Chapter 2
Victor did not speak for a long moment.
Rain hammered the windows.
The neon sign buzzed above the counter.
Rosie kept sipping her hot chocolate like she had no idea she had just cracked open a man’s life in front of half the town.
Eli knew.
His face had gone pale.
He looked ready to grab his sister and run.
Victor held the photograph between two fingers, staring at it like it might disappear if he blinked.
“Who was your mother?” he asked.
Eli swallowed.
“Annie Mercer.”
The name hit Victor harder than any punch.
His shoulders sank.
I had heard that name once before.
Years ago.
Back when I first started at the diner and Victor still came in late at night alone.
He had been drunk once.
Not loud drunk.
Heartbroken drunk.
He stared into his coffee and said, “If Annie ever walks through that door, tell her I waited.”
Then he never said her name again.
Now her children were sitting at his table.
Hungry.
Soaked.
Afraid.
Victor’s voice dropped.
“Annie died?”
Eli nodded.
“Three months ago.”
Rosie whispered, “She got sick.”
Eli’s eyes filled, but he fought the tears like they were dangerous.
“She said not to tell anyone unless we had to.”
Victor looked at the photo again.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Eli’s mouth tightened.
“She tried.”
One of the bikers, a broad man named Tank, leaned forward.
“Tried how?”
Eli glanced at him and shrank back.
Victor raised one hand.
Tank sat back immediately.
Victor softened his voice.
“Eli, nobody here is going to hurt you.”
The boy’s eyes flicked toward the door.
I saw that look again.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked.
Eli didn’t answer.
Rosie did.
“Uncle Dale.”
Eli hissed, “Rosie.”
Victor’s face hardened.
“Who’s Dale?”
“Our mom’s brother,” Eli said quickly. “He took us after she died.”
“Took care of you?” Victor asked.
Eli stared at his plate.
Rosie shook her head.
“He takes our checks.”
The diner went cold.
Victor’s jaw moved once.
“What checks?”
Eli whispered, “Mom had benefits. For us. Dale said kids cost money, so it belonged to him.”
I set the coffee pot down because my hands had started shaking.
Rosie lifted the sleeve of the flannel jacket.
On her small wrist was a bruise.
Purple.
Finger-shaped.
Victor saw it.
So did everyone else.
The old man by the window cursed under his breath.
Victor reached across the table very slowly.
“Rosie, who did that?”
She looked at Eli.
Eli’s face crumpled.
“I told her not to touch the locked drawer.”
Victor’s voice stayed quiet.
That made it terrifying.
“What was in the drawer?”
“Our papers,” Eli said. “Mom’s letters. Birth certificates. Stuff he said belonged to him.”
Victor looked down at the photo again.
“And this?”
“I stole it back.”
Eli lifted his chin, trying to be brave.
“Mom hid it in her Bible. Dale found the Bible after she died and laughed. He said our dad was probably dead or in prison. He said nobody would want us anyway.”
Rosie’s lip trembled.
Victor closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the man at that table was not the feared biker everyone whispered about.
He was something worse.
A father who had just found out his children had been suffering without him.
He looked at me.
“Mara, call Sheriff Wells.”
I hesitated.
Victor noticed.
“What?”
I looked toward the window.
“Dale Mercer drinks with Sheriff Wells every Friday.”
Eli’s head snapped up.
Victor’s face darkened.
Tank muttered, “That figures.”
Victor stood.
Every biker at the table stood with him.
Chairs scraped.
The diner filled with the sound of leather creaking, boots shifting, men preparing for trouble.
Eli grabbed Rosie.
Victor looked down at him.
“Easy.”
“You can’t take us back,” Eli said, voice breaking. “Please. We’ll leave. We won’t bother you. Just don’t call him.”
Victor crouched in front of him.
All six feet four of him folded down to eye level with a hungry child.
“You listen to me,” he said. “Nobody is taking you back to a man who puts bruises on little girls.”
Eli’s eyes filled.
“You don’t know us.”
Victor held up the photograph.
“I should have.”
That answer broke the boy.
His face twisted.
He tried not to cry.
Failed.
Victor pulled him close with one arm.
Eli resisted for half a second.
Then he collapsed into him.
Rosie slid from her chair and wrapped herself around Victor’s other side.
The diner watched in absolute silence as Grim Hayes held two children he had not known existed.
Then the bell over the diner door rang.
Everyone turned.
A man stood there in a wet denim jacket, face red from rain and rage.
Dale Mercer.
His eyes found Eli.
Then Rosie.
Then Victor.
“Well,” he said, smiling without warmth. “There are my little runaways.”
Victor slowly stood.
The children stepped behind him.
Dale looked around the diner and laughed.
“You folks got no idea what those two stole from me.”
Victor’s voice was low.
“You want to choose your next words carefully.”
Dale sneered.
“Or what?”
Victor placed the photograph on the table.
May you like
Then he stepped forward.
“Or you explain to me why my children were begging for leftovers in the rain.”
