16-year-old Marcus would never have can imagine that discovery of an injured motorcyclist on a deserted country road would change the world. The bleeding one Captain he is currently rescuing tried was no ordinary biker. He was one of the Hellss Angels Man who always paid off his debts. What as an act of compassion on one began on an empty track and developed to something far more significant than Marcus 24 hours later in this one Street servant appeared.
Surrounded by Leather-clad figures and shiny chrome, face to face Face to face with one of the most notorious Motorcycle Organizations of America. Yes if an experienced bike guide gives you a homeless young people directly into the eyes and says: “Tell me what you need. What could a teenager do? possesses absolutely nothing, demand that really makes a difference? The interstate unfolds like one dark snake running through endless emptiness cuts where faded Road markings in thick fog disappear and the only thing you have hears the gentle murmur of the wind,
dancing through towering grass, that moves as if the whole thing were holding World takes a breath to listen. Marcus Delano drags himself on crumbling edge of Highway 47 along. His worn-out sneakers feel every pothole and every sharp one edge of the asphalt. They act as if would they have been intentionally placed there in order to to remind him that even this Street rejects his presence.
The worn out plastic bag in his left hand contains his entire Possession. Clothing that still has the sharpness Smell of the institutional soap from the Riverside carries home, one worn-out toothbrush, $17 in crumpled bills, the result of three weeks of missed lunches and the photo of his mother that he always like he wants to throw away, but never can.
The corners have become soft countless years of constant touching. The facility is now twelve miles behind him and with every step the memories of Derek fade brutal blows to his ribs and miss Rodriguez’s weary admission. Maybe this solution is not suitable. The metallic taste of Blood on his cracked lip remains, as does the constant pain in his shoulder where Derek hit him thrown on the tiles of the bathroom had while the other residents deliberately looked away, pretended Don’t you see him gasping for air lay gasping on the cold ground. “You
“You don’t belong here anyway,” he said Derek hissed in his ear, his hot one Breath on Marcus skin. “You are nothing further than a disposable child, that only the days until your 18th birthday counts, then in the to disappear into insignificance. The September air carries the scent of wither leaves mixed with something else, the bittersweet aroma of freedom, permeated by just as much fear.
Marcus has been traveling since daybreak when the Morning mist like the spirits of the deceased was above ground and only the defective ones Surveillance cameras witnessed his escape were. Now the sun is hanging low and Amber in the western sky and bathes everything in a golden light may seem beautiful to someone who has the privilege to do such things appreciate.
But beauty belongs to those who have a home to which they belong can return. People who you Don’t live in a worn out bag wear that have never been to Christmas Common room of an institution spent pretending the gifts from strangers identical to those of loved ones. His stomach growls hollowly, an echo of the teaching within his chest where hope once was, before being systematically wiped out became.
by alcohol addicts Foster parents, overwhelmed Social workers and children like Derek realized that they were in one helpless world can only feel powerful, if you see someone even weaker destroyed. Marcus thinks about the Bolognese sandwich, that he didn’t touch at lunch how he carefully packed it and put it away before he remembered that Miss Rodriguez is probably right now rummaged through his things to get them Finding signs they miss could have and that another escape could have prevented.
His steps on the loose gravel create a steady rhythm, that corresponds to his heartbeat, determined and focused on something going, which remains nameless because he never owned it before. Every step increases the distance from the oppressive routine of home life, morning services, evening attendance checks, Miss Rodriguez looks pitying whenever she distributed the mail with his name in it never showed up.
Every step brings him closer to one vague but crucial goal. Something that feels like the first take a deep breath after 16 years ofsuffocation. A motorcycle is approaching from behind. His deep rumble like that of a massive predator that emerges from the Sleep awakens. Marcus continues to perform the edge without looking back.
He learned that more direct Eye contact only invites complications, which he cannot afford if he no longer has a place to escape. The machine races past him. A Flash of shiny metal and dark Leather. The driver leans into the Curve where the road between two hills, crowned with pine trees, which are like emerald green prayers stretch sky.
The sound fades away until there is only a whisper when it is in the Grass and the distant cry of one circling hawks remains. Marcus allowed take a moment imagine what it would be like to have such power to feel this freedom underneath you to go anywhere, to meet someone new will leave the past in the dust leave and never look back again.
The squealing of tires on asphalt breaks the peace like a shot, followed by the sickening crash of Metal against stone, the blood of Marcus Allows ice to solidify. That noise he knows about the accident from nightmares, who killed his parents when he was 8 years old was old and made it permanent case of the state.
Without hesitation, he throws away his possessions and runs to the curve. His sneakers hit hard on the asphalt. Adrenaline drives him Blood, makes everything clear and immediate. His heavy irregular breathing mixes with the echo of the impact, that hangs in the air like smoke. Behind the bend, 20 m away, he discovers the motorcycle, twisted on it Guardrail edge like a discarded one toys.
Steam rises from the engine on which the dying sunlight captures and transforms into something supernatural transformed. The machine remains beautiful, even in their destruction. All chrome and midnight varnish, curves that of Speed and power tell the story craftsmanship that costs more money, than Marcus has ever seen at once. But behind, stretched out over the yellow center line like an abandoned one Doll, the driver lies in the dark Clothes motionless except the slow Rise and fall of his chest.
life signals, despite everything physics and tried to take away his indolence. Marcus stops running and moves carefully, step by step, like that Foster Holmes taught him than one wrong step makes the difference between food and hunger, between a peaceful evening and night in closets, hidden from the screams adult, could mean.
The man seems older than Marcus initially guessed maybe 50 gray hairs too tied in a braid with a leather strap Beard streaked with silver and now from Blood darkened from a head wound seeps. His leather jacket is on the Shoulder ripped open and gives a Tattoo free. An eagle with outstretched wings carrying a banner bracketed, the inscription of which is Marcus can’t see at this angle.
The Ink stands out darkly against the sun and weather-beaten skin, drawn from decades on the street. The Jacket itself is a work of art, supple leather to a patina worn, only years of wear can create, decorated with Patches and badges Tell stories that Marcus doesn’t understands. “Hey,” calls Marcus, his Voice breaks slightly, betraying his Youth, despite trying, mature and able to sound.
“Hey, can you please me hear?” The man’s eyes open fluttering, storm-tested and surprising awake as steel shot through with lightning. He tries to sit up, groans then rises and sinks back. The face distorted by the pain he clearly feels seeks to hide. The sound is half Grunt, half sigh. The sound of Men who are hurting, but Not wanting to show weakness.
Very calmly, says Marcus, kneeling down next to him, close enough to leather, motor oil and the metallic aroma of blood and Fear of smelling. Close to the folds around to see the eyes, drawn by decades, in the sun and the wind to blink. Don’t move too much, you fell badly. The asphalt radiates warmth through Marcus jeans.
Small Stones press into his knees, but he ignore it because the trains this Strangers remind him of his father. not by appearance, but by Expression in which pain and Determination to wrestle with each other. The Man looks at Marcus with this one penetrating look as if he wanted one Solve puzzles or a foreign map read.
Marcus feels naked, as if this stranger could do any of his things See secrets. Every fear, every one Night he wondered if anyone notice his disappearance in the dark would. “You’re still a child,” he says the man. His voice rough like Sandpaper, but with an undertone of worry or surprise or both. “What are you doing out here? alone?” Marcus feels his blood rushingshoots in the cheeks because of the question close to truths that he doesn’t with a bleeding stranger on the Country road can share.
truths about Homes and foster families and a system that easily manages children like him, until they turn 18 and officially are no longer anyone’s responsibility. I “I was just traveling,” he replies technically correct, even if it is the complex series of defeats and Disappointments not explained to him ran this place.
“I have that Accident heard.” The bike, he whispers Man, his voice fuller now Urgency that the pain superimposed. Is it junk? Marcus looks at the machine, the bent ones Handlebars, the cracked headlight, that Front wheel that is in an unnatural angle is. He knows enough about that Auto repair lessons to recognize that this motorcycle will no longer be available any time soon will drive.
This motorcycle means thousands of dollars and probably years careful maintenance and renovations. One Machine that is part of its driver is. Looks in the man’s eyes Marcus that it is more than that for him metal and rubber. “It’s pretty damaged,” Marcus says gently and searches Words that do justice to reality without destroying any hope.
But Motorcycles can be repaired, people can are harder to replace. The man laughs, a sound deep in his Chest begins, but in a cough ends. Drops of blood sprinkle his Beard like red stars. Panic sets in Marcus’s throat shut. He knows enough to to understand that coughing up blood never means something good.
“I need someone reach,” says the man urgently, tries to close his jacket pocket grab it before the pain hits him throws back. “My cell phone, there are Numbers in there, people who need to know what happened.” Marcus discovers this Cell phone, 15 feet away across the asphalt scattered, the display of one Spider web of cracks crisscrossed, but still glowing with one persistent electronic pulse, the indicates remaining life.
He gets over to get it. His jeans scuff over the rough asphalt and collect Oil stains that he never completely will remove. When he returns, the man tries turns into one on the guardrail sitting position. Now see Marcus more tattoos. Artful Pattern that both arms like sleeves cover. Eagles, skulls and roses, intertwined with writings in Languages that Marcus does not recognize.
Yes it’s the badge that’s on the back Stitched to his vest is that Marcus Blood freezes into ice Moment from a simple road accident into something infinitely more complex and transformed into something more dangerous. A winged skull surrounded by Words that feel like fire burning consciousness.
Hellss Angels MC and underneath in smaller letters, the Carrying weight, hierarchy and respect. He works through methods that Marcus I’d rather not introduce myself. Captain. The realization hits Marcus like a physical blow, because everyone knows the Angels. In homes and You hear them in juvenile detention centers Whisper stories about men who living outside the law, conflicts with rules of violence, their own regimes create and enforce them methods beyond courts, lawyers or appeals.
You are the one Police nightmare, the horror, that Keeps provincial sheriffs awake at night. Figures in the news show up for drug trafficking, Turf wars and the darker corners American mythology, where democracy ends and something older more original takes control. But this man, this captain one of America’s feared motorcycle clubs, doesn’t look like the monster these stories.
He looks like someone’s father, someone’s husband, someone who teaches children to cycle, Engines repaired on Sunday afternoon Throws baseballs, someone whose worst offense perhaps driving fast on empty highways is and a love for his motorcycle is probably unhealthy. The contradiction between reputation and Reality brings Marcus’ head to Cheating and forcing him to question everything to ask what he thinks about good and evil believed to know about the lines that separating law-abiding citizens from those who are consciously outside the boundaries
to society. The morning dawns with crystal clarity Brightness that makes everything possible at the same time and makes it appear frightening. Sunlight falls through the cracked Window of the abandoned gas station, in Marcus spent the night curled up behind old tires for rubber and broken dreams smell.
He washes his face with it cold water from a rusty tap behind the building, be viewed Reflection in the side mirror of one junk pickups and trying to recognize what Hawk on this country road yesterday had seen. Someone who matteredsomeone to remember would. The route to Miller Road takes 40 Minutes through quarters, the of abandoned storefronts to humble ones Fence houses with wire mesh and eventually to a touch of prosperity pass over.
With every step Marcus feels this Weight of his decision deeper in his bones sink. Betty’s diner is open there like a time capsule from the 1950s. All chrome and red vinyl. The windows reflect the morning sun so that you can’t look inside. Marcus stays on the other for 10 minutes Standing on the side of the street and watching normal people coming and going.
Construction workers preparing before shift Getting coffee, older couples Breakfast, young people barely older than he that over fried potatoes and bacon laugh, normal people with normal Live and he’ll be right in the middle go in with an invitation from someone so far outside the Normal lives that the distance is not in Miles can be measured. 12 o’clock sharp.
presses Marcus opens the door, the little one hears bell announces his entrance, feels, like all eyes in the room are on him judge, with that casual curiosity, the small towns over generations have perfected. The service behind the counter, probably Betty, although she seems too young for the name, lifts your eyes from the coffee cups and gives him a smile that reveals that she is used to that to serve a wide variety of guests.
“Can I help you, darling?” asks her. Her voice carries traces of one Southern accent. “I need someone meet,” says Marcus quietly, barely louder than the hissing of the griddle and that Murmurs of conversation. Hawk sent me. The atmosphere in yours changes immediately electrified. Conversations break off in the middle of a sentence.
Coffee cups freeze halfway to the lips and Betty’s smile turns into something sharper, more probing. You looks at Marcus with eyes that have enough of have seen the world to know when someone is exactly what they are pretends to be. Then she nods to one Corner where a man sits, Marcus I hadn’t noticed before, deepened in a newspaper.
The man works maybe 40. Arms stick out like tree trunks from a sleeveless Shirt tattoos cover every part of the skin from wrist to shoulder. Eagle Skull words in unknown languages, connected by ornaments that Tell stories that Marcus doesn’t knows how to interpret. “Are you the boy from yesterday?” the man asks, without saying anything to look up the newspaper.
Marcus nods, though it becomes clear to him that the other person doesn’t can’t see. “Name’s Tank. Sit you!” The bench is right under the tanks Weight as he makes room. Marcus slides in opposite him, painfully aware of how small and young he in this suddenly of invisible Currents act in charged space must.
“Hawk is in the hospital,” says Tank folds the newspaper more carefully Precision. Broken ribs, Concussion, blade wounds, that make him look interesting for a while leave, but he is alive and according to the doctors Is this because someone quickly joins in? was him and knew enough about him to keep still until help came. Tanks Eyes, brown and surprisingly soft in a face as if chiseled out of granite, fixate Marcus with an intensity, who would like to make him disappear.
And that someone was you. Before Marcus can answer, the doorbell rings again and three more men kick a. Your club colors and heavy Boots announce their presence like Thunderbolts. They move with you that casual self-assurance that That’s why you never have to ask whether they are welcome somewhere. Marcus observes how other guests do nervously looking at their watches and suddenly remember urgent appointments.
Within minutes yours will be empty, apart from Betty, who continues to be over Wipes and wipes surfaces that are already sparkling clean the five men in leather, now three Occupy benches around Marcus like protective walls against the outside world. “These are my brothers,” says Tank points at her with his coffee cup Newcomers.
Road Dog, weirdo, Chains and the ugly one over there Diesel. The men nod in greeting. Their faces show different ones Degrees of curiosity and something that respects could be. Marcus realizes that he is judged according to criteria that he can’t even imagine. We have heard what you did,” says Roaddog with a voice that after decades full of cigarettes and whiskey sounds.
This took courage to meet a stranger to stop on a lonely street. It took brains to know how you help without making it worse. The weight of her attention is pressing physically on Marcus’ shoulders until he prefer to sink into the seat cushion and would disappear completely. These men embody everything he warned about became.
Violence, chaos and that kind of thingFreedom that has a price that the most people would never pay. But there is something else on their faces. A expression that resembled his mother, when she was proud of small victories like regular presence or wearing an old neighbor’s shopping. “I just did what everyone did would have,” says Marcus quietly. “The silence that follows is so perfect, that he can hear the hum of the neon lights above can hear each other.
” “No,” Tank finally says. bends across the table. Most would be continued. Most would have thought that wasn’t their problem and that interference only makes their lives unnecessary makes complicated. You’re standing stayed, you helped. You have him probably saved his life. The Words hang heavy in the air, fuller unspoken meanings that Marcus only slowly understands.
The thing is, Tank continues, when you the life of a Hellss Angels Captain save, then a situation arises because we care about our people and we don’t forget debts. Jes reports from the neighboring bench. His Voice carries an accent that comes from Boston or Brooklyn. What Tank wants to say, you’re under now our protection, whether you like it or not.
Anyone who does something to you is messing with us. Anyone who wants to harm you must protect themselves Club responsible. The force of that rolls over Marcus like a tidal wave, brings opportunities that he never had dared to dream. protection, belonging, a family that follows its members Loyalty chooses, not by blood or Law.
But it also brings questions make his stomach clench, because protection comes with expectations and Expectations can be just as captivating as they are Gratitude can oblige. What does that mean? Marcus asks, surprised at how firmly his voice sounds. “What do you want from me?” Swap the tank and the others looks out.
That wordless communication, the men develop the have encountered danger together have learned each other to entrust life. “Nothing at the moment,” says Tank. “You go back into your life. You do that School finished, you become someone, you become who you are meant to be. But if you If you ever need us, someone Difficulties arise when you are in one Clamp that you can’t do alone can solve when the world is on you If you want to step on the ground, you’ll find one Way to let us know. We are here.
The promise settles in like warmth Marcus’ chest spreads like heat in cold water. Because for the first time in Someone offers him support throughout his life. Unconditionally, without questions, without others Conditions than the knowledge that some Debts are never fully repaid can. As Marcus leaves Betty’s diner the sun moved on and the world looks different.
Not changed, but viewed through a lens that everything sharper and more meaningful. SK Who of possibilities. The leather jackets and roaring motorcycles disappeared. Back to that life that These men lead when they’re not in Small Town Diners Promise make homeless young people. But hers Words echo in Marcus’ head Song that he can’t get rid of.
Tank gave him one before leaving Business card pressed into hand, just a phone number and the words Road King Motorcycles in simple black Laid and told him to put it on keep it in a safe place she would find once the world would be too heavy to carry. Marcus walks back towards the highway, but instead of his endless journey into…
Nothing to continue, he turns in Heading towards the city into those modest ones Neighborhoods he passes through in the morning had when everything was different from him was still just a boy with nothing to do had to lose because he never had anything had that it would have been worth it to keep.
The home is still there twelve miles behind him, but to first Sometimes this distance feels like something something that can be overcome, not like an insurmountable chasm between Past and future. He thinks about Miss Rodriguez’s tired voice. Maybe it just doesn’t work and realizes that maybe she’s right had. Just not in the way she meant it.
The path gives him time to think, to understand that rescue is sometimes in Leather jackets come and ride motorcycles. With hoarse voices about loyalty and Brotherhood speaks and about Debt. The strangers connect beyond the lines that society has drawn has. He thinks of Hawk, like him on that one lay on the street, blood in his beard, Determination in his eyes, like Marcus looked like he was someone who mattered, someone to remember.
He thinks about Tank’s words. We forget no debt and understands that him was given something he never had. The knowledge that someone is behind him, that he is no longer completely alone the world goes. The decision comes gradually, howa sunrise covering the landscape preserves, brings clarity into shadows, the seemed impenetrable in the dark.
He finds a telephone booth in front of you Kiosk, an ancient relic that always still works if you have coins throws in and dials the number of Home, which he is in spite of everything efforts have inculcated. Miss Rodriguez’s voice sounds surprised, then cautiously, then almost relieved. Marcus, where are you? Everyone is doing it big worries.
The concern in her Voice catches him off guard because he believed for so long, just one more problem to be managed must that he had forgotten that People maybe really each other worry if he disappears. “I’m fine,” says Marcus while he watches the traffic pass by outside sees. “I’m safe and I I think I think I’m ready to come back, but it has to be different become.
I need it to be different will. The conversation is longer and more complicated than expected, fuller Questions and explanations and agreements about second chances, new beginnings and the Meaning, give someone one more time to give space. When he finally hangs up, the sun colors the sky orange and pink, and he thinks about Hope, possibilities and ways that you can go when you’re finally ready is to walk it.
The way back to the home is with Miss Rodriguez herself, who completed the 43 miles in driving her old Honda Civic while she asks careful questions about where he is was what he had learned and whether he thinks he can do it this time. Marcus tells her about the injured one Motorcyclists, that one sometimes doing the right thing and unexpected things That family doesn’t receive rewards always through blood or documents is defined, but sometimes by the chits.
Id to be there for each other, when you are needed most. From the Hellss Angels or the Promises in chrome and vinyl it says nothing. Some stories are too big and too private to share with people, that they wouldn’t understand. Back at Riverside it feels like Clothes that almost fit. Not perfect, but familiar enough to be comfortable, with room to grow in.
Derek is dark and suspicious. But Marcus notices that the… Hostility towards him from the other boy stop, on a leather jacket, because he knows something that Derek doesn’t know. He carries something within him that Derek doesn’t can achieve. The card in his Bag feels like a talisman. A reminder that somewhere Men with motorcycles and tattoos him as family, his well-being as see their responsibility.
In this one Night in the narrow bed that after Industrial ash powder and broken ones Dreaming smells, Marcus stares at it Ceiling and thinks of streets that in Leading futures rather than presenting them Pasts gone, to the difference between flight and direction, to the Sound of engines and the weight of Promises made by people who know that some debts can only be settled through a good life can be.
His mother’s photo, creased and faded after years in his bag, lies on the bedside table next to his bed. For the first time since He looks at it for a long time without that crushing weight of loss feel. Instead he sees possibilities that open up before him, like an open road full of destinations that he hasn’t yet imagined, fuller People he doesn’t know yet full of versions of himself that he has not yet discovered.
Hawk lies somewhere in the city probably in a hospital bed, stop from his collision with asphalt and gravity and maybe think about the skinny boy who stopped when he could have continued. Any cita. Ni live somewhere else. Tank and the others her Traditions and life carry on Loyalties, the decades reach back and know that they have one additional names to the list of people have added that are worth it, to be protected.
And here on this one Place that is not yet home, but it is Marcus Delano falls asleep with a business card between his palm and the pillow. Dreaming of open streets and the roar of Engines that carry him into a future, which finally feels like something, there it’s worth it, it’s enough.