Rough Ride (Men of Valor MC)

“What the hell crawled up your butt and died!” Isla asked me, hands on her hips.

"Isla, I’m sorry, Lala, is it? You can't be serious about taking that guy's money?! His money is as clean as the boys bathroom downstairs, I swear to you on my grandparents grave, that guy is nothing but trouble, with a capital T. If the authorities found out we took money from a guy like that, they’d shut us down.”

Isla shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself, Claire-bear. His money is clean, and I’m taking it. I’ve known Malcolm forever and despite how he dresses, the guy is an incredible philanthropist, a brilliant lawyer, and all-around good guy. So he likes to ride bikes, he’s got a rebel streak—the guys heart is good."

"How can you know that? Do you go to the club with him? Keep tabs on all of their activities?"

"Claire, you’ve made it your life’s work to care for those on the fringes. If you can see past the outside appearance of every kid you meet, why the hell are you judging Malcolm based on a leather vest and chaps over his jeans? The club has been beneficial to the community, too. They do a lot of good work. They’ve raised money for us before. Most of those guys have day jobs and are respected members of the community who like to ride at night. Trust me, no one is going to bat an eye because we took a donation from Malcolm Miller. You’ve got some personal beef with the guy?"

I was about to confess that I didn’t know what had gotten into me. That I was sorry for being so mouthy and maybe I was just intimidated by this guy because of his size. I didn’t trust guys who looked like that with young girls. Maybe it was prejudice, but I didn’t think it was unjustified.

"Ladies, this is Sky," Malcolm said. He walked into our shitty office again accompanied by a frail girl, definitely a minor, probably sixteen or seventeen at most. Too old for adoption and too young to really fend for herself. Most of the kids here fit into that category. I immediately forgot about my point with Malcolm and went to her side.

Sky reminded me, on first glace of Les Miserable. She didn’t have the typical appearance of most the kids who passed through the shelter. She was naturally blonde, no bright or harsh hair color, no visible tattoos or piercings. She looked almost wholesome, but was way too skinny and red flags went up with how withdrawn she seemed. She shrank from touch as I neared her.

"Hey Sky, I'm Claire," I said. I stayed close but kept my hands off her.

She didn't say anything. Instead, she turned to Malcolm with a pleading look. It looked like a silent plea to not leave her here. She’d already bonded with him. When he nodded, encouraging her, she finally glanced back at me, taking me in for the first time. "Hey.” Her voice was a whisper.

"Do you need anything?" I asked. She looked malnourished. We needed to get her some Pediasure. It was obvious that she hadn’t been eating consistent meals. That sometimes pointed to drug use, but it could also come from neglect and a life on the run.

My heart broke for her. I couldn't imagine what it was like to be so young and have to navigate the world's brutality all by herself. I’d had a stable upbringing and, if anything, my parents were overprotective of me. When she didn't answer me right away, but stepped closer to Malcolm for comfort, I knew that no matter what he wore or who he associated with, he was someone she could trust. Trust was a precious commodity for these kids. To trust an adult after they’d been let down by the people who were supposed to care, sometimes took herculean effort, on both the part of the child and the adult. It was no small feat and it made me lower my guard about Malcolm.

"Claire and Isla are my friends," Malcolm said, reassuring Sky. "They help kids for a living and I promise they aren't going to hurt you or let anyone else do it either."

"Can I have a pillow and lie down somewhere?" she asked. Maybe the question was directed at us, but her eyes were still on Malcolm.

"Of course.” I didn’t mention that pitifully, we were out of beds. The shelter was full. “Would you like anything to eat?"

"No, we ate already. I’m still full. Maybe a glass of water?"

The way she looked at Malcolm did something curious to my heart. She looked up at him as if he were her father. In just a few short hours, he’d not only gained her full trust and cooperation, but she’d bonded with him as a father figure. She looked to him for approval, for whom to trust. It made me feel for her even more. I wasn’t sure if it was her vulnerability or her naiveté. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and give her a warm hug, protect her from anyone who ever wanted to hurt her.