DUTCH REMOVED HIS SKULLCAP from his back pocket and walked out of the pool hall's front door. He pulled the tight material over his head.
"Are you leaving already?" Kimball, an MC brother from the Moses Lake Chapter of WACOM Motorcycle Club, stepped away from the building.
As a member of the Bellevue Chapter, Dutch visited the Moses Lake and Spokane Chapter in a continual loop, making sure business was taken care of and only staying as long as he was needed to keep the laundered money route on schedule.
"Just going for a ride." He threw his leg over the seat, started his bike, and rode away.
Two little legs couldn't outrun him.
He'd find the girl and make sure she got home safely. She shouldn't be out after dark. Not at her age.
He'd never seen such a scrawny kid with knots in her hair and dirt on her face who ate like a grown-ass man before. Maybe he'd slip her parents some money to feed and clean her up.
He spotted movement in a field south of the county road heading out of town. Slowing down, he studied the area, straining to see in the darkness. It could be a deer or a fucking cow.
He rode forward, suspecting it was a lone girl, running in the night. A girl young enough, she shouldn't be allowed out of sight of the house, where her parents should be keeping a good eye on her.
Seeing her eating like a dog, wolfing down the scraps of food off the picnic table, angered him. He had a good childhood, but there were hardships between barely surviving with a single mother supporting two kids and Children's Protective Service stepping in on occasions, but he'd never gone without food.
He slowed along the highway, made a U-turn, and then cut across the road, parking next to the field. Making sure he was out of traffic, he cut the engine and studied the land, trying to find the child.
Several minutes later, the kid's form grew clearer in his vision. Her uneven gallop and uncoordinated movements marked an erratic path.
Angered that she was out in the night by herself, he made sure he stayed on his motorcycle to keep from shaking some sense into her. It wasn't her fault.
Some people shouldn't have kids.
The girl stumbled out of the field twenty feet from him and stopped before falling to her knees. Despite his intentions to stay away from her, he got off the Harley and strode toward her.
She looked up at him. The desperation and fear apparent in her gaze before her upper body pitched forward, and she vomited in front of him, barely missing his boots.
He leaned forward and gathered her long dirty strands of hair, holding it behind her back as she emptied her stomach of everything she'd eaten. He'd known it wasn't normal for a child that size to eat a man-size meal.
He should've stopped her or had the cook fix her something else instead of taking one of the orders out from under the warming light.
She dry heaved, no more food coming up. That's when he spotted the napkin and bundle of uneaten fries on the ground beside the vomit.
He exhaled heavily. She'd taken some of the food he'd given her when she ran.
He hooked his arm around the middle of her without letting go of her hair and lifted her off the ground.
Taking her to his motorcycle, he set her on the seat. "Hold still, so you don't fall off."
He dug through his bag and found one of his shirts. She refused to take it from him, and he wiped her face and hands off. It wasn't much different than cleaning up one of his MC brothers who'd passed out after vomiting a night's worth of drinks.
She made no move to run away from him.
He tossed the shirt in the ditch and strode back to her. When he'd left the pool hall, he hadn't had a plan on what he'd do with the kid if he caught up with her. He only wanted to make sure she got home safely.
If her parents confronted him, he'd have a lot to say about their parenting.
Her chin fell to her chest and soft noises leaked from her. He gritted his teeth. It wasn't his aim to make her cry.
"I'll take you home." He bent at the waist, trying to see her face. "Where do you live?"
She leaned toward him. Afraid she was going to slide off the seat, he stepped closer. Her head pressed against his stomach.
Despite being 31 years old, he had no kids of his own. He was at a loss on how to comfort her.
A car zoomed past them, not slowing down. The side of a highway wasn't the place for a child to be, especially at night.
"I need to get you home." He cupped the back of her head, hesitated, and patted her. Her fucking skull fit in his palm.
Resolved to get her home and safe, he pushed her away from him. He couldn't put it off any longer. Someone would be looking for her, and the last thing he wanted was the cops on his tail and catching him with a little girl.
"Can you tell me where you live?"
She looked behind her. Okay, she lived on the other side of the highway.
Not wanting to take her on his motorcycle and not wanting to leave his ride on the side of the highway, he took out his cell phone and made a call. It'd take a couple minutes to have someone from the Moses Lake Chapter ride over and watch his bike.
After he put the call out, he took his pack of smokes out of his vest pocket. "Hang on a second. Once someone comes, I'll walk you home."
She scooted on the seat as if to leave. He stepped in her way, preventing her from running.
Losing patience, he set her back on the bike. "You're not going anywhere."
She struck out, every limb going in different directions. Afraid of hurting her, he could only deflect her tiny hands and feet from striking the buttons on his vest or the chain at his hip. He couldn't have her hurting her little hands.
He realized quickly that he couldn't stop her without touching her. Hauling her off his motorcycle, he hugged her small body to his chest.
She gave up the fight and stilled. He exhaled in relief.
She slipped her arms around his neck and her head pressed against his shoulder. Her warm breath blew on his skin. He looked around. Someone had to be looking for her.
He was unfit to watch over a child.
Pacing back and forth along the side of the highway, he kept looking for a WAKOM member to come to his aid.
He'd done some risky things in his life, but holding a little girl that was a stranger to him, seemed more dangerous than anything he'd ever done—including a two-year stint in prison.
He looked down the two-lane highway. Headlights beamed in both directions. He turned his back, facing the field.
His heart pounded. He'd hate to kill someone in front of the child.
People see him, and they believed the worst. They wouldn't see what was right in front of their face.
The low rumble of a motorcycle reached him. He glanced in the direction of town and spotted the lone headlight.
"I'll get you home," he whispered, turning back around as the cars passed.
The rider pulled around and came to a stop behind Dutch's Harley. He carried the girl to his MC brother.
"Jesus Christ, man. What are you doing with a child?" Piston heaved his overweight body off the motorcycle and sauntered over to him.
"I found her at the pool hall, eating scraps outside." His arms tightened around the girl. "Fed her a meal, and she ran off. It was dark."
Piston shook his head. "Probably a runaway."
"Nah, she's a baby." He hefted her higher in his arms. "She's probably around ten years old."