“Your father killed him. Didn’t he?” I questioned in a low voice.

“Yeah. He did.”

Staring Rev straight in the eye, I said, “Good for him.”

Rev gave me a tight smile. “Thank you.”

Sensing we needed a subject change, I asked, “Where does everyone come from?”

“All over the country,” Bishop replied.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Most are from close by, but there’s some people who ride fourteen or fifteen hours to get here.”

“That’s really impressive they would do something like that for a stranger.”

With a teasing grin, Bishop said, “Yeah, it is hard to imagine us low-life bikers caring about anything other than booze and women, right?”

From the time I was eight years old, I had never felt anything other than disgust and utter hatred for bikers. How could I not? I had just lost my very best friend to a biker’s gun, so surely Bishop would understand how hard it would be for me to think anything otherwise. But in his eyes, and in truth in mine, I hadn’t seen bikers as men who could be trusted or capable of kindness. The Raiders were slowly proving there could be good men and women in an MC.

Heat rose in my cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“One day I’m going to totally erase those thoughts from your mind.”

I smiled at him. “You’re doing a really good job. I promise.”

He winked at me. “Thanks.”

I watched as the leader of the group went over to speak to the girl and her parents, then began to introduce the bikers and the women. Each person went around and shook the girl’s hand. While I felt somewhat apprehensive, Bishop barreled forward with a bright smile. “Hi, sweetheart, I’m Bishop.” Motioning me forward, he said, “This is my girlfriend, Sam.”

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I replied. Feeling that I should say or do something more, I added, “I love your shoes. I had a pair just like them when I was your age.”

Ansley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

“I sure did.”

“Hard to believe they made them way back then, huh? Like the dinosaurs might’ve had a pair,” Bishop teased.

When I playfully swatted his arm, Ansley giggled. I couldn’t imagine a sweeter sound in the world at that moment. I had to wonder after what had happened to her how she was able to laugh at all. “Okay, it’s time to load up and head out,” the leader, whose name I learned was Bobby, said.

We waved good-bye to Ansley and headed back to Bishop’s bike. “Surprised?” Bishop asked as he handed me my helmet.

“That this was the meeting you were going to, or that you partake in something like this?” I asked.

“Both, I guess.”

“I would have to say I’m very surprised. But at the same time, I’m relieved to see that this is what you and Rev were up to and not something bad.”

“There is no more bad stuff for us. I want you to understand that.”

Deep down, I wanted nothing more than for that to be the absolute truth. I wanted to be able to take what I had learned to Peterson and have any outstanding interest on the Raiders shut down. But I had to have more concrete evidence than just Bishop’s word. I had to know for sure they were no longer dealing in guns, and I wasn’t sure how in the hell I was supposed to find that out.

“I do . . . or I will. I promise,” I said as I climbed onto the back of his bike.

We left the neighborhood in a perfect formation, just the way we had come in. Except this time, Ansley’s parents’ car was in the middle of the pack, which gave it the perfect protection. After winding our way through the town, we reached the courthouse. The expressions on the bystanders’ faces when we pulled up were priceless. I guessed it wasn’t every day they saw a procession of bikers.

After the bikes were parked in a neat line, everyone started getting off. Ansley and her parents waited until we were all assembled outside the car. Then they got out, and we led them up the courthouse steps and into the building. It took a few minutes to get us all through security. Half of the guys had chains that set off the metal detector. It then took several elevator cars to get us all up to the fourth floor.

After we arrived in the courtroom, we settled in two rows close to the front. We were a somber group as we waited in reverent silence. As part of my job I had been in court too many times to count, but this was the first time I had seen this level of support and unified strength for a victim.

We hadn’t been seated long when the bailiff asked us to rise for the judge. Once the judge was seated, he asked the prosecution to call their first witness.

“We call Ansley Marie Butler.”

Ansley slowly rose out of her chair. Her legs shook violently like a newborn colt’s. As she started down the row, everyone patted her on the back. Some bumped fists and some of the women reached out to hug her. When she got to me, I smiled and patted her back. Although words seemed totally inadequate in that moment, I bit back the tears as I whispered, “You’ve got this.”

After giving me a weak smile, she started up the aisle to the witness box. As she took the stand, I suddenly became overwhelmed with a flashback so intense that I began shaking in my seat. When I stared ahead, it was no longer Ansley raising her right hand to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth on the Bible.

Instead, I saw my nine-year-old self as I testified at the trial of the man who killed my father.

Feeling the bile rising in my throat, I clamped my hand over my mouth and bolted out of my seat. I ran down the aisle and burst through the courtroom doors. My gaze spun wildly around to find a restroom. When I saw the sign, I broke into a run. I barely made it into a stall before I emptied the contents of my stomach. Over and over again, I heaved until there was nothing left within me.