by Debra Kayn
He leaned forward and gathered her long dirty strands of hair, holding it behind her back as she emptied her stomach of everything she'd eaten. He'd known it wasn't normal for a child that size to eat a man-size meal.
He should've stopped her or had the cook fix her something else instead of taking one of the orders out from under the warming light.
She dry heaved, no more food coming up. That's when he spotted the napkin and bundle of uneaten fries on the ground beside the vomit.
He exhaled heavily. She'd taken some of the food he'd given her when she ran.
He hooked his arm around the middle of her without letting go of her hair and lifted her off the ground.
Taking her to his motorcycle, he set her on the seat. "Hold still, so you don't fall off."
He dug through his bag and found one of his shirts. She refused to take it from him, and he wiped her face and hands off. It wasn't much different than cleaning up one of his MC brothers who'd passed out after vomiting a night's worth of drinks.
She made no move to run away from him.
He tossed the shirt in the ditch and strode back to her. When he'd left the pool hall, he hadn't had a plan on what he'd do with the kid if he caught up with her. He only wanted to make sure she got home safely.
If her parents confronted him, he'd have a lot to say about their parenting.
Her chin fell to her chest and soft noises leaked from her. He gritted his teeth. It wasn't his aim to make her cry.
"I'll take you home." He bent at the waist, trying to see her face. "Where do you live?"
She leaned toward him. Afraid she was going to slide off the seat, he stepped closer. Her head pressed against his stomach.
Despite being 31 years old, he had no kids of his own. He was at a loss on how to comfort her.
A car zoomed past them, not slowing down. The side of a highway wasn't the place for a child to be, especially at night.
"I need to get you home." He cupped the back of her head, hesitated, and patted her. Her fucking skull fit in his palm.
Resolved to get her home and safe, he pushed her away from him. He couldn't put it off any longer. Someone would be looking for her, and the last thing he wanted was the cops on his tail and catching him with a little girl.
"Can you tell me where you live?"
She looked behind her. Okay, she lived on the other side of the highway.
Not wanting to take her on his motorcycle and not wanting to leave his ride on the side of the highway, he took out his cell phone and made a call. It'd take a couple minutes to have someone from the Moses Lake Chapter ride over and watch his bike.
After he put the call out, he took his pack of smokes out of his vest pocket. "Hang on a second. Once someone comes, I'll walk you home."
She scooted on the seat as if to leave. He stepped in her way, preventing her from running.
Losing patience, he set her back on the bike. "You're not going anywhere."
She struck out, every limb going in different directions. Afraid of hurting her, he could only deflect her tiny hands and feet from striking the buttons on his vest or the chain at his hip. He couldn't have her hurting her little hands.
He realized quickly that he couldn't stop her without touching her. Hauling her off his motorcycle, he hugged her small body to his chest.
She gave up the fight and stilled. He exhaled in relief.
She slipped her arms around his neck and her head pressed against his shoulder. Her warm breath blew on his skin. He looked around. Someone had to be looking for her.
He was unfit to watch over a child.
Pacing back and forth along the side of the highway, he kept looking for a WAKOM member to come to his aid.
He'd done some risky things in his life, but holding a little girl that was a stranger to him, seemed more dangerous than anything he'd ever done—including a two-year stint in prison.
He looked down the two-lane highway. Headlights beamed in both directions. He turned his back, facing the field.
His heart pounded. He'd hate to kill someone in front of the child.
People see him, and they believed the worst. They wouldn't see what was right in front of their face.
The low rumble of a motorcycle reached him. He glanced in the direction of town and spotted the lone headlight.
"I'll get you home," he whispered, turning back around as the cars passed.
The rider pulled around and came to a stop behind Dutch's Harley. He carried the girl to his MC brother.
"Jesus Christ, man. What are you doing with a child?" Piston heaved his overweight body off the motorcycle and sauntered over to him.
"I found her at the pool hall, eating scraps outside." His arms tightened around the girl. "Fed her a meal, and she ran off. It was dark."
Piston shook his head. "Probably a runaway."
"Nah, she's a baby." He hefted her higher in his arms. "She's probably around ten years old."
Teenagers ran away from home. He'd taken off more times than he could count when he hit his teen years. But ten years old was too young to be on her own.
"Her daddy will kill you if he catches you." Piston sighed. "Take her home."
"Plan to, but I don't know where she lives." He couldn't leave her on the side of the road. "You live around here. Who does she belong to?"
WACOM members normally kept to themselves but kept abreast of news and people in the community. It was their business to make sure they knew everyone. It helped keep targets off their back.
Piston stepped around him. He understood his MC brother was trying to get a look at the girl. She had her face against his neck, and going by her breathing, she was out for the night.
"I can't see her." Piston sauntered over to his bike, removed a flashlight from his bag, and returned to Dutch.
The light shined on his shoulder. He kept his gaze on the road. The faster he could get out of here, the better he'd feel.
"Fuckin' hell." The light went out. "That's Sue Smith's kid."
"Who?" He turned toward Piston.
Besides the members of the Moses Lake Chapter, he knew no one in the area. He hailed from Bellevue and wore the patch for the chapter there.
"A chick with a bad heroin addiction." Piston rubbed his head. "I thought the cops picked her up on an outstanding warrant a couple of weeks ago and found her overdosed."
"She's a foster kid?"
"Yeah, I imagine. I don't think she has any family around, 'cept her mom." Piston looked behind him. "Though I could be wrong. Sue was staying in a rental house over on Dover Street."
"Where's that?"
Piston hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "You go North, up the highway, take the first road. If you go about a half-mile, there's a dirt road on the right that winds back into those trees you see in the distance."
He couldn't see any trees through the darkness. "I'll take her back to the house. Maybe someone is there."
"Yeah." Piston cleared his throat. "How are you going to do that?"
"Walk." He stepped toward the highway. "What color of house?"
"Brown, I think." Piston strolled over to his bike. "I'll ride over there and wait for you."
"No." He stepped up onto the asphalt. "Stay with my Harley."
"It'll be a walk, carrying her. You can probably cut across the next field. There will be a yellow house you'll have to skirt, but the next house was where her mom was staying."
If he had a choice between walking and riding, he'd be on two wheels. But he had no choice. The kid needed to be at home. Whoever was in charge of taking care of her needed to learn what a fucked-up job they were doing.
He waited until a car flew by, shielding the child in his arms, and then crossed the road. Twenty yards into the next field, water seeped into the leather of his boots. Just his luck, he would probably walk into a swamp and not see it coming.
The tall grass grabbed his jeans, hampering each step. Uneven ground from the tires of a tractor putting ruts every few steps
threatened to trip him.
Making it to the first house, he was almost past when a big dog charged, barking its fool head off.
"Shut the fuck up, or I'll shoot." He growled back at the dog.
The animal followed him until he reached a line of trees and spotted a darker house up ahead.
The kid's warm body against his vest had him sweating by the time he trudged into the backyard. He walked around the single-story home until he stood on the dirt road out in front.
He should've brought a flashlight.
The trees around the house blocked the light from the moon. He shifted the girl to his other shoulder, half hoping she'd wake up.
It looked as if no one was home. There were no lights on, and the grass was up to his knees. No cars, no toys. Nothing, except a garbage can by a mailbox.
He couldn't have the right place.
With only one direction to walk, he took off to find another house. It was hard to believe no one was out looking for the girl. There had to be an adult around. Someone had to know she was gone.
Ten minutes later, he spotted a glow in the distance. The light moved, and he walked faster. He had to be close to the road. What had Piston said about the distance on the dirt road? A mile? A half-mile? It felt like he'd walked longer.
Another light came from ahead and then shifted toward him. Someone was coming.
He stopped, stepping off the road.
A lone headlight. He stepped out again and raised his hand. MC brother or not, he trusted someone straddling a seat more than one driving a cage.
The rider stopped beside him. Recognizing Piston, he ignored the frustration over having his bike sitting on the highway, easy enough for someone to Jack.
"Where?" He needed to put the girl down.
"Last house, brother." Piston balanced the motorcycle. "I called Crusher. He's with your Harley."
"Thanks, man." He stayed on the road. "Nobody is at that house. It's dark."
"I don't know what to tell you." Piston shrugged. "Guess you could drop her off somewhere, call the cops, and let them know where to find her."
Having lived through going to a few foster homes while growing up and having a mom who cared but struggled, the last place he wanted to put the girl was somewhere that someone could hurt her.
"I'll take her back to the pool hall." He hefted her up higher.
He'd carried sixty pounds of dead weight around for the last hour. His arms killed him. All he wanted to do was set the girl down.
But, none of tonight was her fault.
Whatever she'd gone through was too much for a young child to carry. So, he'd carry her.
Chapter 3
DUTCH TURNED THE SCRAMBLED eggs in the pan and looked over at the girl, asleep on the couch. She hadn't moved a muscle all night.
He'd locked the deadbolt with the key, making sure she stayed in the room above the pool hall. Due out on the road today, he had needed a few hours of sleep before he took off.
He divided the eggs onto two plates. The itch to ride out made him antsy.
He'd planned to leave early for Bellevue. The club expected him back.
He needed to update them on the meeting at the Moses Lake Chapter last Friday.
Finding a fork in the drawer, he carried the breakfast over to the couch. He thought she'd wake up by now.
"Hey." He set the food on the arm of the couch and nudged the girl's shoulder. "Wake up."
He needed to get her out of the room before Falcon, the president, came in. No underage girls were allowed in the building.
"Wake up, Marla Marie." He pulled her by the arm until she sat up.
Rubbing her eyes, she let her head fall to the side to go back to sleep. He grabbed her, needing her to stay awake.
"Shake a leg. I need to get you back home or wherever you belong." He stepped back.
She blinked at him and looked around the room. He expected tears, even screams. She was in a new place with a stranger.
She spotted the plate of scrambled eggs and licked her lips. He scratched his cheek. He had no idea what young kids needed to get their day going. All he could remember was what he always had done when he woke up.
"If you need to take a piss, there's a bathroom over there." He pointed.
She followed his finger with her gaze, then looked back at the food as if judging what was more important.
"The food will be here when you finish," he said.
She tossed the blanket he'd covered her with last night and walked across the small room. The place was no more than a small studio with everything in one room, except the bathroom.
There were six rooms above the pool hall, used for club business, visiting nomads, or WAKOM members who tied one on or wanted to bring a woman up for some one-on-one-or-two.
It was enough space for him when he visited. Though, he'd rather spend his time on the road than cooped up in a small room.
He'd had enough of four walls in his lifetime.
She came back, wiping her hands on her dirty jeans. In the daylight, she looked filthier than last night. Her run through the swampy field hadn't helped.
He picked up his plate and grabbed a fork, standing in the kitchen. "Eat."
It took no more urging. She balanced the plate on her lap as she sat on the couch. Eating much slower than last night, she swung her legs as she played with the food between each bite.
His cell phone vibrated on the small counter beside the free-standing stove. He looked at the screen, recognizing the number.
Swallowing the bite, he connected the call and put the cell to his ear. "Rachel?"
"No, it's Skull."
Expecting his sister, he was surprised that her old man was using her phone. "What's up?"
"Rach had a miscarriage yesterday."
He dropped the fork on the plate and turned his back to the girl. "Is she okay?"
"Nah." Skull's voice shook. "She's tired, man. It's her third one in as many years."
He rubbed the back of his neck. Rachel wanted a family more than anything. Having grown up together, been through the same hardships, his sister believed having a man in her life would give her everything she ever wanted.
But that all changed when she decided she wanted a child.
"Damn." He sighed, at a loss for words but understanding their pain. "I need to finish business here, and then I can be there in a few hours."
Bellevue was almost three hours away, depending on traffic and if he could ride through while dodging the state cops. There was nothing he could do to change what happened to his sister, but he could be there for her.
"She's down, man. I don't know what to do."
"Stay with her."
"Yeah." Skull cleared his thick voice. "The baby...she just got a fucking positive on the test last month. She didn't even have time to..."
Dutch swallowed. "She'll try again."
"I don't know." Skull paused. "All she wants is a kid, brother. I don't know how much more she can take."
A soft cough came from behind him. He turned, catching the girl shoving food in her mouth again.
"She's going to lose her mind if she has to go through this again. All she keeps saying is she wants her baby. I can't do anything to change what happened. It's killing me." said Skull.
"Once I check in with Woody, I'll swing by and see what I can do for her." He looked down at the plate of eggs growing cold. "Until then, stay with her."
"I will, man."
He disconnected the call and set his phone down on the counter. The news wasn't what he'd expected. He hadn't even known Rachel was pregnant. She hadn't told him.
Dumping the rest of his breakfast in the trash, he strode to the door before he remembered the girl. "You've got one minute to tell me where you live."
She stared at him silently, not eating or moving.
He was done trying to help the girl. "I'll call the cops and have them haul your ass out of here."
She pressed her back against the couch and st
ared at him with big eyes.
Figuring people of all ages feared the police, he hoped that worked. He'd rather dump her in a supermarket than involve the police. There had to be a nice, older, caring grandma-type who'd look after her.
There was no time to waste. He needed to head back to Bellevue.
He strode over to her and stood in front of the couch. "You're going to answer me, Marla Marie."
Her hands fisted on her lap. He had her attention.
"Now," he ordered, rougher than normal to get her attention.
"Seven. One. Two. Dover Street," she said, pulling her feet up on the couch and wrapping her arms around her knees.
"Bullshit." He leaned over her. "I took you there last night. Nobody lives there."
She cringed, burying her chin between her knees. Infuriated that he'd wasted time on a girl that lied to him, he wanted the truth.
He pried his teeth apart. "Let's try this one more time. Where do you live?"
"In the shed," she said softly.
His body hardened. "Shed?"
Marla Marie looked everywhere but at him. "Can I stay with you until my mom comes back?"
Floored by news of what was happening to his sister and finding himself tangled up in the life of a young girl who finally decided to talk by asking if she could stay with him, he walked away from her.
That wasn't part of his job. He lived on the road. He put all his sweat and blood into WAKOM Motorcycle Club. If he wanted a kid around, he'd knock up some woman and have one.
Banging on the door interrupted his problem. He glanced over at the kid. It was time for him to leave. He needed to get Marla Marie out of here.
He strode to the door and opened it to find the Moses Lake Chapter president standing in the hallway. "Yeah?"
"Get her out of here. We need to talk." Falcon stayed, waiting for him to kick the kid out.
He stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him. "She's too young to send back out there."
"Piston filled me in. Sue Smith is in prison. She'll be there for two years if she survives that long." Falcon's hardened face showed no compassion. "Drop the kid off a block from the police station and give her directions on how to get help. She's old enough to do that. Let them deal with her."