I walked beside my dad. But the second we stepped into the room, the world narrowed to the smallest person I'd ever seen. Smaller than Ace had been at seven, before he hit his growth spurt and shot up like a weed overnight.
She was twelve. But the girl in that hospital bed looked nine, maybe ten. Small enough that a hard wind could fold her in half. Bruises covered most of her skin, ugly patches of purple and green layered over older yellow ones. The scraps of pale skin between them made her look ghost-thin, like someone had carved her down to the bone.
Her wrist rested on top of the blanket. It looked no thicker than two fingers stacked together. No kid should look like that. Correct that, no human should. Then she looked at us.
One blue eye.
One green.
She had grandma's eyes. The sight knocked the air out of my lungs. For a second I wasn't in a hospital room. I was staring at the old photograph that used to sit on Grandma's nightstand. The one she always said she hated but never put away.
Same mismatched gaze. The same sharp little chin. Same stubborn set to the mouth. Except this girl's mouth trembled like she expected someone to hit her just for breathing.
"Are you my father?" she asked. Her voice was small, but steady. Like she'd already learned crying never helped.
"Yes," Dad whispered.
His voice cracked. Something in his face cracked too. I'd only seen him look like that once before. The night we lost Mom. The same tightness around his eyes. The same shake in his breath he tried to hide.
Sunny studied us carefully, too carefully for a kid. Her eyes moved over us the way prey studies predators. Her gaze dropped to our cuts, to the patches. And the moment she read them, she recoiled. Her breath hitched and her shoulders folded inward. Her hands started shaking so hard the blanket rustled.
"No… no…" she whispered, her voice breaking apart. "They… they sent you."
Dad and I exchanged a look. It was one of those silent ones. A full conversation without a single word. Ash and I have them constantly, but dad and I are very similar. Then we both slowly raised our hands with our palms open.
Nothing in them but air. Marlowe cleared his throat quietly, like he was afraid the sound might scare her off. He sat down on the corner of the bed. He was measured, slow, and careful. Making himself smaller instead of towering over her like most adults did.
"I know you've had bad experiences," he said gently. "But I promise you—Bear and Blaze aren't here to hurt you."
Sunny's mismatched eyes flicked to him. The bruises made every blink look heavy. But she nodded, just barely.
"You trust me, right?" Marlowe asked.
This time the nod was clearer. But her shoulders stayed tight, like trust was something she had to ration out carefully.
"Not all bikers are bad," Marlowe added with a crooked grin. "I promise. I'm even one."
Her eyebrows shot up. The first real reaction we'd seen from her besides fear.
"Oh."
Dad took a slow step forward.
"My name is Bear," he said quietly. "Well… Mathis O'Hare."
He tilted his head toward me.
"And this is Blaze. Logan."
Sunny's gaze moved between us. She ws studying us. She was preparing herself. Then she nodded slowly.
"I have a brother," she whispered. The words sounded fragile like tissue paper.
"You've got three brothers," I said.
I stepped a little closer, close enough she could see me clearly, but not close enough to crowd her.
"You'll meet the other two pains in the ass when we get home."
Her eyes widened. They were too wide for me to tell if it was awe or fear. I opened my mouth to say something else, to reassure her she didn't have to flinch anymore, but Dad moved first. He always moved first when it mattered.
He sat down on the edge of the bed where Marlowe had been. Sunny shrank back an inch. Her spine pressed against the rails. Her hands twisted together in her lap.
Small.
Shaking.
Rubbing the skin raw.
"Hey," Dad said softly.
Softer than I'd ever heard him speak.
"Look at me, little one."
It took a moment, but she lifted her chin. Those mismatched eyes filled with tears like she'd been holding them back for twelve years straight.
"No one," Dad said slowly, "and I mean no one… will ever hurt you again while you're with me."
She didn't believe him. I could tell. At least, not yet. I could see it in the way she studied his face. Like she was waiting for the lie. Then her gaze shifted to me. She searched my face the same way. Her nose scrunched slightly as she compared us.
"Promise?" she whispered.
Just one word.
But it carried every bruise on her body.
"I promise," Dad said immediately.
"I promise," I said.
And meant it with everything in me. The tears finally broke and her shoulders shook. Dad reached for her carefully, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted.
She didn't. He wrapped his arms around her like she was made of glass. I had to look away. Not because it hurt, but because it hurt too much. I stepped out into the hallway. The air felt colder out here.
Sharper.
I needed a minute. And I needed to call Rook. Because after seeing what was done to her… There were some things that needed to be handled.
And Rook was very good at handling things.