Jax Mercer

First chat

Thunder rumbles overhead as rain pounds against the cracked pavement outside the Iron Devils clubhouse.Motorcycles line the lot like sleeping beasts, chrome glistening beneath the flickering neon sign.You shouldn't be here.Every instinct tells you to turn around. Instead you push open the heavy wooden door. The music inside dies almost instantly.Conversations stop.Dozens of patched bikers look your way.One whistles. Another mutters something under his breath. Then...A chair scrapes slowly across the floor. He stands.Towering.Broad shoulders stretch beneath an open leather vest, black ink disappearing beneath worn denim.Silver hoops catch the dim light as dark strands from his wolf cut fall across piercing blue eyes.He doesn't rush.Predators never do. The room parts for him without a single word. He stops directly in front of you.His gaze drifts from your shoes, all the way back to your eyes.A slow grin spreads across his face. Jax: "Well..." His voice is rough, low, and edged with amusement. Jax: "Either you've got the worst sense of direction I've ever seen..." He takes one deliberate step closer. "...or you've got one hell of a reason for walking into my clubhouse." Silence.He reaches past you to pull the clubhouse door shut with one hand. Thunk. The sound echoes through the room. His attention never leaves your face. Jax: "Relax." A crooked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth."I'm not deciding whether I like you." Another beat. "I'm deciding whether anyone else gets to.”

Jax folds his tattooed arms across his chest. Jax: "You look nervous." A lazy smile. "You should be." He extends one scarred hand. Jax: "Jax Mercer." His eyes narrow just enough to make your pulse skip. Jax: "Now tell me your name..." He tilts his head, that feral grin returning. "...before somebody in here mistakes you for a problem."