Tire tracks.
Police cruiser.
His stomach tightened.
Silas rode directly to the clubhouse.
By noon, twenty senior members were gathered around the scarred oak table.
Bones stood near the wall.
Sullivan sat with his arms crossed.
Declan Vance stared silently at Silas.
The president placed the vest on the table.
“The boy is gone.”
Nobody spoke.
“I found my vest in the trash.”
Bones frowned.
“Police?”
Silas nodded.
“Find out which cruiser was here.”
Bones made two phone calls.
Within an hour, he returned.
“Deputy Miller.”
Silas looked up.
“Where did he take Oliver?”
Bones hesitated.
“To Gregory Hayes's foster home.”
The room went silent.
Silas knew the name.
Everyone did.
“Tell me everything.”
Bones did.
The rumors.
The missing children.
The injuries.
The forged records.
The political connections.
Silas slowly stood.
“That boy gave me his last meal.”
Nobody moved.
“He saved my life.”
Silas put on his president's cut.
“And somebody decided they could hurt him.”
His eyes moved across the room.
“Call everyone.”
Bones smiled grimly.
“How many?”
Silas answered with one word.
“All.”
The Thunder on Main Street
At two in the afternoon, Blackwood began to shake.
At first, people thought it was construction.
Then came the sound.
A low rumble.
It grew louder.
Dogs began barking.
Windows vibrated.
People stepped outside.
Then the first motorcycles appeared.
One.
Ten.
Thirty.
Fifty.
The line kept coming.
By the time the convoy reached Main Street, one hundred and fifty fully patched riders had arrived.
They came from surrounding chapters, independent riders, old friends, and brothers who had heard only one sentence:
A child needs help.
The town watched in stunned silence.
Miller sat in his cruiser.
He saw the convoy.
His face went white.
The motorcycles didn't stop.
They turned toward the ridge.
Toward Hayes's house.
The riders spread out with frightening precision.
The driveway was blocked.
The back road was blocked.
Every exit was covered.
Then all one hundred and fifty engines shut off.
Silence descended.
Silas dismounted.
Bones stood beside him.
Sullivan waited behind.
Silas walked toward the front door.
Three knocks.
Slow.
Heavy.
Hayes looked through the window.
He saw the crowd.
For the first time in his life, Gregory Hayes understood what it felt like to be powerless.
The Cellar
“Open the door,” Silas called.
Hayes grabbed the telephone.
“Police!”
He shouted into the receiver.
“They're attacking my house!”
Then he heard Silas again.
“Where is the boy?”
Hayes froze.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
The front door shook.
Bones stepped forward.
One powerful kick broke the lock.
The door swung inward.
Silas entered.
He looked around.
The house smelled of bleach and dampness.
Behind him, his brothers spread through the building.