I helped lift them out of the trunk. They were terrified of me at first, but Madison vouched for me, and slowly they relaxed. The eight-year-old boy, Tyler, had a bruise on his cheek. The six-year-old, Mason, had a healing burn mark on his arm. The four-year-old girl, Lily, wouldn’t speak at all—just clung to Madison’s leg and stared at me with huge, haunted eyes.
“How long have you been driving?” I asked Madison.
I looked at the blown tire. At this stolen car. At these four traumatized kids. And I made a decision that probably broke about fifteen laws.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “That tire is destroyed. Even if I had a spare, which you don’t, this car isn’t going anywhere. So we’re going to leave it here.”
Madison’s face fell. “But—”
“I’m going to make some phone calls. I’ve got brothers in my motorcycle club who can help. We’re going to get you to your grandma’s house in Tennessee safely. But we’re going to do this right.”
“What does ‘do this right’ mean?” she asked suspiciously.
“It means we’re going to contact your grandmother first and make sure she’ll take you. It means we’re going to document what’s been happening to you kids so your stepdad can’t just come take you back. It means we’re going to make sure you’re protected.”
I pulled out my phone. “I’ve got a brother in my club who’s a lawyer. Another one who’s a child psychologist. Another one who used to work for CPS before he retired. We’ve helped kids before, Madison. We can help you.”
“But what if they send us back?” Her voice cracked. “What if nobody believes us?”
She searched my face for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Okay.”Continue reading…
