His little hands were shaking, but his eyes – those eyes were dead serious.

Big Mike, our club president and a grandfather of four, knelt down to the kid’s level. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“Tyler,” the boy whispered, glancing nervously toward the bathroom. “Mom’s coming back soon. Will you help or not?”

“Tyler, why do you want us to hurt your stepdad?” Mike asked gently.

The boy pulled down his collar. Purple fingerprints marked his throat. “He said if I tell anyone, he’ll hurt Mom worse than he hurts me. But you’re bikers. You’re tough. You can stop him.”

That’s when we noticed everything we’d missed before. The way he walked, favoring his left side.

How his wrist had a brace. The faded yellow bruise on his jaw that someone had tried to cover with what looked like makeup.

“Where’s your real dad?” asked Bones, our sergeant-at-arms.

“Dead. Car accident when I was three.” Tyler’s eyes darted to the bathroom door again. “Please, Mom’s coming. Yes or no?”

Before anyone could answer, a woman emerged from the bathroom. Pretty, mid-thirties, but walking with the careful movements of someone hiding pain.

She saw Tyler at our table and panic flashed across her face.

“Tyler! I’m so sorry, he’s bothering you—” She rushed over, and we all saw her wince as she moved too fast.

“No bother at all, ma’am,” Mike said, standing slowly so as not to seem threatening. “Smart boy you got here.”

She grabbed Tyler’s hand, and I caught the makeup on her wrist smudge, revealing purple bruises that matched her son’s. “We should go. Come on, baby.”

“Actually,” Mike said, his voice still gentle, “why don’t you both join us? We were just about to order dessert. Our treat.”

Her eyes went wide with fear. “We couldn’t—”

“I insist,” Mike said, and something in his tone made it clear this wasn’t really a request. “Tyler here was telling us he likes dinosaurs. My grandson’s the same way.”

She sat down reluctantly, pulling Tyler close. The boy looked between us and his mom, hope and fear warring on his small face.

“Tyler,” Mike said, “I need you to be really brave right now. Braver than asking us what you asked. Can you do that?”

Tyler nodded.

“Is someone hurting you and your mom?”

The mother’s sharp intake of breath was answer enough. “Please,” she whispered. “You don’t understand. He’ll kill us. He said—”

“Ma’am, look around this table,” Mike interrupted quietly.

“Every man here served in combat. Every one of us has protected innocent people from bullies. That’s what we do. Now, is someone hurting you?”

Her composure cracked. Tears started flowing. “His name is Derek. My husband. He’s… he’s a cop.”

That explained her terror. A cop who abuses his family knows exactly how to work the system. Knows how to make complaints disappear. Knows how to make it look like she’s the crazy one.Family games

“How long?” asked Bones.

“Two years. It got worse after we married. I’ve tried to leave, but he tracks us. Last time…” She unconsciously touched her ribs. “Tyler spent a week in the hospital. Derek told them he fell off his bike.”

“I don’t even have a bike,” Tyler said quietly.

I felt the rage ripple through our table. Fifteen veterans who’d seen enough violence for multiple lifetimes, but violence against a child? That was different. That was unforgivable.

“Ma’am,” said Torch, our youngest member at 25, an Iraq veteran with a law degree, “I specialize in domestic violence cases. I know judges who aren’t in anyone’s pocket. Real judges who care about the law. But we need documentation.”

Sarah laughed bitterly. “He’s careful. Never hits where it shows. Never leaves evidence.”

“The bruises on your wrist say otherwise,” Torch noted. “Tyler’s neck too.”

“He’ll say we’re lying. That I did it to Tyler to frame him.”

“Hard to strangle yourself,” Bones observed.

Mike’s phone rang. He answered, listened, then his face darkened. “They found three trackers on your car. Two on your phone.”Car dealership

Sarah went pale. “He knows where we are.”

“Good,” Mike said, surprising everyone. “Let him come.”