Well... Hey there...
Here comes another chapter.
Hours turned into days, and days into… You know… More days…
It was now fourteen days since his 'accident', and his hand showed no real signs of healing…. It was utter torture. Better yet… Today was the day the shipment was supposed to come in… And they were well informed about a real Mayan threat.
He couldn't drive his bike, at least not as well as he wanted to… So he was left with one option; driving an old beaten cage…
The wind in his hair was replaced by a shitty old air-condition that made the motor over-heat…
The sun on his back was replaced by a fucking seat…
Everything was complicated by his hand. Everything.
Showering was now a weird; one arm up dance… Buttons were his arch nemesis for the time being… Knives and forks were difficult to use… Opening plastic bottles demanded use of other body-parts too… Everyday life was hard…
Jax had parked in the shadow of a rusted and old container on the docks. The black Ford truck's motor was ticking as it cooled down. It was a loud car, and rather slow…
Not much for a dealer car, of any kind…
And far from the ultimate car if the Mayans decided to pay them a visit…
He couldn't use a gun properly either… Another thing that was rotten about this plan…
If he got Mayans after him in this old truck, his best bet would be to hope and pray for some gravel on the blacktop… Gravel had landed him in a hospital bed more than once, why couldn't it happen to some Mayans?
SOASOASOA
Absentmindedly he let his left hand glide down to his left knee, where he knew there was a scar covering about ten by five inches. A patch of gravelly asphalt north of phoenix had gotten the better of him once… He had skidded for about fifty yards on that soaring hot asphalt, before he had made it to a full stop. His leg had still been trapped by the Harley when the world stopped gliding by.
That had earned him two and a half month on crutches, and what seemed like eternal random pain. He could be walking around at the Teller-Morrow, and it would suddenly feel like someone thrusted white-hot daggers in between his leg-bone and his thigh-bone… Other days, he would wake up with a dull ache and he would be sporting a limp for the day…
23 years old, and already a worn body…
The evening was silent, just the monotonous rumble from the machines on the dock was to be heard.
When he saw Clay and the others pull up on their motorcycles, he opened his door and stepped outside. He headed towards the rest of the club. The boat came in, and the gate opened. A few guys with Irish accents stepped out, and greeted them.
They managed to get the first parcel into the truck, without much trouble. As they struggled with carrying the second one over from the ship, the roar of motorcycles filled the air…
Seventeen bikes squealed to a halt, circling them… Trapping them…
Mayans.
The sound of gunfire cut through the air. A sharp punch jerked Jax off-balance, causing him to hit the ground hard. Pain seared through his right shoulder and arm, and his head instantly started throbbing. He saw the crimson red liquid that started forming underneath him, but he didn't really reflect over it…
The world just seemed to turn black all around him, and he faded out…
SOASOASOA
He woke up to an EKG machine beeping by his side. He felt generally drunk, like he'd been on a three day bender… His arm and his head hurt, and the familiar dull ache in his left knee had started up again.
He had a brief moment of panic as he came to… Then he saw his brothers sitting and standing around the room. His mother was standing beside his good shoulder.
"Hey…"
So... I hope you enjoyed the chapter...
And thanks for the reviews/comments!