PART 2: The Name Buried With the Past
The screen comes back slowly.
No laughter.
No music.
Only wind moving through the yard and the faint ticking of cooling engines.
The club leader stands frozen in front of the child, eyes locked on the faded patch like it’s something impossible clawing its way back into the world.
The child still clutches the jacket tightly.
Small hands shaking.
But they don’t let go.
“What did your father’s name?” the leader asks finally, voice rougher now.
The child hesitates.
Then—
“Jonah.”
Silence crashes down again.
Around the yard, men exchange looks instantly. Faces harden. Some take a step closer without realizing it.
Because everyone there knows that name.
Jonah
The man who vanished fifteen years ago.
The man they buried without a body.
The leader’s jaw tightens. “Who told you to come here?”
“My dad.”
“That’s not possible,” someone mutters from behind.
The child looks confused now, eyes moving between the men.
“He said you wouldn’t believe me,” the child whispers. “That’s why he gave me this.”
Slowly—
carefully—
the child reaches into the oversized jacket pocket.
Every biker in the yard goes still.
Not threatening.
Not afraid.
Just waiting.
The child pulls out something small.
Metal.
Old.
A chain with a broken wolf pendant hanging from it.
The leader’s breath catches instantly.
Because he knows it.
He reaches forward slowly, fingers trembling as he takes the pendant into his hand.
Broken clean down the middle.
Half missing.
“Oh God…” one of the older bikers whispers.
The leader closes his fist around it.
“Where is he?” he asks quietly.
The child lowers their eyes.
“He couldn’t come.”
A pause.
Then—
“He’s hurt.”
That changes everything.
The leader steps back once, emotion cracking through the control on his face for the first time.
“How long?” he asks.
The child shrugs slightly. “A long time.”
Another biker kneels nearby now, gentler than he looks. “Kid… where did you see him?”
“In a trailer near the mountains,” the child says softly. “He told me if anything happened… I had to find the wolf patch.”
The leader’s eyes close briefly.
Because only one person ever called it that.
Jonah.
The yard stays silent.
Heavy.
Unsteady.
Then—
a voice cuts through from the far side of the lot.
“Boss.”
Everyone turns.
One of the younger riders stands near the gate, staring toward the road beyond the fence.
“Company.”
The atmosphere shifts instantly.
Engines in the distance.
Not theirs.
Coming fast.
The leader looks back at the child.
“Did anyone follow you?”
The child’s silence is enough.
The leader turns sharply.
“Lock the gates,” he says.
Men move immediately.
No hesitation.
No questions.
The child grips the jacket tighter as the rumble grows louder outside.
Fear finally reaching their face.
The leader notices.
He crouches slightly, placing a rough but steady hand on the child’s shoulder.
“You did the right thing,” he says.
The child looks up. “Will you help him?”
The leader’s expression hardens into something absolute.
“If Jonah’s alive,” he says quietly, “we burn the road to get him back.”
Outside—
engines roar closer.
And somewhere beyond those gates—
the past has finally come looking for them.
Our Facebook Group
Join Our Group
