Page 65 of Biker Daddies

We aren’t in the best part of town. This shelter is beat-up, but it’s well protected, gated, and fenced in. The door is thick steel that a bullet can’t penetrate and there are protective measures in place for the shelter to go on lockdown. Windows will get covered by more steel and we will be notified too, so if they need us we can get here in time. We made a secret exit only the owner knows about, tunnels underground that lead to safety.

A plan is always in place.

Just the thought of anything happening to the shelter has me growling.

“Stop,” Colt hisses as he bangs on the door. It’s a secret knock to let Heather know it’s the club and no one else.

She opens the door, looking more tired than ever, but a smile graces her face. She’s in her mid-fifties, blonde hair turning gray at the root, and she has wrinkles around her eyes but still she has a youthful appearance. She’s beautiful but her life hasn’t been.

“Colt. Bane. It’s so good to see you. Lunch is made. Would you like some?”

“You know I’ll never turn down your food, mama,” Colt flirts, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.

She rolls her eyes and hugs him. “It’s good to see you boys. You look well. Bane…something different about you.”

“I’m the same.” I step inside and close the door behind me, not bending down to hug her because I really don’t like touch unless it’s from Harlow. She can touch me all day and night. I’ll never get tired of it.

“You aren’t.” She taps her chin. “You’re…happy.”

“We aren’t here to talk about me,” I mutter.

“We have someone special,” Colt explains with a big bright smile.

I nudge him. “Don’t,” I warn. “We aren’t here to talk about her. We can’t.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t mean to pry. I just like seeing you boys happy. Especially you, Bane. I’m happy to see the hard lines of your face have softened.” She grabs my arms, a gesture of thoughtfulness and caring, but I just stare at where she’s touching me.

I can’t help it. I lean away from her.

She doesn’t take offense to my uneasiness. I’ve always been like this. It isn’t personal.

“Come on, sit. Sit.” She ushers us to the cafeteria.

The inside of the shelter is completely new, thanks to us. Everyone has a small bedroom. A very small bedroom, but a room nevertheless, accompanied with a small restroom too with a walk-in shower. People should have privacy.

The hallways are hardwood and fresh paintings from local artists hang on the wall. It’s bright and welcoming, something Prez was insistent on. Since people who have been abused are often depressed, it’s important they aren’t surrounded by something decrepit.

They have a huge space for donations, separated by sizes for women, men, and children.

We take a left to the cafeteria and it’s halfway filled. Mostly women and children. They’re all eating a balanced meal with food selections. Some are eating deli sandwiches, others are eating chicken on top of pasta with some type of sauce that looks delicious.

My stomach rumbles when the smell hits my nose.

“I’ll bring you a plate,” she tells us.

Colt grabs her hand. “We can get our own food, Heather. You don’t need to wait on us. We’ll wait on you.” He kisses the back of her hand, patting it in a kind gesture.

I don’t get it.

Why bother?

I pile my plate with chicken and pasta, then a big sandwich. When we head back to the table, Colt sets down a plate full of chicken with salad.

Leaves.

If I wanted to eat leaves, I’d walk to the closest tree, but Colt knows what Heather likes.

As we all sit down and start eating, I take a long gulp of Coke, then wipe my mouth. “Have any women or children come in high? Any deaths that we don’t know about?”

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