2 Chapter 2: THE MEN OUTSIDE ROOM SEVENTEEN
Back inside the Rustline Roadhouse, Bear had lifted Clara into a booth positioned away from the front windows. He set a plate of toast in front of her, although the frightened child couldn't bring herself to eat. She did, however, accept a glass of water, gripping it with both hands.
Denise Harper, the waitress, knelt beside the booth and began gently wiping the gravel and dirt from Clara's feet with a damp towel.
Denise had three children of her own. She had spent fourteen years working at the roadhouse and knew nearly every member of the motorcycle club personally.
Over those years, she had watched the riders collect donations for medical expenses, help elderly neighbors repair their houses, and devote entire weekends to transporting supplies after powerful desert storms.
But she had never witnessed the particular expression that appeared on Stone's face when Clara spoke about her brother.
Denise kept her voice soft.
“Honey, did somebody hurt you?”
Clara shook her head.
“Victor yelled at Mommy. Noah tried to make him stop.”
Denise felt a sharp ache in her chest.
“And what happened next?”
Clara lowered her eyes toward her bare feet.
“Noah fell down. Mommy kept saying his name.”
Bear's expression shifted.
He glanced through the window, where Stone and several other bikers were preparing to make their way across the road on foot.
Suddenly, Clara reached out and caught Denise by the sleeve.
“Are they bad men?”
Denise followed the child's gaze toward the riders outside.
“No, sweetheart. They may look a little rough, but they're people who care about others.”
Clara swallowed nervously.
“Mommy said they were dangerous.”
Bear overheard her words and managed a faint, sorrowful smile.
“People sometimes believe that about us.”
Clara examined his enormous hands and the tattoos extending across his arms.
“Are you dangerous?”
Bear gave the question serious thought before answering.
“Not to a little girl who needs somebody to help her.”
Outside, Stone had already divided the riders into two groups.
Some would remain at the roadhouse with Clara, making sure she was protected and helping emergency personnel find the correct location when they arrived.
The others would move toward the motel while maintaining a safe distance. Their responsibility was to watch the entrances without surrounding the building or doing anything that might provoke the people inside.
Marcus had received confirmation that police officers and paramedics were already responding.
Stone had no desire to become anyone's hero.
He wanted the children to survive, their mother to be safe, and those responsible for the situation to face the authorities.
While crossing the highway, Stone noticed that the motel office was open.
An elderly manager stood behind its counter. As he watched the approaching bikers, his alarm was impossible to miss.
Stone entered the office and placed his hands on the counter.
“Morning. A little girl crossed the road and came to us for help. Her brother is in Room 17. We've already called the police.”
The manager went pale.
“Seventeen?”
Stone confirmed with a nod.
The older man glanced toward the security monitor.
“Those men arrived last night. One of them said the woman was his wife and that the kids were tired. I heard an argument around four this morning, but he told me the boy was sick.”
Stone examined the monitor.
The security camera displayed the parking lot and the line of motel-room doors, although the picture was blurry and grainy.
“Have you seen anybody leave?”
The manager shook his head.
“Not since the little girl ran out.”
Stone's attention sharpened.
“You saw her leave?”
The man swallowed uneasily.
“I thought she was just playing. I didn't understand…”
His words trailed off as his gaze shifted toward Room 17.
Stone maintained an even tone.
“You can still help. Leave the camera recording and tell dispatch everything you know.”
Outside the office, the other riders waited along the public sidewalk and near the entrance.
Their motorcycles were still parked on the opposite side of the highway.
The desert morning was growing hotter, yet Stone felt a strange coldness beneath his leather vest.
From his position, he could see the white van standing near Room 17.
Its rear doors were partly open, and a suitcase had been left on the pavement beside it.
Someone appeared to have been getting ready to leave.
Then the door of the motel room opened.
The thin stranger emerged with a phone pressed against his ear.
He stopped abruptly when he noticed the bikers observing the building from a distance.
Stone saw the precise moment the man understood that something had changed.
The stranger rushed back inside.
A moment later, the curtains shifted.
Inside Room 17, Victor moved to the window and studied the men standing near the motel office.
“What is this supposed to be?”
The thin man looked frightened.
“There are bikers outside. A whole bunch of them. They know something.”
Victor yanked the curtain shut.
A sudden surge of hope swept through Laura, so powerful that it almost caused her physical pain.
Clara had succeeded.
Her six-year-old daughter had crossed the highway, entered a building she had been taught to fear, and found adults willing to listen to her.
Laura pressed her face into Noah's hair.
“Your sister did it, baby. She found somebody to help us.”
Victor overheard her.
He turned toward the bed, his expression growing darker.
“You really think those men are going to save you?”
Laura raised her eyes.
“I think somebody finally knows we're in here.”
Victor snatched the folder off the table.
“Then sign it. Now.”
Laura refused with a shake of her head.
Victor stepped toward her, but the broad man in the black jacket moved into the space between them.
“Victor, that's enough.”
Victor glared at him.
“Get out of my way.”
The man remained where he was.
“You told us this was about getting her signature on some paperwork. Nobody said we'd be keeping a sick child trapped in here.”
Victor's voice became louder.
“I paid you to do a job.”
The man looked toward Noah.
“Then that job is finished.”
Victor's carefully maintained confidence began falling apart.
His eyes shifted from the window to the entrance as he tried to calculate how much time remained before the situation slipped completely beyond his control.
Outside, Stone noticed the curtain move again.
His phone suddenly rang.
Denise was calling.
There was unmistakable tension in her voice.
“Stone, Clara remembered something else. She says Victor has the car keys. He told the other men they were leaving before breakfast.”
Stone turned his gaze toward the white van.
“Let dispatch know. And make sure Clara stays away from the windows.”
He disconnected the call and faced the motel manager.
“Is there a telephone number for Room 17?”
The manager indicated the telephone on the desk.
Stone picked it up and dialed.
Through the motel's thin walls, the sound of ringing could be heard.
Once.
Twice.
On the third ring, somebody answered.
Victor sounded irritated.
“What?”
Stone deliberately kept his voice steady.
“My name is Derek Mercer. A little girl came to us asking for help. Emergency services have been called. Her brother needs medical attention.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then Victor released a humorless laugh.
“You people ought to mind your own business.”
Stone looked toward the closed door of Room 17.
“When a child needs help, it's everybody's business.”
Victor's breathing became audible through the receiver.
“You don't know a thing about this family.”
Stone replied without raising his voice.
“I know Clara is safe. I know Noah needs an ambulance. And I know the police are coming.”
The connection abruptly ended.
Inside the motel room, Victor slammed the receiver onto the table.
Laura flinched at the sound, but the words she had overheard continued echoing in her thoughts.
Clara was safe.
For the first time since Victor had forced them into the motel, Laura dared to believe that she and her children might make it through the morning alive.
Noah moved faintly against her shoulder.
“Mom?”
Laura immediately lowered her head.
“I'm right here, sweetheart.”
His eyes opened only slightly.
“Clara?”
Tears streamed down Laura's cheeks.
“She's safe. She found help for us.”
Noah made an effort to smile, but discomfort tightened his expression.
Then his breathing grew even more shallow.
Laura's fragile hope instantly gave way to fresh terror.
She turned toward the doorway.
“Please! Somebody help my son!”
Her desperate cry filled the room and carried into the corridor outside.
Stone heard her from his position near the motel office.
He began moving toward the door, but stopped when Victor suddenly threw it open.
Victor stood in the entrance with his face flushed and his hands trembling from anger.
“What do you think you're doing?”
Stone remained several yards away.
“Trying to make sure that boy gets medical treatment.”
Victor looked beyond him toward the waiting riders.
“You brought a motorcycle gang here to threaten me?”
Stone held his ground.
“No. I brought people who wanted to help. The police are already coming.”
Victor's eyes flickered toward the van.
Stone noticed the glance.
“Driving away isn't going to fix this.”
Victor pressed his lips together.
“You have no idea who you're dealing with.”
Stone studied him silently for a long moment.
When he finally answered, his voice was as calm and measured as it had been when he first spoke to Clara.
“I know exactly who I'm dealing with. You're a grown man keeping a sick little boy from getting the help he needs.”
Something changed in Victor's expression.
For an instant, his arrogance vanished, revealing a more desperate emotion beneath it.
Behind him, Laura cried out again.
“Noah! Sweetheart, open your eyes!”
The broad stranger moved past Victor and appeared in the doorway.
“Call an ambulance! Right now!”
Stone lifted his phone.
“It's already on the way.”
Relief crossed the stranger's face.
Victor, however, whirled toward him.
“You're supposed to be helping me!”
The man shook his head firmly.
May you like
“Not with this.”
Then the rising wail of sirens could be heard approaching along the highway.
