Page 8 of Wild Return (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #15)

VIKING

I march the two rain-soaked teens up the stairs and into the staff room. Sydney flicks on the lights as we go. She starts a pot of filter coffee, the machine drip-feeding slowly, then leans against the counter with her arms folded, watching the two boys.

The tall one is lean. Dark hair hangs into his eyes. His hoodie is far too big, and he pulls the cuffs down to cover his hands. He looks at the floor, at the table—everywhere but at me.

“Take a seat, boys.”

They drag out chairs with a scrape against the vinyl floor and sit, hunched over in the plastic chairs. I crouch so I’m at their eye level.

“My name’s Chris Erikson, but people call me Viking. What are your names?”

The smaller one flicks a glance at the older before whispering, “I’m Marcus. People call me Mouse.”

“I’m Rio,” the tall one adds.

“Rio and Marcus. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen,” Rio says.

“I’ll be seventeen in two weeks,” Marcus murmurs.

He’s small for his age, and scrawny. The fact that he stresses he’s almost seventeen tells me he has something to prove.

“We only wanted two kegs to sell,” Rio blurts. “We sell them to people staying at the campground. There’s always someone looking for a party.”

“We need cash for sneakers,” Marcus adds. “The group home doesn’t cover extras.”

The words hit hard. I remember what it was like, me and Tank running around, stealing bikes and selling them so we could buy boots and a winter coat. You do what it takes to survive. I rub the scar on my temple. This could have been me and Tank a few years ago.

“I get it,” I say quietly. “I grew up in rotation, too.”

The boys lift their eyes, surprised.

“But stealing kegs will only lead to trouble. It won’t fix your worn-out shoes in the long run.”

Sydney draws a slow breath at my confession, and when I glance at her, there’s compassion in her gaze. I give her a small smile, then turn back to the boys.

Both our phones buzz suddenly, as does one buried deep in Rio’s hoody. I ignore mine while Sydney checks hers.

“The roads are open again,” she says. “The storm has been downgraded, and we’re back to a watch.”

Rio pulls out his phone, and it’s an old model with a cracked screen. He stares at the alert then puts his phone on the table.

“How did you get here?” I ask.

They glance at each other. “We drove.”

I raise a brow. “Whose car?”

“We borrowed it from the group home,” Rio admits.

“Do they know you borrowed it?”

He looks down. “No,” he says quietly. “We’ll get it back.”

Call me soft, but I believe him. A car is a precious resource, and they might need it again.

“Okay, so you can get home. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

I take out my phone and snap Rio’s picture.

He scowls at me. “What did you do that for?”

I don’t answer. I photograph Marcus, then the two of them together.

“Syd, got a notebook?” She heads to the office and returns with one and two pens.

I set the paper on the table and hand over the pens. “Write your full names, dates of birth, placement address.”

Rio takes a pen warily; I wait while they write.

“You’re coming back here Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp. You’ll work off the kegs you stole, then we’ll talk about legit jobs and what you want to do with your futures. If you’re not here at nine, these pictures go straight to the sheriff.”

I scroll to Badge’s number and show it to them, my finger covering the digits.

“The sheriff is a good buddy of mine. In fact, he owns part of this brewery. He won’t be happy about people stealing from him. Be here at nine.”

They hand over the page, and my eyes soften when I read the placement: Denning House. Mrs. Denning was the last foster stop for me and Tank.

“Mrs. Denning kept me alive once. Tell her Viking says hello, and I’ll come visit her soon.”

I stand up. “I know how the system works, boys. If you run, I’ll find you. You know who owns this brewery? The Wild Riders Motorcycle Club. We’re all veterans, which means we’re tough motherfuckers and we have a vast and far reaching network. Make the right call.”

Sydney comes over and hands each boy an energy bar from the vending machine. “The roads are open but drive safe.”

She catches my eye. For the first time, I feel like we’re truly a team.

I walk the kids to the door. The rain has eased to a steady drizzle. I watch until they climb into their beat-up sedan and the taillights disappear down the mountain. Only then do I lock the door.

Back in the kitchen, Sydney pours two cups of coffee.

“That was impressive.”

I let out a long breath. “I’m just paying it forward. Someone gave me a chance once. Sometimes that’s all these kids need.”

She nods slowly. “You did good, Viking.”

Her praise means more than she’ll ever know.