“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Caseworker?”
Ethan shook his head.
Brick asked:
“Does your caseworker know about the bruises?”
“No.”
“School?”
“I said I fell.”
Brick nodded slowly.
“Why?”
Ethan looked toward the floor.
“Because Calvin said Maribel would get punished if I talked.”
That sentence made several mechanics turn away.
Brick remained still.
“Has he hurt her?”
Ethan’s eyes immediately rose.
“Not like me.”
That was not reassuring.
“What does that mean?”
“He yells.”
“Touches her?”
Ethan shook his head.
“Sometimes grabs her arm.”
Brick exhaled slowly.
“Okay.”
Ethan suddenly became nervous again.
“You’re going to call.”
Brick nodded.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
Ethan grabbed his backpack and turned.
Brick did not touch him.
He said only:
“Ethan.”
The boy stopped.
Brick remained on the bucket.
“You came here because you needed something.”
Ethan did not turn around.
Brick continued.
“If all you wanted was somewhere to hide, there were parks.”
“Libraries.”
“Stores.”
“You picked a garage full of strangers.”
Ethan’s shoulders moved with quick breaths.
“Why?”
Nothing.
Brick asked softly:
“Did you come because you needed a job?”
Ethan slowly turned.
Brick looked at him.
“Or because you needed someone to believe you?”
The boy’s face broke.
Not dramatically.
No scream.
No collapse.
His eyes simply filled until he could not pretend anymore.
“I need someone…”
His voice cracked.
“…who isn’t afraid of him.”
Brick stood.
Slowly.
He walked toward Ethan but stopped several feet away.
“I’m not afraid of him.”
Around the garage, forty bikers and mechanics quietly looked toward the boy.
Brick added:
“But this isn’t about being tougher than Calvin.”
Ethan wiped his eyes with one sleeve.
“Then what?”
“Getting you safe the right way.”
The boy looked disappointed.
Maybe he had imagined bikers solving problems like movie characters.
Brick understood.
He had spent enough years watching men confuse protection with violence.
He refused to teach a thirteen-year-old that lesson.
“You know what happens if forty of us go beat up your foster father?”
Ethan looked uncertain.
“He stops?”
Brick shook his head.
“You lose evidence.”
“We get arrested.”
“Some lawyer gets to call us a gang that intimidated him.”
“And the whole story becomes about us instead of what happened to you.”
Ethan stared.
Brick continued.
“You already did the hard part.”
“What?”
“You told somebody.”
Before Ethan could answer, a black pickup rolled slowly past the open garage.
The boy saw it first.
Every bit of color disappeared from his face.
The bottle fell from his hand.
Brick turned.
The truck stopped across the street.
Ethan whispered:
“He’s here.”
Brick looked at him.
“Calvin?”
Ethan nodded.
His body began shaking.
Not metaphorically.
His hands trembled.
His knees did too.
Brick stepped sideways.
Not toward the street.
Between Ethan and the door.
A large man climbed from the truck.
Mid-forties.
Heavy build.
Work boots.
Jeans.
Dark T-shirt.
Close-cropped hair.
His face carried the easy confidence of someone who expected obedience.
He looked toward the garage.
Saw Ethan.
Smiled.
“There you are.”
Ethan backed away.
Brick did not.
The man crossed the street.
Several bikers began moving.
Brick spoke without turning around.
“Stay.”
They stopped.
Calvin reached the sidewalk.
“Ethan.”
The boy did not answer.
Calvin looked toward Brick.
“He’s mine.”
Brick’s expression changed.
“He’s a kid.”
“You know what I mean.”
Brick nodded.
“Unfortunately.”
Calvin stepped toward the garage entrance.
Brick remained directly in the center.
“You the owner?”
“Yes.”
“I’m taking him home.”
Brick looked over his shoulder.
“Ethan.”
The boy stood behind a workbench.
“You want to leave with him?”
Ethan shook his head immediately.
Calvin laughed.
“He doesn’t get to decide.”
Brick looked back.
“You got paperwork?”
Calvin’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“Placement papers.”
“ID.”
“Anything.”
“You think I carry foster paperwork everywhere?”
Brick shrugged.
“I don’t know you.”
Calvin pointed past him.
“He ran away from home.”
Brick nodded.
“That part seems true.”
“So move.”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
Calvin stepped closer.
“You want a problem?”
Brick looked at the man’s hands.
One held a folded leather belt.
Not raised.
Not used.
But present.
Brick’s eyes moved back to Calvin’s face.
“You drove here carrying that?”
Calvin glanced down.
“This?”
He laughed.
“Work belt.”
Ethan whispered:
“He uses it.”
Brick heard.
So did everyone nearby.
Calvin’s expression changed.
“Shut up, Ethan.”
Forty bikers stood.
Not on command.
One by one, mechanics left their benches.
Riders stepped away from motorcycles.
Tommy set down the rag in his hands.
Cole Mercer—different Cole, an older club member no relation to Ethan—moved beside Brick.
Nobody approached Calvin.
Nobody touched him.
They simply formed a wide silent line several feet behind Brick.
Calvin stared.
His confidence faltered.
“Seriously?”
Brick looked at Ethan.
“Come here if you want.”
Ethan hesitated.
Then walked quickly forward.
He stopped behind Brick and grabbed the back edge of his leather vest.
Brick felt the small hand clench.
He looked over his shoulder.
“Stay there, son.”
Ethan nodded.
Brick turned toward Calvin.
“You’re not taking him until someone with authority verifies this.”
Calvin’s jaw tightened.
“I have authority.”
“Then you’ll enjoy proving it.”
“You holding him against my permission?”
“No.”
Brick nodded toward the boy.
“He’s standing there because he wants to.”
Calvin took another step.
Cole moved half a step forward.
Brick looked sideways.
Cole stopped.
Brick returned his attention to Calvin.
“Don’t make this stupid.”
Calvin stared.
“You threatening me?”
“No.”
Brick’s voice remained almost gentle.
“I’m advising you not to turn a bad afternoon into a worse one.”
Calvin pointed toward Ethan.
“That kid lies.”
Brick nodded.
“Maybe.”
Ethan flinched.
Brick felt it through the vest.
He continued.
“That’s why we called professionals.”
Calvin froze.
“You called who?”
Brick had not yet.
But Tommy had.
Minutes earlier.
Quietly.
Brick had seen him take the office phone.
He knew what that meant.
“Child Protective Services.”
“Police.”
Calvin’s face changed.
“You had no right.”
Brick shrugged.
“Good thing rights are something professionals can explain.”
Calvin looked toward his truck.
Then toward Ethan.
Then the garage.
He seemed to calculate.