Stitch: Satan's Fury MC (4 page)

It was getting late, and I was starving. Before heading over to Cotton’s office, I stopped off at a local diner for a decent meal. The place was small, a little mom and pop joint that’d been there forever. The food was good, and the waitresses let me be. They quickly figured out that I wasn’t there for the small talk and left me to eat in peace. I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and parked my bike at the edge of the lot. Just as I was about to kill the engine, I noticed a little pair of red tennis shoes sticking out from the side of the building. I used the tip of my boot to adjust my kickstand, edging my headlight over to the small shadow wrapped in darkness. A young boy, probably around seven or eight, sat with his back against the side of the building and his little arms wrapped around his knees. For a split second, I considered going inside, leaving the kid to deal with his own shit but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave him out here all alone in the dark.

I turned off the engine and walked over to him and instantly felt a pang of guilt when I saw the terrified look on the boy’s face. “You alright, kid?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just stared at me like I was the Grim Reaper. Can’t say I blame him. My size could be considered threatening to just about anyone, and my beard and tattoos didn’t exactly make things any better for a freaked-out kid on the east side of town. He held his knees close to his chest as he looked up at me, trying to determine whether or not I was truly a threat. I didn’t want to scare the kid, but I couldn’t just leave him out here alone. Not really knowing what else to do, I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned my back up against the wall next to him. I waited silently, hoping that he would figure out that I wasn’t there to hurt him, that he might tell me what the hell was going on.

The kid remained painfully silent as I stood there next to him. I kept thinking that he might say something, acknowledge my presence in some way, but nothing. Even with the chill of the night setting in, he didn’t budge from his spot. It was almost half an hour later before a car pulled out of the lot, its headlights shining down on the boy’s body, revealing several large bruises developing on both of his arms. From the looks of him, someone had just manhandled the hell outta him. The sight of those bruises triggered a flood of memories from my childhood, and I was instantly overcome with fury. He was so small, defenseless, and some motherfucker… I took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to calm the rage that was building inside of me. I needed to get him inside, try to find out what the hell was going on, to see if there was something I could do to help.

“Look, kid. I’m starving,” I said low and calm. “How about we go inside, and I’ll buy you a cheeseburger.”

He looked up at me, and I could see the wheels turning inside his head, and for a second, I almost thought he was going to agree to go inside with me. I let out a deep sigh when he started to shake his head no.

“They make really great burgers, kid. You sure you don’t want one?” I tried again.

“I like chicken nuggets,” he said, looking down at his shoes.

“They’ve got chicken nuggets.”

“Okay,” he said as he slowly began to stand. He brushed the dust off of his backside and started walking towards the door.

Without saying a word, he headed to the back of the diner and sat down in one of the corner booths. He rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin in his hands, and watched me sit down. As I settled in the booth, I swallowed hard, pushing back the memories of my past when I looked down at the large bruises forming on his arms. Someone was handling him roughly, and they’d done it very recently. The question was who.

After ordering our food, I asked him, “You live around here?”

“No,” he answered as he played with the paper from his straw. He folded it into several different shapes, before he started arranging all the items from the table into one long line. I watched with curiosity as he methodically brought each item in and out of line until it was all perfectly symmetrical. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was that all about.

He looked up at me, studying me for a moment before he said, “You’ve got a bushy beard and lots of tattoos.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“The internet says that tattoos are a form of self-expression. That each tattoo has an important meaning,” he explained.

“I’d say that’s about right.”

“You also drive a Harley Davidson motorcycle.”

“You’re pretty observant, kid.”

“Harley Davidson Motorcycles were founded in 1903, and they were first used by police officers in Detroit, Michigan,” he said just before taking another bite of his chicken nugget.

I didn’t know what to make of the kid. There was obviously something different about him… but I liked it. I liked
him
. When he didn’t continue on with his lesson, I asked, “You gonna tell me why you’re hiding out in the parking lot?”

“Momma told me to come here, to the Old Mill Café, if something bad ever happened. It’s our secret place,” he answered. I felt hopeful that the kid actually had a family, but I still wasn’t sure who had put their hands on him.

I wanted to know exactly what
bad
thing had just happened to him, and I was about to ask him why they even needed a secret place, when the waitress brought over the sundae he’d ordered. The minute she sat it down in front of him, he grabbed his spoon and started to dig in. He was obviously still hungry, so I decided to let him eat without grilling him for more information. It was hard for me to hold back. Finding out information was my job. And I wanted to help him, but I knew I needed to be careful with how I questioned him, seeing that he obviously wasn’t like any other kid I’d ever met. I looked around the room. The diner was quiet, just an elderly couple sitting at one of the front tables. From time to time, the old lady would turn and sneak a peek at us, clearly curious about what was going on with me and the kid sitting across from me. I couldn’t blame her. I felt the same way.

“Thank you,” he said with his mouth full. He took a sip from his soda before he continued, “This is good.”

“You got a name?”

“It’s Wyatt.”

“My name’s Stitch,” I told him.

“Your momma named you Stitch?” he asked with a confused look on his face.

“Nah. My mother named me Griffin, but all my brothers in my club call me Stitch,” I clarified.

He was silent for a minute, and I could tell that something was bugging him. Eventually he said, “My momma had to get stitches one time.” He looked out the window, and I could see the worry in his eyes when he mentioned her.

“You think we should call her? Tell her you’re at the special spot?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I was reaching in my back pocket for my phone when a commotion at the front door caught my attention. A young woman rushed over to one of the waitresses and started talking hysterically. Her cheeks flushed red with alarm as she spoke, and after a few seconds, she turned and looked in our direction. Frozen in her stance, her dark brown eyes slowly met mine, a stunned look crossing her face as her eyes roamed over me. I noticed that she had a lot of the same features as Wyatt, even the same freckles along the bridge of her nose. There was no doubt that she was Wyatt’s mother. She obviously had no idea what to make of me, and the fact that I was sitting with her son clearly scared the shit out of her. Her troubled eyes locked on mine as she started advancing towards our booth. Wearing an oversized t-shirt and sweats, she wasn’t like the girls at the club. There was a wholesomeness about her, a goodness that I wasn’t accustomed to. She stopped at the edge of the table, shooting me a nervous glance, and knelt down next to her son.

“Hey, Buddy. Are you okay?” she asked in almost a whisper.

I knew instantly by the way he looked at her that she wasn’t the one who had put those bruises on his arms. “Hey, Momma. This is Griffin. He got me some chicken nuggets, but I’m done now. Can we go home?”

“Hi, I’m Wren,” she said, before turning back to her son. “Yeah, buddy. We can go. You did a good job getting here like we talked about. I’m so proud of you,” she answered.

“Went down Tucker Street, and turned right on Main. Just like you showed me.”

“You are such a smart boy,” she said, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes. She looked over to me with a pleading look and said, “I know this looks bad… really bad, but I’m doing the best I can.” I had no idea why it even mattered to her what I thought, but I could see that it was important that I understood. “I’d tell you what this was all about, but it would take a lifetime to explain. Right now, I need to get him home. How much do I owe you for the food?”

“Don’t worry about it. I got it,” I told her.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

Before I had a chance to say anything else, she took Wyatt by the hand and helped him out of the booth. I stood up along with him and watched as she started towards the door. When we got to the exit, she turned towards me and reached out to shake my hand. Her touch was soft and gentle as she said, “I don’t know how to thank you for this. I just…”

“Not a problem. I understand.” The second she released my hand, I felt the loss of her warmth. I couldn’t remember a time when someone’s touch had affected me like that, and I didn’t know what to make of my reaction. I just knew I didn’t want her leave, not until I knew what was going on. Knowing it wasn’t any of my fucking business, I stood frozen in my spot as I watched them both walk out to her car. I should’ve left things alone – let them walk out that door and never think about it again. But I found that I just couldn’t and that surprised me.

Wren

‡

W
yatt was quiet
as he got in the car. His little hand reached up for his seatbelt, and my heart practically shattered on the spot when I noticed the bruising on his little arms. I had no doubt how they’d gotten there, realizing instantly that my worst nightmare had come true. I’d prayed that this night would never come, but deep down, I always knew it would. I had to fight back the tears when I looked over to his precious little face. It killed me to think that his father had hurt him, and everything in me wanted to take Wyatt and run – get as far away from Michael as I could. I had to make sure it never happened again. Wyatt was such a wonderful little boy. He filled my life with so many blessings, and I just couldn’t understand how Michael could hurt him. My mind was full of questions. I desperately wanted to grill Wyatt about what had happened, but I knew I needed to tread very carefully. If he thought I was upset he would shut down, and I’d never find out exactly what happened.

I started the engine and said, “I’m sorry that Mrs. Daniels had to leave you tonight, Bud.”

“It’s okay. She had a family emergency,” he answered, looking towards the diner. Something had momentarily caught his attention, causing him to turn back in his seat to get a closer look. A few seconds passed, and then he turned back to me and said, “I think it was something bad. She was crying.”

“Yeah. She wouldn’t have left you unless it was really important. As soon as she called me, I came for you. I’m really sorry it took me so long.”

“It was okay. I knew you’d come,” he said with confidence, assuring me that he knew I wouldn’t let him down. The kid never ceased to amaze me. Even when everything went to hell in a handbasket, he could still see the positive side of things.

I slowly pulled out onto the highway and headed towards home. My chest ached with worry, so I took another deep breath, trying to settle my nerves. I watched Wyatt start to fiddle with the zipper of his jacket, seemingly unfazed by whatever happened. I hated to bring it all back up for him, but I needed to know what happened to him at Michael’s house tonight. Taking another deep breath, I tried my best to steady my voice as I asked him, “Can you tell me what happened at your Dad’s tonight, Bud?”

He looked away from me, peering out the window, and with very little emotion he said, “He got mad, so I left.” His little shoulders dropped in defeat as he thought back over what had happened. I hated seeing him look so unhappy. I just wanted to reach over and hold him, hug away the hurt that he was feeling, but we were still several miles from home.

“Why did he get mad?” I prodded.

He shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I don’t know. He was talking on his phone with grandma and then he started saying all these really bad words. When he hung up, he threw his phone on the table and started yelling at me.”

“What was he saying to you?”

“I can’t remember,” he lied. He always remembered everything – every little detail, every single word of every conversation. I knew he remembered exactly what his father had said. I just didn’t know why he wouldn’t tell me.

“Is that why you left?” I questioned.

“Yeah. You told me to leave if anything bad happened.”

“You’re right. I did.” I gently squeezed his hand and said, “You did the right thing. I’m so very proud of you.”

He looked over to me and asked, “Can I play my game when I get home?”

“Yeah, you can play, but just for a little while. You’ll need to take a shower before bed.” And just like that, he was done talking. There was so much more that I wanted to know, like how he got those bruises, but I decided not to push it further right now. He’d been through enough tonight.