A rookie cop walked out of a gas station and nearly fifty bikers were staring at him. Thirty seconds later, every single one of them was on his knees.
Ryan Decker had been a police officer for twenty-one days. He’d written fo
Not gradually. All at once. Like someone hit a mute button on fifty conversations.
Ryan looked up. Every biker in the lot was looking at him.
His training kicked in. He scanned for threats. Checked his positioning. Mentally noted his radio, his vehicle, the exits.
But nobody was moving toward him. Nobody looked aggressive. They were just staring.
Then an older man stepped forward from the group. Tall. Weathered face. President patch on his vest. He walked slowly across the parking lot. Stopped right in front of Ryan.
He didn’t speak at first. Just studied Ryan’s face like he was looking at a ghost.
“You look just like him,” the man said quietly.
“Excuse me?”
The man looked down at Ryan’s badge. Read the name. Closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he lowered himself to one knee. Bowed his head.
Ryan took a step back. “Sir, you don’t have to—”
Another biker walked forward. Same thing. Looked at Ryan’s face. Looked at the badge. Knelt.
Then another. And another.
Ryan stood frozen with a styrofoam coffee cup while nearly fifty men knelt in front of him on the cracked asphalt of a gas station parking lot.
Nobody spoke. Some of the men had tears on their faces.
“What’s happening?” Ryan whispered.
The president raised his head. “Your father saved every man in this parking lot. And he made us promise to never tell you how.”
Ryan’s hand tightened around the coffee cup. “My father?”
“Jack Decker. Sergeant with the county sheriff’s department. Died eleven years ago.”
“I know who my father was.”
“No, son. You don’t.”
The president got to his feet. He was tall. Six-three at least. His eyes were gray and steady. The kind of eyes that had seen things and decided what to keep.
“My name is Walt Brennan. I’ve been president of this club for twenty-seven years. And I’ve been carrying a secret about your father for fifteen.”
Ryan set the coffee on the hood of his cruiser. His hands needed to be free. “What secret?”
Walt looked back at his men. Still kneeling. Still silent.
“Not here,” Walt said. “Let’s sit down somewhere.”
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