Graham placed the gas nozzle back in its cradle with careful calm.
She should have been terrified of him.
The little girl had already started drifting back toward the store, pretending she’d done nothing unusual. Smart kid.
The man in the van opened his door.
“Lacey,” he called, too casually. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
The girl froze.
Graham swung a leg over his bike, hit the ignition, and let the engine roar alive.
The biker’s movement drew the man’s eyes immediately.
Graham rolled forward—not toward the road, but sideways—then turned the motorcycle broad across the narrow station exit. Chrome, steel, and six hundred pounds of machine now blocked the easiest path out.
The man frowned. “You got a problem?”
Graham took off his gloves one finger at a time. “Maybe.”
The man glanced at the girl. “My daughter forgot something. We’re in a hurry.”
Graham’s expression didn’t change. “Funny thing. She seems like she’s not.”
The station door opened. The girl stepped inside.
The man’s face tightened for a fraction of a second. It was small, but Graham saw it. Not worry. Not irritation. Panic.
That was enough.
Graham raised his voice slightly, not shouting, just enough. “Ma’am!” he called toward the cashier inside. “Lock the door and call 911.”
Everything broke at once.
The man lunged for the van, yanking the door wider. Graham dropped the kickstand and moved faster than anyone his age had a right to. He grabbed the door edge and slammed it back with brutal force. Metal cracked against the frame. The man cursed and shoved hard, but Graham drove his shoulder into it again.
“Get out of my way!” the man snarled.
“No,” Graham said.
The man swung.
His fist clipped Graham’s jaw, sharp enough to sting and split skin inside his cheek. Graham staggered half a step, then answered with a short, savage body shot that knocked the breath from the man. The driver stumbled back against the van.
Inside the gas station, the cashier—a woman in her fifties with trembling hands—was already dragging the girl behind the counter, fumbling for the phone.
The man recovered and reached into his jacket.
Graham’s pulse slammed.
Gun? Knife?
It came out as a set of keys.