“I’ll call her.”
“Do it now.”
While Terry stepped outside to make the call, Gregory walked over to Sky. She had her back to him, adding details to one of the bikes.
“We need to talk,” Gregory said quietly.
She set the brush down and turned around. “They found me.”
“Yeah,” Gregory said. “But we’re not letting them take you without a fight.”
“You don’t have to do this. I can disappear again. I’ve done it before.”
“And go where?” Gregory asked. “How long do you think you can keep running?”
She didn’t answer.
“Your brother tried to get you out,” Gregory continued. “He filed paperwork. He fought the system, and they shut him down because of us, because he wouldn’t walk away from the club.”
Sky looked at him, her eyes sharp. “So this is about guilt.”
“This is about family,” Gregory said. “Hollow was our brother. That makes you ours, too.”
She studied his face, looking for cracks in the conviction. She didn’t find any.
Terry came back inside, phone still in hand. “Martha’s in. She’ll meet us in a few hours. She needs to see everything we’ve got.”
Lucy started gathering documents. Jeff backed up digital files to a drive.
Jimmy finally spoke up from across the room. “What do you need from me?”
“Keep her calm,” Gregory said. “And finish that mural. I want it done before anyone shows up here.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You think a painting’s going to make a difference?”
“I think it shows she’s got a reason to stay,” Gregory said.
The meeting with Martha Clark happened in a diner outside of town. She was a sharp woman in her 50s, wearing a blazer that had seen better days and carrying a briefcase that looked older than Sky.
She ordered coffee, listened to the whole story without interrupting, and then flipped through the documents Lucy had brought. When she finished, she set the folder down and looked directly at Sky.
“Do you want to stay with them?”
Sky hesitated. “I don’t want to go back to the group home.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Sky glanced at Gregory, then back at Martha. “Yeah. I want to stay.”
Martha nodded. “Then we file an emergency petition. We show systemic failure, Luther’s blocked custody, and prove the club can provide stability.”
“Will it work?” Terry asked.
“Depends on the judge,” Martha said. “But we’ve got a decent shot, especially if we can show that Sky’s been thriving here.”
“She has,” Gregory said.
Martha looked at him. “You understand what you’re signing up for? Background checks, inspections. The state will scrutinize everything.”
“We’ve got nothing to hide,” Gregory said.
“Everyone’s got something to hide,” Martha said bluntly. “But as long as it’s nothing that endangers the kid, we can work with it.”
The hearing was set quickly. Martha pulled strings, called in favors, and got them in front of a judge before child services could move Sky to a temporary placement.
The courtroom was small. Sky sat between Gregory and Lucy, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
The state argued Sky belonged in the system. The Iron Jaws were unfit. Safety over sentiment.
Martha countered with the documents. She presented Luther’s custody petition and the reasons it was denied. She showed the incident reports from the group home, the complaints that had been ignored, the other kids who’d suffered in silence.
She called Terry to the stand, and he spoke about his own children, about what family really meant, about why the club was willing to step up when the system had failed.
Then Martha called Sky.
The judge asked her questions, simple ones. How long had she been at the garage? Did she feel safe? What did she want?
Sky answered carefully, her voice quiet but clear. She talked about Luther, the art he taught her, the promise he’d made, and the mural.
“I’ve been painting the club,” she said. “All of them, because they’re the only family I’ve got left.”
The judge listened, then asked to see the sketchbook Sky always carried. Martha handed it over.
The judge flipped through the pages slowly, studying each drawing. Luther’s bikes. The club members. The emblem that had started everything.
When the judge finally spoke, the room went still.
“I’m granting temporary guardianship to Gregory Moss and the Iron Jaws Motorcycle Club under supervised conditions. There will be regular check-ins. Any violations, and this arrangement ends immediately.”
Sky exhaled, her shoulders dropping like a weight had been lifted.
Outside the courthouse, Martha shook Gregory’s hand. “Don’t screw this up.”
“We won’t,” Gregory said.
Back at the garage, the crew had finished the mural in Sky’s absence. Jimmy had added the final touches, blending her sketches into something whole.
When Sky walked in and saw it, she stopped.
Every member was there, Luther at the center. Behind him, fully rendered, a girl on a bike.
Gregory stepped up beside her, holding something folded in his hands. A patch, custom-made, her initials stitched into the fabric.
“You’re not running anymore,” he said. “You’re riding.”
Sky took the patch. She looked at Gregory, then at the mural, then at the crew standing around her.
And finally, she smiled.
This story reminds us that family isn’t always about blood. Sky didn’t just find a garage. She found a brotherhood that honored her brother’s memory by protecting his sister.