. The orange light hit the rows of bikes parked in the lot. Someone inside had classic rock blasting from the speakers. Normal biker life. Cold beer. Greasy hands. Engines waiting for the next ride. Grizz leaned back in his chair and stretched his boots out. “You notice something?” he said.
Tyler took a long drink of his beer. “Yeah.”
Grizz looked at me.
“Burke’s been quiet.”
I stared down the empty road in front of the clubhouse.
“Yeah.”
Too quiet. After the day I stormed his office and smashed his face against his desk, the man vanished like smoke. No calls. No messages. No dirty errands. No political favors.
