Teenagers ran away from home. He'd taken off more times than he could count when he hit his teen years. But ten years old was too young to be on her own.
"Her daddy will kill you if he catches you." Piston sighed. "Take her home."
"Plan to, but I don't know where she lives." He couldn't leave her on the side of the road. "You live around here. Who does she belong to?"
WACOM members normally kept to themselves but kept abreast of news and people in the community. It was their business to make sure they knew everyone. It helped keep targets off their back.
Piston stepped around him. He understood his MC brother was trying to get a look at the girl. She had her face against his neck, and going by her breathing, she was out for the night.
"I can't see her." Piston sauntered over to his bike, removed a flashlight from his bag, and returned to Dutch.
The light shined on his shoulder. He kept his gaze on the road. The faster he could get out of here, the better he'd feel.
"Fuckin' hell." The light went out. "That's Sue Smith's kid."
"Who?" He turned toward Piston.
Besides the members of the Moses Lake Chapter, he knew no one in the area. He hailed from Bellevue and wore the patch for the chapter there.
"A chick with a bad heroin addiction." Piston rubbed his head. "I thought the cops picked her up on an outstanding warrant a couple of weeks ago and found her overdosed."
"She's a foster kid?"
"Yeah, I imagine. I don't think she has any family around, 'cept her mom." Piston looked behind him. "Though I could be wrong. Sue was staying in a rental house over on Dover Street."
"Where's that?"
Piston hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "You go North, up the highway, take the first road. If you go about a half-mile, there's a dirt road on the right that winds back into those trees you see in the distance."
He couldn't see any trees through the darkness. "I'll take her back to the house. Maybe someone is there."
"Yeah." Piston cleared his throat. "How are you going to do that?"
"Walk." He stepped toward the highway. "What color of house?"
"Brown, I think." Piston strolled over to his bike. "I'll ride over there and wait for you."
"No." He stepped up onto the asphalt. "Stay with my Harley."
"It'll be a walk, carrying her. You can probably cut across the next field. There will be a yellow house you'll have to skirt, but the next house was where her mom was staying."
If he had a choice between walking and riding, he'd be on two wheels. But he had no choice. The kid needed to be at home. Whoever was in charge of taking care of her needed to learn what a fucked-up job they were doing.
He waited until a car flew by, shielding the child in his arms, and then crossed the road. Twenty yards into the next field, water seeped into the leather of his boots. Just his luck, he would probably walk into a swamp and not see it coming.
The tall grass grabbed his jeans, hampering each step. Uneven ground from the tires of a tractor putting ruts every few steps threatened to trip him.
Making it to the first house, he was almost past when a big dog charged, barking its fool head off.
"Shut the fuck up, or I'll shoot." He growled back at the dog.
The animal followed him until he reached a line of trees and spotted a darker house up ahead.
The kid's warm body against his vest had him sweating by the time he trudged into the backyard. He walked around the single-story home until he stood on the dirt road out in front.
He should've brought a flashlight.
The trees around the house blocked the light from the moon. He shifted the girl to his other shoulder, half hoping she'd wake up.
It looked as if no one was home. There were no lights on, and the grass was up to his knees. No cars, no toys. Nothing, except a garbage can by a mailbox.
He couldn't have the right place.
With only one direction to walk, he took off to find another house. It was hard to believe no one was out looking for the girl. There had to be an adult around. Someone had to know she was gone.
Ten minutes later, he spotted a glow in the distance. The light moved, and he walked faster. He had to be close to the road. What had Piston said about the distance on the dirt road? A mile? A half-mile? It felt like he'd walked longer.
Another light came from ahead and then shifted toward him. Someone was coming.
He stopped, stepping off the road.
A lone headlight. He stepped out again and raised his hand. MC brother or not, he trusted someone straddling a seat more than one driving a cage.
The rider stopped beside him. Recognizing Piston, he ignored the frustration over having his bike sitting on the highway, easy enough for someone to Jack.
"Where?" He needed to put the girl down.
"Last house, brother." Piston balanced the motorcycle. "I called Crusher. He's with your Harley."
"Thanks, man." He stayed on the road. "Nobody is at that house. It's dark."
"I don't know what to tell you." Piston shrugged. "Guess you could drop her off somewhere, call the cops, and let them know where to find her."
Having lived through going to a few foster homes while growing up and having a mom who cared but struggled, the last place he wanted to put the girl was somewhere that someone could hurt her.
"I'll take her back to the pool hall." He hefted her up higher.
He'd carried sixty pounds of dead weight around for the last hour. His arms killed him. All he wanted to do was set the girl down.
But, none of tonight was her fault.
Whatever she'd gone through was too much for a young child to carry. So, he'd carry her.