Chapter 1: Everybody Stay Where You Are
“Nobody move.””
Officer Nia Brooks was already stepping out of her cruiser when the motorcycles stopped.
One by one, the engines growled down into silence along the bright afternoon road. Chrome flashed beneath the hard daylight. Leather vests shifted as riders planted their boots on the shoulder. Behind several of the bikers sat children—small bodies in oversized jackets, tired faces peeking around adult shoulders.
Nia’s raised hand stayed in the air.
Her eyes moved quickly.
Eight motorcycles.
At least a dozen adults.
And children.
Something inside her tightened.
“Everybody stay where you are,” Nia said.
The bikers obeyed, but their bodies changed. Shoulders squared. Hands became visible. Two riders glanced at each other, then at the children behind them.
At the center of the group sat a broad-shouldered Black man with a gray beard and a weathered leather vest. His name was Bear, though Nia didn't know that yet.
He slowly killed his engine.
Nia approached, one hand hovering near her radio.
“Why are there children with this club?”” she asked.
Bear removed his helmet.
His gray beard lifted slightly in the wind as he studied her. He looked intimidating enough to make most people reconsider asking a second question.
Nia asked it anyway.
“Bear: They’re safe with us.””
Nia stopped three steps away.
“Safe?”” she repeated.
“On the back of motorcycles?””
Bear’s expression didn't change.
“They were safer with us than where we found them.””
That answer landed differently.
Nia glanced behind him.
A little girl clutched the waist of another rider. Two boys sat silently on a motorcycle, helmets too large for their heads. One child had fallen asleep against an adult’s back.
None of them looked like they were enjoying a road trip.
They looked exhausted.
Nia lowered her hand from her radio, but not completely.
“Where are their parents?””
Nobody answered.
The wind pushed dust across the road.
Bear looked down.
That was when Nia saw him.
A tiny boy was trembling behind Bear’s motorcycle.
Maybe six years old.
His clothes were worn, the knees of his pants dirty, one shoelace hanging loose. He had both arms wrapped around Bear’s jacket as though letting go would make the entire world disappear.
Nia softened her voice.
“Son, do you know these people?””
The bikers shifted uneasily.
Bear turned his head.
“Easy,” he said quietly.
Nia took one slow step closer.
The boy looked at her.
His eyes were wide.
Not angry.
Not curious.
Terrified.
Nia crouched slightly so she wasn't towering over him.
“My name is Nia,” she said.
“I’m a police officer. I just want to make sure you’re okay.””
The boy's lips parted.
No sound came out.
Then, suddenly, he let go of Bear and climbed down.
Nia reached out instinctively.
The boy ran past her.
Straight toward Bear.
He wrapped both arms around Bear’s leg.
“Grandpa!””
Everything stopped.
Nia froze.
Several bikers exchanged stunned looks.
One woman covered her mouth.
Bear stared down at the child as if he'd just been struck.
“Eli…”
The boy pressed his face against Bear’s thigh.
“I knew you’d come.””
Bear slowly bent and placed both hands around the child.
“You’re all right,” he whispered.
“I got you.””
Nia stood there, watching.
Grandpa.
The word didn't fit the scene.
She looked from Bear to the other children.
“Bear,” she said carefully, “what is going on?””
Bear lifted his eyes.
Before he could answer, Eli tightened his grip.
Nia crouched again.
“Eli, can I talk to you?””
The little boy didn't respond.
She noticed his hands.
They were dirty.
His fingernails were dark with road grime.
And on his right wrist was something written in black ink.
Nia leaned closer.
Her expression changed.
“Eli, sweetheart… may I see your hand?””
Bear's jaw tightened.
The boy slowly lifted his arm.
Nia gently took his hand.
Then she saw the writing.
Not a name.
Not a phone number.
An address.
A full street address.
And beneath it, an apartment unit number.
The ink covered nearly the entire inside of his wrist and continued across the edge of his palm.
Nia stared.
“Who wrote this on you?””
Eli's lower lip began to shake.
Bear leaned closer.
“Eli, who wrote that?””
The child looked at Bear first.
Then at Nia.
“I don't know.””
Nia looked at Bear.
He looked back at her.
For the first time, the calm in his face cracked.
“Did somebody bring him to you?”” she asked.
Bear nodded once.
“Yesterday.””
“Who?””
“We don't know.””
Nia's stomach sank.
She looked at the other children.
“Are they all from the same place?””
“No.””
The answer came from a biker woman near the rear of the group.
Nia turned.
The woman shook her head.
“We found them in different places.””
Nia narrowed her eyes.
“Found them?””
Bear's voice was low.
“Bus station. Gas station. Under a bridge. Outside a grocery store.””
Nia looked back at Eli.
The boy was staring at the ink on his own wrist now, as if he wished he could rub it away.
“Why would someone write an address on a child?”” Nia asked.
Nobody answered.
A car sped past them, tires humming against hot pavement.
Nia's radio crackled at her shoulder.
“Unit 214, status?””
She pressed the button.
“Unit 214. Possible endangered children. I need another unit and child services at my location.””
Bear's eyes hardened.
“Don't.””
Nia looked at him.
“Don't what?””
“Separate them.””
Her voice stayed firm.
“I haven't said I'm separating anyone.””
“You're thinking it.””
“I’m thinking about keeping children safe.””
“So am I.””
The tension between them snapped tight.
Nia looked at Eli again.
The boy had stopped crying.
That scared her more.
Children who trusted adults cried.
Children who expected adults to hurt them often went quiet.
She held his wrist gently.
“Eli, I need you to tell me something.””
He swallowed.
“What?””
“Did anyone tell you to come here?””
A long silence.
Then Eli nodded.
Nia felt her pulse quicken.
“Who?””
The boy looked toward the motorcycles.
Then toward the road behind them.
His fingers curled around Nia's glove.
“A man.””
“What man?””
“He said Grandpa would know.””
Bear went completely still.
Nia slowly turned toward him.
“You knew someone was sending children to you?””
Bear shook his head.
“No.””
“You're sure?””
“Yes.””
Eli tugged weakly at Nia's sleeve.
“He had a red truck.””
Bear's face changed.
Nia caught it immediately.
“What?”” she asked.
Bear didn't answer.
“Bear.””
He looked down the highway.
“I've seen that truck.””
Nia stood.
“Where?””
“Last night.””
“Where?””
Bear pointed toward a side road behind them.
“Parked across from the motel where we found Eli.””
Nia's radio crackled again.
Before she could respond, one of the bikers suddenly shouted.
“Bear!””
Everyone turned.
A black SUV had appeared at the far end of the road.
It wasn't speeding.
It wasn't passing.
It was moving slowly toward them.
Too slowly.
Bear's hand went to Eli's shoulder.
Nia instinctively stepped in front of the boy.
The bikers closed ranks around the children.
The SUV kept coming.
Then it stopped.
Thirty yards away.
The driver's window lowered.
Nia couldn't see the driver's face.
But she could see the hand that emerged.
It held a piece of paper.
The man lifted it toward them.
Even from a distance, Nia recognized the handwriting.
It matched the ink on Eli's wrist.
Then the driver's voice carried across the road.
“Officer Brooks?””
Nia's blood ran cold.
She had never told anyone her name.
The man held up the paper again.
May you like
And this time, she saw what was written beneath the address.
Her own home address.
