He Use To Be A Son Of Anarchy

Chapter Nine: Dead Man Walking

His knife was pressed so tightly against my throat it felt like he was about to draw blood. His eyes were dangerously darting across my face. "How did you find out?" he demanded angrily.

I felt tears well up in my eyes, but instead I did something unexpected. I laughed. It was a horrible, terrible, insane laugh, but it came out of my mouth and I couldn't do a thing to stop it.

He raised his eyebrows and pressed himself tighter against my body. This stopped me from laughing. I stared back into his blue eyes and silently pleaded for my life. Then the tears came. And just like the laugh, I had no control over it.

He hurriedly stood up from me and sat on the coffee table next to the couch. I lied there perfectly still; scared that if I made any sort of move he'd have the blade against my throat again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said with his head in his hand, the knife still pointed at me.

Then I blacked out; the alcohol and stress being too much for my body to handle all at once.

***

I woke up with a pounding headache and the upper half of my body was sore. I didn't immediately realise why this was, but when I saw Jax sitting in the armchair by the door, everything clicked into place.

I swallowed the enormous knot that was forming in my throat. He stood up and I flinched at the suddenness of his actions.

"How did you find out?" he demanded again.

"Newspaper," was all I managed to say.

"Who else knows?"

"No one. I didn't tell anyone. I swear."

He went over to the kitchen counter. I sat up; careful not to set him off.

He was staring off into space, a glimpse of realisation washed over his face and he moved angrily towards me. "I'm going to have to kill you. That's all I can do. And then I need to leave."

I started breathing rather quickly. "No, please. I'm not going to tell anyone. Please."

His expression didn't change at all. He had already made up his mind. He was going to get rid of me before I could blab.

"Jax, please. I promise I won't," I tried again.

"And why not? What do you have to gain from this?"

Why not? That was a good question. I could've told anyone by now the exact reason why I was interested in Jax, but I didn't. What did I have to gain from this? But Jax had something I needed. Jax was the answer to my problems.

"A story." I simply said, but the fear in my voice was quite evident.

"A fucking story? You just said you weren't going to squeal."

"No, no," I said hurriedly and pressed myself against the couch, "I want to write a novel about your experiences."

He looked at me in disbelief for a second and then cracked a smile.

"I'm no fucking rat."

"I won't mention your name or anything. I just want to know what it's like inside a biker gang. It's all purely fiction."

He seemed to be contemplating my suggestion. But then he quickly shook his head. "No can do, darling. It'll be too obvious. I'm supposed to be dead."