Skip to content “You’re Eagle,” the boy said, looking me straight in the eyes for the first time. “Daddy said find Eagle if I’m scared. Eagle keeps promises.”
I felt the world tilt.
Thunder Mike had been my brother for twenty years. We’d ridden thousands of miles together. And I’d never known he had a son.
“Your husband was Mike?” I asked the mother, though I already knew.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Daddy’s brothers,” the boy said simply.
That’s when I heard the rumble. Harleys approaching. The evening coffee run. Big Jim rolled in first, then Phoenix, Spider, and Dutch. One by one, they pulled into the lot and killed their engines.
They saw me kneeling there with the kid attached to my vest and the woman crying on the ground. Every single one of them knew something significant was happening.
Phoenix approached slowly. The boy’s head snapped up.
“Flames,” the boy said, pointing at Phoenix’s neck tattoo. “Daddy said Phoenix has flames.”
Phoenix stopped dead. “That’s Mike’s boy.”
The kid looked around at the circle forming. These big, rough men in leather and denim. Any normal kid would have been terrified.
But this boy was checking them off a list.
“Big Jim. Mustache.” He pointed. “Roadkill. Scar here.” He traced a line down his own cheek. “Dutch. Missing finger.”
