Bear felt the air pressure in the booth drop. To his left, Dex, a younger Hound with heavily inked knuckles, stood up, the vinyl seat squeaking loudly.
"Who is Carl?" Bear asked, keeping his tone measured. He could feel the rage already beginning to boil in the men standing behind him, but he needed the girl to stay calm.
"My stepdad," Mia whispered, shrinking back slightly. "My mom got sick and died last year. Carl married her right before she got bad. He told me yesterday that he's the boss now. He said the house is his, and I'm just a burden."
The words hit the table like heavy stones.
Bear slid out of the booth, his towering, six-foot-four frame casting a shadow over the little girl. Brenda gasped, taking another step back, fully expecting the biker to roar. Instead, Bear dropped to one knee, putting himself at eye level with Mia. The worn leather of his cut creaked loudly.
"Did Carl hit you, Mia?" Bear asked softly, gesturing with one massive finger toward the fading bruise on her cheek.
Mia looked down at her duct-taped sneakers. "He said I was clumsy. He said if I cried, he'd send me to a place where they lock bad kids in a room with no windows." She sniffled, wiping her nose with her frayed sleeve. "He locked me in the basement this morning. He said he was having a big sale to empty out all the garbage so he could sell the house and leave. He said the state workers are coming to take me away tomorrow."
Prophet let out a low, dangerous string of curses. Dex cracked his knuckles, the sound like dry branches snapping in the quiet diner.
"He's throwing away Jax's things?" Prophet asked, his voice tight with restrained fury.
"Everything," Mia sobbed. "I climbed out the basement window. I walked here because I remembered my dad telling me a secret a long time ago. He said if I was ever in the worst trouble in the world, I needed to bring this metal tag to the Hounds on Highway 9. He said you were his brothers. He said you'd protect me."
Bear stared at the little girl. Jax had known. Even if Jax had kept his family separate from the club to protect them, he had given his daughter the ultimate safety net. He had given her his club tag. It was the highest honor a member could carry, and Jax had left it as a beacon for his child.
Bear stood up slowly. The sheer size of him seemed to eclipse the morning light coming through the diner windows. He looked back at his table. Six hardened men, wearing the patch of the Iron Hounds, were all staring back at him. None of them had touched their breakfast. None of them needed to hear another word.
"Brenda," Bear called out, his voice echoing in the diner.
The waitress jumped. "Yes, Bear?"