Elise on the Roadside
They found the car on a narrow shoulder near a turnoff, hazard lights blinking weakly in the dark. An old sedan sat angled toward the ditch, one door open. Beside it stood a woman with tired eyes, a torn cardigan, and one hand raised as she backed away from a man who was clearly agitated and far too comfortable intimidating someone alone.
Nora saw her first.
“Mom!”
Elise turned at the sound, and the look on her face shifted from fear to disbelief.
The bikes reached them within seconds. Dean pulled his Harley in front of the stranger, cutting off the space between him and Elise. The others formed a wide barrier with their motorcycles, engines rumbling low.
Dean removed his helmet and spoke in a voice that carried no panic and no anger—only steel.
“Step back.”
The man froze, startled by the sudden wall of headlights and leather.
“I was just talking to her,” he muttered.
Cole, the silver-bearded biker, answered before Dean could.
“Then you can talk to the police when they get here.”
Jace lifted Nora down, and she ran straight into her mother’s arms. Elise dropped to her knees and held her so tightly it looked like she might never let go.
“You stayed inside?” Elise whispered.
“I did, Mom. They helped me.”
Elise looked up, still breathing hard, and her eyes settled on Dean’s face.
She recognized him.
Maybe not from everyday life. Maybe not from conversation. But from the outline of a memory.
“You…”
Dean nodded once.
“Wyatt Mercer’s people,” he said. “You helped one of ours years ago. Tonight we returned the favor.”
Elise covered her mouth, tears filling her eyes before she could stop them.
