“What?”
“There are already three vehicles parked outside the facility that don’t belong to staff. One is registered to Arthur’s son. We’d prefer he not have the opportunity to speak with you privately.”
A chill slid right down my spine.
I glanced across the lot.
Dark SUV near the side entrance.
Silver sedan under the oak tree.
Black pickup idling two rows back.
I hadn’t noticed them.
Now I couldn’t stop noticing them.
“What do I do?”
“You drive straight to the address I’m texting you. Arthur is safe. Scout is safe. We would like to keep it that way.”
I swallowed.
“And me?”
The line was quiet for one second.
“Tonight,” she said, “we’d like to keep you that way too.”
The address took me forty minutes out of town.
Past the strip malls.
Past the subdivisions.
Past the last gas station with bright lights and tired coffee.
Then the road narrowed.
Pines crowded both sides.
The air smelled like cold earth and wood smoke.
When the gate finally came into view, it was already open.
Two bikes stood outside it like sentries.
Not blocking the road.
Just watching it.
I drove through slowly.
The property opened up into a wide clearing lit by string lights and porch lamps and the warm glow of windows.
Cabins.
Work sheds.
A long main lodge.
Half a dozen bikes lined up like polished black horses.
And right in the middle of it all was Arthur’s restored vintage motorcycle, parked beneath a floodlight like something sacred.
The sidecar door was open.
Scout was asleep inside it.
Even from my car, I could see the rise and fall of his old ribcage.
I didn’t realize I was crying until I tried to unbuckle my seat belt and my fingers slipped.
Bear was the first one to reach me.
That giant biker from the facility.
Up close, he looked even bigger.
Gray in the beard.
Scar over one eyebrow.
Hands like shovel blades.
He opened my car door like I weighed nothing and gave me a nod that somehow felt gentler than any hug.
“You made it.”
I got out and looked around.
