Lily's eyes drooped. He nudged her shoulder lightly. 'Hey, no sleeping yet.' I'm tired, she mumbled. You're warm. He almost laughed at that. Him. Warm. But her head resting against his chest warmed something in him that had been frozen long before the storm rolled in. Outside, a deep, distant rumble vibrated through the floor. Marcus frowned.
At first he thought it was thunder, but the sound stayed low and steady. Then another joined it. Then a third. Engines. Big ones. He stiffened and turned his head toward the door, heart thudding. Lily felt the tension in his muscles and stirred. What is it? Stay here. He said quietly, easing her back against the blankets. Don't move. No matter what you hear, you stay in this room, okay? Fear flashed in her eyes. Are they coming back? The bad men. He shook his head, though he wasn't sure. I don't know who they are. That's why I'm checking first. He crossed the room in three strides. Every instinct he'd honed on the streets screaming at him to hide, to stay small, to avoid whatever was out there. But another instinct, newer, louder, pushed him forward.
He eased the door open just enough to slip out. The hallway outside was dark, lit only by a crack of gray light leaking from the far end where the loading dock door sat. The vibration grew stronger beneath his feet. He crept down the corridor, each step slow, careful, listening. Then he heard it through the metal door at the top of the stairs. steps. The unmistakable roar of multiple motorcycles, engines revving in unison. His stomach dropped. He reached the narrow window beside the dock door and scraped at the frost with his sleeve until a small clear patch appeared. He pressed his face to the glass. The blizzard had slowed to a swirling curtain of snow, but he could see shapes now. Motorcycles lined up in AV formation, headlights blazing like angry eyes in the whiteout.
Men in heavy leather jackets and vests climbed off, boots crunching in the snow. Even from here, Marcus could make out the patch. On their backs a skull with wings, Hell's Angels. His breath hitched at the center of the formation. One bike was bigger than the rest, black and chrome, idling with a low growl. The man sitting on it swung a leg over and stood. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard flecked with snow and eyes that scanned the warehouse like they wanted to tear it apart. The patch on his chest read one word in red letters. Reaper. Lily's dad. He should have felt relief. Should have thought, finally, someone who can fix this. Instead, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Reaper stalled toward the door, each step precise, controlled, dangerous— even without a weapon in sight. The other bikers fanned out, forming a loose semicircle around the loading dock. Marcus backed away from the window, heart pounding so hard he thought they'd hear it through the walls. If these men were anything like the stories, they weren't the kind of people you surprised. They were the kind who decided whether you walked away at all. He spun and ran back down the hall to the maintenance room, feet barely touching the floor. Lily was struggling to sit up when he burst inside. 'Who is it?' She asked. Panic in her voice, he grabbed the blankets and wrapped them tighter around her. 'Your dad's here.' He said and he didn't come alone.
Her eyes lit up, hope blazing through the fear. 'Daddy shoo he whispered. 'Listen to me until I know what kind of man he really is. You stay behind me. Got it She stared at him, confused. 'He's my dad.' 'Yeah, Marcus said softly. And my dad was supposed to keep me safe too. Before she could answer, the entire- room shook with a thunderous bang— the front door of the warehouse had been kicked in, boots pounded above them, voices shouted echoing down the stairwell, a deep commanding voice cut through the others like a blade. Marcus didn't need to hear the words to know who it belonged to. He moved in front of Lily, planting himself between her and the door, every muscle coiled, every nerve screaming. He had nothing. No weapon.
No plan. Just a promise he'd made to a freezing little girl in an alley. The maintenance room door handle rattled once. Twice. Then it turned. The door swung open. A massive figure filled the doorway, snow still clinging to his beard, leather vest dark against the pale overhead light. His eyes swept the room. It was on Lily, then on Marcus standing in front of her with his fists clenched. For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then Lily's voice cracked the silence. 'Daddy.' Reaper's face changed in an instant, every hard line breaking. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the concrete, a raw, broken sound tearing from his chest as he reached for his daughter.
Marcus didn't move, because as Reaper lifted his head, their eyes met, and in that split second, the man's expression shifted from relief to something else. Shock. Recognition. Like he was seeing a ghost.