PART 2: Raven-Tattooed Biker Hears the Name of a Dead Man
The biker stared at the little girl as the noise of the diner faded into silence around them.
Eli Carter.
A name buried ten years ago beneath fire, blood, and police reports.
Slowly, the biker set his coffee cup down.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Lucy.”
His eyes narrowed carefully. “Who told you to find me?”
“My dad.”
The biker’s jaw tightened instantly.
Because Eli Carter was supposed to be dead.
The waitress behind the counter stopped moving as tension spread quietly through the diner.
Lucy reached slowly into her red jacket and pulled out a folded photograph worn soft at the edges.
The biker took it carefully.
His face drained of color.
The picture showed him standing beside Eli years earlier, both men younger, covered in desert dust beside their motorcycles.
Written across the back were four words:
TRUST NO ONE BUT HIM.
The biker looked back at Lucy sharply.
“Where’s your father now?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“He said bad men found us.”
Outside, motorcycle engines thundered closer.
Three black bikes rolled into the parking lot beneath the blazing Interstate sun.
Lucy grabbed the biker’s arm tightly.
“That’s them,” she whispered.
The biker slowly stood from the counter, eyes hardening as the riders outside removed their helmets.
Because he recognized them too.
And if they were here…
Then Eli Carter might still be alive.
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