Sky simply started sketching on the far paint-bay wall.
Jimmy saw and almost stopped her.
Then he recognized Luther.
A line drawing first.
Luther leaning into a turn.
Behind him came other Iron Jaws riders.
Gregory younger.
Terry with dark hair.
Jimmy twenty pounds lighter.
Old members who were dead now.
Current members Sky knew only through photographs.
The mural expanded.
Flames curled around wheels without touching riders.
Metallic grays became roads.
Deep blue and violet formed a night sky.
At the center was Hollow.
Behind him, barely outlined, was a smaller rider.
A girl.
Unfinished.
Terry worried more each day.
“She cannot live in an MC garage.”
Gregory nodded.
“She isn’t.”
“She’s sleeping here.”
“Temporarily.”
“That word stops working eventually.”
Gregory sighed.
“What do you want?”
“A lawyer.”
Lucy looked up.
Terry continued.
“A real one.”
“I agree.”
“And a safe legal placement.”
Gregory looked irritated.
“I agree.”
“Then stop glaring at me like I’m suggesting we dump her at a bus station.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Gregory looked away.
Terry softened.
“Hollow was my brother too.”
“I know.”
“But if we love the kid, we don’t turn her into another thing authorities can use against her.”
That ended the argument.
Terry knew a family-law attorney.
Martha Clark.
She was fifty-four, direct, tired, and almost impossible to intimidate.
Before they contacted her, another problem appeared.
Jeff found it.
He had been helping Lucy organize Luther’s old papers when he noticed several references to inquiries made around the time of Luther’s custody case.
One came from a private law office.
The client name was mostly redacted.
Mostly.
In one copied email, somebody had failed to remove it.
Michael Ventry.
Lucy knew the name.
“Steel Chains.”
Jeff looked confused.
“Another motorcycle club?”
“Years ago.”
“Enemy?”
Lucy disliked the word.
“Rival.”
“What happened?”
“His brother died.”
“When?”
“Same night Hollow crashed.”
Jeff sat back.
Lucy explained.
The deaths happened on different roads, almost an hour apart.
Luther was riding home when his motorcycle went down on rain-slick pavement.
Ventry’s brother died elsewhere.
But rumors spread.
Steel Chains believed Luther had been involved in an earlier confrontation that evening.
No evidence proved it.
Gregory insisted Hollow had left separately.
Police reports treated the crashes as unrelated.
Michael Ventry never accepted that.
Jeff searched public databases.
Recent activity appeared.
Ventry had hired a licensed private investigator.
The investigator had been making inquiries about Sky.
Bus stations.
Shelters.
A youth outreach center.
Jeff stared at the screen.
“He’s looking for her.”
Lucy felt cold.
The investigator’s actions were not automatically illegal.
Finding a missing minor could be legitimate.
What frightened Lucy was who paid for it.
Gregory called a closed meeting.
No Sky.
No prospects wandering through.
The older members sat around a scarred table.
Lucy laid out copies.
Terry read the investigator’s name.
“Maybe Ventry says he’s helping locate a runaway.”
Jimmy shook his head.
“Why?”
“Maybe because he hates Hollow.”
“That’s not evidence.”
Gregory looked at Terry.
“You defending him?”