The young man at the counter smiled like he still thought he could walk out.
But the bikerâs face had changed completely.
Rose was not just a name to him. It was a wound that had never closed.
He looked down at the little girl, then back at the man.
âWhere is her mother?â
The young man shrugged. âShe gave the kid to me.â
The girl shook her head violently, hiding behind the bikerâs vest.
âHeâs lying. He took me when Mom screamed.â
Every biker in the diner stood up at once.
The door chime rang as two more men in leather stepped inside, blocking the exit without saying a word.
The biker reached into his vest and pulled out an old photo of a young woman wearing the same wolf patch on a necklace.
The little girl touched the picture.
âThatâs Mom.â
The bikerâs eyes filled with rage.
The young man stepped back.
The bikerâs voice went cold.
âRose is my sister.â
Then the little girl whispered:
âSheâs still in his car.â
