Chapter 1: The Jacket That Started a War
“Please don’t sell it. It’s the only thing I have left of my dad.””
Fourteen-year-old Ava Bennett stood in the middle of Miller’s Pawn & Loan, clutching a battered black leather jacket against her chest.
Her fingers were wrapped around the sleeves so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
The jacket smelled faintly of motor oil, old leather, and the cedar soap her father used to keep in his bathroom.
It was the last thing she had of him.
And her uncle was about to sell it for forty dollars.
“Give it here, Ava.””
Curtis Bennett stood behind the counter, tapping his fingers impatiently against the glass.
He was forty-two, broad-shouldered, and always wore the same brown work boots. His hair was thinning, his face permanently shadowed by stubble, and a gold watch circled his wrist.
Ava knew that watch.
It had belonged to her father.
Curtis had taken it two weeks after the funeral.
“No,” Ava whispered.
Curtis looked toward the shop owner.
“Sorry about this. She's been difficult lately.””
Mr. Miller, a gray-haired man with reading glasses hanging from his neck, glanced uncomfortably between them.
“She says the jacket belongs to her father.””
“It does,” Curtis snapped.
“But her father isn't coming back, is he?””
Ava flinched.
“Uncle Curtis, please.””
Curtis reached across the counter and grabbed the jacket.
Ava held on.
“LET GO!””
“No!””
The jacket stretched between them.
A button popped loose and bounced across the tiled floor.
Curtis jerked it out of her hands.
“Your dad is dead. You don't need his stupid biker costume.””
Ava stumbled backward.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry.
Not in front of him.
Not again.
Three months earlier, her father, Michael Bennett, had been the strongest man she knew.
He made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs on Saturday mornings. He checked the locks twice before bed. He taught Ava how to change a tire and Noah how to whistle through his fingers.
He had been a mechanic.
A father.
A man who always came home.
Until the night Curtis drove him somewhere and returned alone.
The police said it was a car accident.
Curtis said Michael had lost control on a wet road.
There had been a funeral.
There had been a closed casket.
And there had been no explanation for why Curtis was the only person who knew exactly what happened that night.
Ava swallowed.
“Dad said nobody could take that jacket.””
Curtis laughed.
“Your father said a lot of things.””
“He said it belonged to someone important.””
“Then that someone can buy it back.””
Curtis tossed the jacket onto the counter.
“Forty bucks. Take it or leave it.””
Mr. Miller hesitated.
“Curtis, I already told you the leather is worth more than—”
“Just ring it up.””
The bell above the pawn shop door suddenly jingled.
Ava didn't look up.
She was staring at the jacket.
Then she heard a deep voice.
“Hold on.””
The shop fell strangely quiet.
A group of men entered.
There were six of them.
All wore black leather vests over dark shirts. Their boots made heavy sounds against the wooden floor, and silver rings flashed beneath the fluorescent lights.
The man in front was enormous.
He had a thick gray beard, a weathered face, and a faded tattoo running down the side of his neck.
A patch on his vest read:
*WOLF — BLACK RIDGE RIDERS.*
He looked at Ava.
Then at the jacket.
Then at Curtis.
“Kid said no.””
Curtis turned around.
“Excuse me?””
Wolf stepped closer.
“I said the kid doesn't want to sell it.””
“This is a family matter.””
“Then act like family.””
Curtis shoved him in the chest.
The sound echoed through the shop.
Wolf barely moved.
He looked down at Curtis's hand.
Then he looked him in the eye.
“Bad decision.””
Wolf shoved Curtis backward.
Curtis crashed into a display case, sending several watches clattering onto the floor.
Two younger men immediately moved toward Wolf.
But the four other bikers behind them stood up from the chairs near the entrance.
One crossed his arms.
Another quietly locked the front door.
Nobody said a word.
Curtis looked around.
For the first time that afternoon, he seemed to understand that he wasn't the biggest man in the room.
“Are you people crazy?”” he shouted.
“I'll call the police!””
Wolf didn't even glance at him.
“Go ahead.””
Then Ava screamed.
“STOP!””
Every head turned.
She was shaking.
Her eyes were fixed on Curtis.
“Please don't let him take it!””
Wolf slowly lowered his hands.
“Easy, sweetheart. Nobody's taking anything.””
Ava shook her head violently.
“You don't understand!””
“Then help me understand.””
She pointed at Curtis.
“He'll sell my brother next!””
Silence.
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that makes every little sound suddenly enormous.
Wolf's expression changed.
“Your brother?””
Ava wiped her nose with her sleeve.
“His name is Noah. He's nine.””
“Where is he?””
Curtis immediately stepped forward.
“She's lying. She's upset. The boy is staying with friends.””
Ava turned toward him.
“Then tell them which friends!””
Curtis's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Wolf looked at the girl again.
“When did you last see him?””
“Three days ago.””
“Three days?””
Ava nodded.
“He said Uncle Curtis was taking him to get his favorite pizza. They never came home.””
Curtis threw his hands into the air.
“Oh, for God's sake. He's staying with a family from school!””
“What's their name?”” Wolf asked.
“That's none of your business.””
Wolf's voice dropped.
“What's their name?””
Curtis looked at the door.
Then at the men standing between him and it.
Ava whispered something that made Wolf's face harden.
“He took Noah's phone, too.””
Wolf turned toward his men.
“Ryder, call the police. Tell them we have a missing nine-year-old and a guardian who can't explain where he is.””
Curtis lunged toward the counter.
“Don't you dare!””
But Mr. Miller spoke before Wolf could respond.
“Actually, there's something else you should know.””
Everyone turned.
The old shopkeeper had opened a thick ledger beneath the counter.
His hands were trembling.
“Curtis has been bringing in items from this family for months.””
Curtis's face went red.
“Shut your mouth, Miller.””
Mr. Miller swallowed.
“Michael's tools. His truck keys. His motorcycle title. Watches, power equipment, even the children's electronics.””
Ava stared at him.
“What?””
Mr. Miller turned a page.
“I have the receipts.””
Wolf slowly looked at Curtis.
Then he asked the question nobody in the room was prepared to hear.
“How much of that man's life have you sold?””
Curtis didn't answer.
But Ava noticed something.
For the first time, her uncle wasn't angry.
He was afraid.
And when Wolf finally picked up the jacket, his eyes stopped on the patch sewn across its back.
His fingers froze.
*BLACK RIDGE RIDERS.*
He turned the jacket over.
Then he looked at Ava.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly.
“Who exactly was your father?””
“Michael Bennett.””
Wolf went completely still.
He looked toward the oldest man in his crew.
“Preacher…”
The older biker stepped forward.
“Yeah?””
Wolf swallowed.
May you like
“It's Michael's daughter.””
And the expression on Preacher's face told Ava that her father's past was about to become much more important than she had ever imagined.
