When Lucy laid out what Jeff had found, the room went quiet. Terry was the first to speak.
“So this isn’t just about child services. Someone’s actively hunting her.”
“Looks that way,” Lucy said.
Gregory rubbed his jaw, thinking. “Ventry wants revenge. He couldn’t get it from Hollow, so he’s going after his sister.”
“What’s his play?” Jimmy asked. “He can’t just snatch a kid.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Lucy said. “He just has to make sure she ends up back in the system. Maybe in a place that’s worse than where she came from. Maybe in a place where he’s got connections.”
Terry swore under his breath. He glanced toward the paint bay, where Sky was working late again.
She’d started a mural on the far wall. A massive piece that showed the club riding together through flames. Every member, past and present, rendered in her precise, relentless style.
At the center was Luther, leaning into a turn, his bike roaring, his expression fierce and alive. Right behind him, barely sketched in, was a smaller figure. A girl on a bike made of light pencil lines. Unfinished. Still becoming.
“She doesn’t know,” Terry said.
“And we’re not telling her,” Gregory said firmly. “She’s been through enough. We handle this ourselves.”
“How?” Jimmy asked.
Gregory stood, his chair scraping against the floor. “We make sure she’s protected legally. We get ahead of this before Ventry does.”
Terry crossed his arms. “And if we can’t? If the state comes knocking and we’ve got nothing to show them but good intentions?”
“Then we fight,” Gregory said. “Same as Hollow would have done.”
The room stayed silent.
Terry wanted to argue. He had kids. He knew what it meant to stick your neck out for someone else’s child. But he also knew what it meant to walk away when someone needed you.
He looked at the mural again, at Luther’s face, at the girl behind him still taking shape.
“All right,” Terry said finally. “But we do this smart. We get a lawyer. We build a case. We don’t just throw ourselves in front of the train and hope it stops.”
Gregory nodded. “Lucy, can you pull together everything we’ve got? The custody petition, the incident reports, anything that shows the system failed her.”
“Already on it,” Lucy said.
“Jeff, keep digging on Ventry. I want to know where he is, who he’s working with, and what his next move is.”
Jeff nodded.
“And Jimmy,” Gregory said, turning to the painter, “keep her busy. Keep her safe. Don’t let her know we’re worried.”
Jimmy glanced toward the mural. “She’s got a good eye. That piece is going to be something when it’s done.”
“Yeah,” Gregory said quietly. “It will.”
Over the next few days, Sky kept painting. She worked in bursts, sometimes staying up past midnight, headphones in, lost in the rhythm of brushstrokes and color. The crew gave her space but stayed close.
Someone always made sure there was food. Someone always checked that the heater was running. She didn’t ask why they were being so careful. Maybe she sensed it. Maybe she was just used to people keeping secrets.
One evening, Gregory found her standing in front of the mural, staring at Luther’s face.
“You miss him,” Gregory said. It wasn’t a question.
Sky nodded. “Every day.”
“He was a good man. Loyal. Reckless sometimes, but loyal.”
“He told me the club was his family,” Sky said. “He said you take care of each other when things got bad.”
Gregory stepped closer. “He was right. And that includes you.”
She turned to look at him, searching his face for something. Proof, maybe. A promise that wouldn’t break.
“Why didn’t he tell you about me?” she asked.
Gregory took a breath. “I think he was trying to protect you from this life, from the things that come with it.”
“But I needed him,” she said. “And he wasn’t there.”
“I know,” Gregory said. “But we are.”
Sky looked back at the mural, the unfinished figure behind Luther.
“I don’t know how to finish it,” she admitted.
Gregory studied the piece. “It’ll finish when you’re ready.”
She didn’t respond, just picked up her brush and added another stroke. Then another.
Gregory watched her work, then quietly walked away, leaving her alone with the work.
The call came early in the morning.
Jeff’s phone buzzed while he was still half asleep, and the message made him sit up fast. The private investigator had filed a formal report with child services. They had Sky’s location.
Someone was coming.
He called Gregory immediately. Within an hour, the entire club was at the garage. Lucy had her laptop open, files spread across the desk. Terry was pacing.
Jimmy stood near the paint bay, arms crossed, watching Sky work on the mural like nothing had changed.
“How much time do we have?” Gregory asked.
“Maybe a day,” Jeff said. “Two, if we’re lucky.”
Lucy looked up from her screen. “I’ve got everything compiled. The custody petition Luther filed, the incident reports from the group home, testimonies from other kids who were placed there. It’s enough to show a pattern of neglect and abuse.”
“Is it enough to win?” Terry asked.
“I don’t know,” Lucy admitted. “But it’s better than nothing.”
Gregory turned to Terry. “You said you knew a family lawyer.”
Terry nodded. “Yeah. Martha Clark. She’s good. Handles custody cases, foster placements.”