A kid approached our biker table and asked, “Can you kill my stepdad for me?”

All conversations stopped. Fifteen leather-clad veterans stood frozen, staring at a tiny kid in a dinosaur shirt who had just asked us to commit murder as if he were asking for extra ketchup.

His mother was in the bathroom, she had no idea that her son had approached the scariest table in Denny’s, she had no idea what he was about to reveal and that it would change our lives forever.

“Please,” she added in a low but determined voice. “I have seven dollars.”

He took crumpled bills out of his pocket and placed them on our table, between the coffee cups and half-eaten pancakes.

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

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

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

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

The boy lowered his collar. Purple marks marked his throat. “He said if I told anyone, it would hurt Mom more than me. But you guys are bikers. You’re tough. You can stop him.”

That’s when we realized everything we’d missed before: the way he walked, leaning on his left side.

That her wrist was in a splint. The discolored yellow bruise on her jaw that someone had tried to cover up with what looked like makeup.

“Where is your real father?” asked Bones, our sergeant-at-arms.

“Dead. Car accident when I was three.” Tyler’s gaze shifted back to the bathroom door. “Please, Mommy’s coming. Yes or no?”

Before anyone could respond, a woman emerged from the bathroom. Pretty, in her thirties, but she walked with the caution of someone hiding pain.

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

“Tyler! I’m so sorry, it’s bothering you…” She came running over, and we all saw her wince at moving too fast.

“No problem, ma’am,” Mike said, standing slowly so as not to appear threatening. “You’re so clever of me to come.”

She grabbed Tyler’s hand, and I watched as her doll’s makeup ran, revealing purple bruises just like her son’s. “We should go. Come on, honey.”

“Actually,” Mike said, his voice still soft, “why don’t you join us? We were just about to order dessert. It’s on us.”

Her eyes widened in fear. “We couldn’t…”

“I insist,” Mike said, and something in his tone made it clear it wasn’t really a request. “Tyler told us he likes dinosaurs. My grandson likes them too.”

He sat down reluctantly, pulling Tyler towards him. The boy looked from us to his mother, hope and fear on his small face.

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

Tyler nodded.

“Is someone hurting you and your mother?”

The mother’s labored breathing was sufficient answer. “Please,” she whispered. “He doesn’t understand. He’s going to kill us. He said…”

“Ma’am, look around this table,” Mike interrupted in a low voice.

“Every man here served in combat. We’ve all protected innocent people from attackers. That’s what we do. Now, is anyone hurting them?”

Her composure broke. Tears began to flow. And that’s when a man shouted at them and started approaching us.

A kid approached our table full of bikers and asked, “Can you kill my stepdad for me?”

All conversations stopped. Fifteen leather-clad veterans stood frozen, staring at a tiny kid in a dinosaur shirt who had just asked us to commit murder as if he were asking for extra ketchup.

His mother was in the bathroom, she had no idea that her son had approached the scariest table in Denny’s, she had no idea what he was about to reveal and that it would change our lives forever.

“Please,” she added in a low but determined voice. “I have seven dollars.”

He took crumpled bills out of his pocket and placed them on our table, between the coffee cups and half-eaten pancakes.

His little hands were shaking, but his gaze, those eyes, were very serious.

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

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

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

The boy lowered his collar. Purple marks marked his throat. “He said if I told anyone, it would hurt Mom more than me. But you guys are bikers. You’re tough. You can stop him.”

That’s when we realized everything we’d missed before: the way he walked, leaning on his left side.

That her wrist was in a splint. The discolored yellow bruise on her jaw that someone had tried to cover up with what looked like makeup.

“Where is your real father?” asked Bones, our sergeant-at-arms.

“Dead. Car accident when I was three.” Tyler’s gaze shifted back to the bathroom door. “Please, Mommy’s coming. Yes or no?”

Car dealership

Before anyone could respond, a woman emerged from the bathroom. Pretty, in her thirties, but she walked with the caution of someone hiding pain.

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

“Tyler! I’m so sorry, it’s bothering you…” She came running over, and we all saw her wince at moving too fast.

“No problem, ma’am,” Mike said, standing slowly so as not to appear threatening. “You’re so clever of me to come.”

She grabbed Tyler’s hand, and I watched as her doll’s makeup ran, revealing purple bruises that matched her son’s. “We should go. Come on, honey.”

“Actually,” Mike said, his voice still soft, “why don’t you join us? We were just about to order dessert. It’s on us.”

Her eyes widened in fear. “We couldn’t…”

“I insist,” Mike said, and something in his tone made it clear it wasn’t really a request. “Tyler told us he likes dinosaurs. My grandson likes them too.”

He sat down reluctantly, pulling Tyler towards him. The boy looked from us to his mother, hope and fear on his small face.

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

Tyler nodded.

“Is someone hurting you and your mother?”

The mother’s labored breathing was sufficient. “Please,” she whispered. “You don’t understand. He’s going to kill us. He said…”

“Ma’am, look around this table,” Mike interrupted in a low voice.

“Every man here served in combat. We’ve all protected innocent people from abusers. That’s what we do. Now, is someone hurting you?”

Her composure broke. Tears began to flow. “His name is Derek. My husband. He’s… he’s a police officer.”

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

Family games

“How long?” Bones asked.

“Two years. It got worse after we got married. I’ve tried to leave, but he’s been tracking 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 rage course through our table. Fifteen veterans who had seen enough violence to last several lifetimes, but violence against a child? That was different. That was unforgivable.

“Where is Derek now?” Mike asked.

“At work. He’s on duty until midnight.” He looked at his phone. “We have to be home by 12 or…”

“No,” Mike said firmly. “You don’t have to be anywhere. Where’s your car?”

Concessionaire

“Outside. The blue Honda.”

Mike nodded to three of our younger members. “Go check for trackers. Everyone. The phone too.” He held out his hand for the phone.

“You don’t understand,” she said desperately. “He has connections. Other police officers. Judges. I tried to report him once and ended up with a psychiatric hold. They said I was delusional.”

“What’s your name?” Mike asked.

“Sarah”.

“Sarah, I need you to trust us. Can you do that?”

“Why would you help us? You don’t even know us.”

Tyler chimed in. “Because they’re heroes, Mom. Just like Dad was. Heroes help people.”

Mike’s expression softened. Was your father in the military?

“Marines,” Tyler said proudly. “He died serving his country.”

The table fell silent. The widow and son of a Marine were being abused by a police officer who had taken advantage of…