At least it wasn't a relative.
“We need a name, kid,” I prompted. While I had no love for rats, I admired Marcel’s bravery.
“I think his name is Keith.”
Next to me, Wrath snorted. “Keith the tweaker?”
Marcel lifted one bony shoulder. “That explains a lot,” he mumbled.
“How’d you get involved?” Wrath asked.
“I needed the money. He offered me fifty bucks if I brought the box to him.”
“You need fifty bucks that bad?” I asked.
He set his jaw in a firm, defiant line.
“Come on, kid,” Wrath snapped. “We haven’t decided if you’re gettin’ a beatdown or we’re calling the cops.”
That brought his head up, but not for the reason I thought.
“Please don’t call the cops,” he pleaded in a soft voice devoid of his earlier defiance.
I tilted my head toward Wrath. All six feet, six inches and two-hundred-eighty pounds of him. “You’d rather take a beating from him than a ride downtown?”
It wasn’t a fair question. Either way, I had no intention of calling the cops.
Marcel flicked his gaze at Wrath and scowled. “No, but I can’t afford to be at the police station all night. Or—never mind.”
“Or what?” I pressed.
He finally met my stare. Strain and exhaustion lingered in the haunted depths of his eyes. “I can’t afford to have CPS called. So just do what you gotta do.”
“Okay,” Wrath said, stepping forward.
I grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Where’re your parents?”
Marcel sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t know. Dad split last year. Mom’s been away for a couple days.”
“If the state takes you, at least you’ll get fed,” Wrath said.
Marcel started shaking his head before Wrath finished.
Something wasn’t right. I tapped Wrath’s elbow and we waited in silence for the kid to spill.
Marcel seemed to be weighing his options. From my vantage point, I had to admit, they were all pretty shitty.
“I can’t get separated from my sister,” he finally answered. “She needs me.”
Well, fuck if that wasn’t the one thing the kid could say that would flick Wrath’s kill switch to off. He lifted his chin. “How old is she?”
“Almost two.”
“Ah, Christ.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Who’s with her now?”
“My buddy.”
“What’d you need the money for?” I almost feared the answer. Desperation made people do reckless things.
Marcel balled his fists and stared at the floor. “Groceries.”
Admitting that cost him. He was a proud kid. I respected that.
“You got any other family?”
“My grandmother, but she lives about forty-five minutes away, and Blake needs me too.”
“That’s your buddy watching your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“How do I know you’re not full of shit?”
Marcel lifted his head, a spark of insolence returning to his eyes. “Guess you don’t.”
I chuckled and pointed to the box still on the floor. “Give it to me.”
He hurried to pick it up. Slowly, he handed it over, as if he expected me to lash out.
The lock on the box hadn’t worked in years. I flicked open the box and shuffled through some cash, pulling out a few bills. I handed the box to him. “Put it back where you found it.”
While he did that, I jerked my chin toward the parking lot, and Wrath followed me outside.
“You got the keys to the cage?” I asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
I glanced inside the garage. “I'm gonna give him a ride home."
He cocked his head. “Why? You plannin’ to adopt him? Thought you didn't want kids?”
“Very funny. I like him. Think he’d make a good prospect in a few years.”
Understanding sparked in his eyes. “You wanna start stacking the club with people loyal to you.”
“Loyal to us,” I corrected. We both knew our current president had to go. In the few years since Ruger had taken over the MC, our quality of life had gone to shit. He didn’t value any of the qualities that had drawn me to club life—loyalty, honor, brotherhood. The reasons I’d brought Wrath and our friend Zero into the club. The things my mentor, Grinder, had taught me club life should be about. Eventually, Ruger would get one of us killed. “I’m looking at the bigger picture here.”
“He’s not a coward, that’s for sure.” Wrath glanced inside again. “He puts on a few pounds of muscle and works on that scowl, he could be your mini-me. We can call him ‘Rock Junior.’”
“Just give me the damn keys, wiseass.”
He finally pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. “I’ll follow you.”
“Have a chat with Keith. Make sure the message sticks this time.”
An evil smile lit up his entire face. “My pleasure.”
“Well?” Marcel asked from the doorway.
He stood there, feet shoulder-width apart, chin lifted, arms loose at his sides. Like if he was going down, he’d at least try to get in a few punches. My admiration for him grew. He was scared shitless, if the sweat on his forehead was any indication, but brave.
“Grab your bike and follow me.”
Wrath took off for his Harley and Marcel followed me without question. At the club’s old Ford truck, I stopped and gestured for Marcel to throw his bike in the back.
“Where are we going?” he asked before lifting the bike.
Smart kid. “I’m gonna take you home and see if your story’s true. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”
“I’m not lying,” he muttered.
Yeah, I didn’t think he was. Still wanted to keep him on his toes. The last shred of morality I possessed wouldn’t let me beat a twelve-year-old kid bloody. But I had no qualms about scaring the shit out of him for trying to steal from us.
“Get in and shut your mouth,” I said with not much heat behind the order.
He hurried around to the other side and flung the door open.
“This is a sweet truck.” A note of excitement perked up his voice. “It’s a classic. You could fix it up really nice, you know,” he said, running his hand over the dashboard.
I pointed to the clubhouse in front of us. “We’re a motorcycle club, not a pickup truck club.”
He shrugged. “They’re cool too, but motorcycles don’t have four-wheel drive. What ya gonna do in the winter?”
I bit my lip to hold back my laughter. “Put your seat belt on, you little knucklehead.”
He gave me directions to his house. It turned out it wasn’t far from where I’d grown up. “How long you lived here?”
“Long enough. It sucks.”
I snorted. “You do all right in school?”
“When I go, yeah. That’s my house,” he said, pointing to a short, pockmarked driveway.
I followed him inside the house and stopped when we entered the living room.
Even though I figured Marcel wasn’t lying, seeing the two kids zonked out on the couch together tightened my chest.