The biker wouldn’t let go of my daughter’s hand, and I was three seconds from putting him in the ground.
I’d seen the Facebook post forty minutes earlier. My little girl. Six men in motorcycle vests. A gas station two towns over.
Nobody could reach her mother. My ex had vanished off the face of the earth with our daughter’s whole weekend.
So I drove like the devil was chasing me and I found them exactly where the photo was taken.
I jumped out swinging. I didn’t think. I just saw leather and beards and my baby in the middle of it.
The old one caught my fist in his hand like it was nothing. He didn’t hit me back. He just held on.
“You’re the dad,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Lily ran to me and wrapped around my leg. She wasn’t scared. She was crying because I was yelling at the men.
“Don’t be mad at them, Daddy,” she said. “They’re nice. Mommy left me here.”
I looked at the old biker. My whole body went cold.
