Laughing with men society would call criminals.
The bikers spread out like they had done this before.
One pinned motorcycle patches on the bulletin board.
Another set up a tablet on the tray table, calling someone.
A third carefully unwrapped a small leather vest—child-sized, black with “Honorary Road Warrior” stitched across the back.
Savage held it out with both hands.
“This belonged to my son, Marcus,” he said. His voice cracked. “He earned it when he was your age. Cancer took him four years ago. But before he died, he told me the vest had to go to another warrior. Been waiting for the right kid.”
Tommy’s eyes went wide.
“This was really his?”
“Really his,” Savage nodded. “Bravest kid I ever knew… until tonight.”
