“I don’t need help from strangers,” I said. But my teeth were chattering so hard I could barely get the words out.
“Yes, ma’am, you do.” The big one picked up my garbage bags like they weighed nothing. “And we’re not really strangers anymore. My name is Frank. This is Tommy and that’s Marcus. We’re from the Guardian Riders MC. We help people. It’s what we do.”
Frank smiled sadly. “We’re not asking for money, ma’am. We’re asking you to let us buy you a hot meal and get you dry. That’s all. Just a meal. Then if you want us to leave you alone, we will.”
I should have said no. Should have been more careful. But I was so cold. So tired. So completely defeated by my own children that I couldn’t fight anymore.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Just a meal.”
What I didn’t know was that “just a meal” would change everything. That these three terrifying-looking bikers would refuse to let me die alone on the streets. That they’d fight harder for me than my own children ever did.
Frank loaded my garbage bags into a sidecar attached to his motorcycle. Tommy helped me into his truck—they’d ridden together, bikes in the bed. Marcus climbed in the driver’s seat.
“Where are we going?” I asked nervously.
“Diner three blocks from here. Best coffee in the city. And they know us, so they won’t give you any trouble.” Tommy’s voice was gentle. “Ma’am, can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
