Across the diner, a stool screeched loudly against the tile. Through the gap in the giant's legs, Lily watched as a second pair of heavy black boots stepped into the aisle. Then a third pair. Then a fourth.
She twisted her head slightly, peering out from beneath the edge of the tablecloth. Three other men, all wearing the same black leather vests with patches covering their backs, had stood up from the bar counter. They didn't draw weapons. They didn't shout. They simply walked over and flanked the giant, creating an impenetrable barricade of broad shoulders and stern, scarred faces.
Ray’s brown shoes retreated two full steps.
“Mac,” the giant biker called out without taking his eyes off Ray. “You see a little girl in a purple coat wander in here today?”
From behind the counter, a gruff voice answered. “Can’t say that I did, Bear. Must be seeing things.”
“Hear that?” the giant—Bear—said, his voice rumbling softly. “Mac didn’t see her. I didn’t see her. Nobody here saw her. Which means you walked into the wrong diner, friend. Turn around. Walk out the door. Don't slip in the rain.”
Ray’s breathing was heavy and ragged. He was cornered, outmatched, and humiliated in front of an entire room. But Ray was also desperate. Desperation made him dangerous.
“I know she’s in here,” Ray hissed, his voice dropping into a venomous register. “I saw her purple coat through the window. You think you’re tough because you’ve got your little gang backing you up? I’m her legal guardian. If she doesn’t come out right now, I’m dialing 911, and I will have every cop in this county crawling through your dirty little bar.”
Ray reached into his jacket pocket, presumably to pull out his cell phone.
Above Lily, the giant let out a long, heavy sigh. Slowly, deliberately, Bear took a half step back, moving his heavy boot away from the water glass Lily had pushed toward him.
He bent his massive knees, crouching down so his face was level with the space under the table.
Lily shrank back against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest, her heart hammering frantically. But as Bear looked at her, his dark eyes weren't mean. They were incredibly sad, framed by deep wrinkles and a thick, silver-streaked beard.
“Little bird,” Bear whispered, his voice so quiet only she could hear it over the diner's ambient noise. “You know that angry man out there?”
Lily nodded slowly, her whole body trembling. She couldn't speak. Her throat felt completely glued shut.
“Is he your daddy?” Bear asked.
Lily shook her head violently, side to side.
Bear’s eyes narrowed slightly, observing her. He looked at the way she was cowering, the way she made herself as small as humanly possible. He noticed the frayed, dirty hems of her jeans. And then, his gaze drifted to her left wrist.
When Lily had reached out to push the water glass, her purple coat sleeve had ridden up. Circling her pale wrist was a dark, purplish-black bruise, the exact size and shape of a grown man's gripping hand. It was fresh. It was angry. And it told Bear exactly what kind of man was standing in the aisle behind him.
Bear’s jaw locked. The muscles in his neck tightened into thick cords.
“Okay,” Bear whispered softly, reaching out one massive, calloused hand toward her. He kept his palm open, letting her decide whether to take it. “You don't have to go back out there into the rain. Come on out, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”
Lily hesitated. Ray’s voice was still echoing in her mind, threatening terrible things if he ever caught her stealing from his desk again.