Page 2 of Outlaws' Single Mom
Stiff returns, swinging the thermos. “Who’s getting drunk? Is it too late to get in on it?” He stops and looks out the gate towards the intersection, brows furrowing.
The two of us stand up to check out whatever caught his attention. Down the block, on the other side of the street, Bonnie’s girl, Anne is crouched down looking into an alley. There’s a teenage boy next to her, looking about her age, standing just a little close if you ask me.
She looks anxious, her movements unsure. When she stands, the boy tugs at her arm, but she shakesher head and looks our way. When she sees she has our attention, she raises her hand and waves for us to come over.
Shit. “Let’s go check it out.”
The Outlaw Sons aren't exactly the neighborhood watch. We follow our own code, but for the right price, we’re willing to do a lot of shit that would horrify most upstanding citizens. Usually we're the ones someone needs a rescue from. Still, this is our territory and anything that happens around here is our business.
“Hey.” Jackal waves at Savage, one of our VPs, who’s walking across the courtyard with one of the prospects. “Keep an eye on the gates for a sec?”
Savage cocks his head. “Trouble?”
I hesitate. Anne looks worried but she’s not freaking out. “Probably nothing.”
He nods. “Go on. Bones and I can hold down the fort.”
We jog towards Anne, and I can see the exact moment her little friend notices and decides the three of us are way more than he’s ready to dealwith. He hightails it the other way before we get to them.
“Coward,” Stiff says with a low chuckle.
Anne rolls her eyes. “Don’t be mean. I thought it was going to be better at the public school, but all the boys only think it’s cool that I live here until they realize that I’m actually, like, surrounded by bikers. I’m never going to get a boyfriend at this rate.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t need a boyfriend. You’re a baby.”
She glares at me. “I’m almost fifteen! What were you doing when you were fifteen?”
“I was—” Fuck. I was doing the sort of shit we’d skin that kid alive for trying with Anne. Jackal doesn’t even try to hide his laugh. “Doesn’t matter. What were you looking at over here?”
She glances back into the alley. “I… I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone was hurt.”
My brain flips through all sorts of possibilities, most of them not great. “Okay, get behind the walls. Savage is on the gate.”
Anne nods. With her wavy blonde hair and pretty face, it’s easy to see why a fifteen year old would be willing to risk life and limb to walk her home, but she’s seen too much shit in her short life to be a typical clueless teenager. She knows when it’s safe to push, and when to obey an order.
Stiff and Jackal stand guard at the end of the alley. I put a hand on the butt of my gun as I step into the gloom, ready to pull if I have to.
For a moment I stand there, listening. To my right, something thunks against a rusty garbage container, followed by a soft, unhappy noise, like an injured kitten. I splay my hand out at my side, quietly indicating to my friends to wait. I take another step forwards and spot the toe of a tiny sneaker. Shit.
I crouch down low. “It’s alright. I know I might look a little scary, but nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Slowly, a second shoe joins the first, and then a small, dirty face pokes around the side of the container. A boy who can’t be older than four or five is staring at me with wide eyes and messy brown hair. “Are you one of the motorcycle men?” he whispers.
I want to laugh, but I can tell it’s taking every ounce of courage he has to not crawl back into his hiding spot. “Yeah, I guess I am. Where’s your mom, kiddo?”
He crouches down a couple feet in front of me, mimicking my posture, but he hides his face behind his knees. He’s only wearing a thin hoodie with a cartoon dog on the front, and on his back is a small plastic backpack with the same dog. “Work,” he mumbles into his legs.
“Does she know where you are?”
His head shakes in a tiny, silent ‘no’, and he shuffles a little closer without looking up.
Other than freaked out and a little dirty, he looks like someone’s been taking care of him. His clothes aren’t anything fancy, but they fit and they aren’t falling apart, and he doesn’t have the hollow, desperate look of a kid who doesn’t know where their next meal is coming from. Someone is going to be looking for this kid if they aren’t already.
I put out my hand, and he lets me tug him to my side. “Come on, let’s figure out what to do with you, okay?” I slip off my cut and wrap it around him, backpack and all.
He lets out a little sigh at the added warmth and looks up. “Aunt Georgia said to find you.”
“She did, huh? Where’s your Aunt, buddy?”
