Sydney searched the parking lot as Jett rode down the next aisle looking for a spot closer to the door. How could Safeway be crowded at four o'clock in the morning?

Sydney tapped his stomach and pointed at the front of the store. "Drop me off, and I'll run in and grab the diapers. It'll be faster."

He pulled up in the no-parking area near the stored grocery carts. She hopped off the motorcycle. "Size two diapers. I know the aisle."

Taking out his wallet, he handed her money. "Straight in and straight out."

She kissed him, looked around to see if anyone saw them. Then, clamped her teeth together in embarrassment. She'd never kissed him in public before.

It was weird. And, it was wonderful.

A low chuckle came from Jett, and his mouth softened in amusement. She punched his shoulder lightly. "Stop that," she whispered.

She wrinkled the money in her fist and hurried through the automatic doors, looking over the cash registers to the item tags above each aisle until she found the diaper aisle. Cutting through the line of cashiers, she turned and searched the three rows of plastic covered bundles for girl Pampers size two.

At the end of the aisle, on the top shelf, she grabbed a package and headed back toward the front of the store when a hand grabbed her upper arm.

"Hold it right there, Miss Hawkins," said a woman's voice.

Recognizing the voice before she caught a glimpse of Margaret Sawyer, she jerked her arm out of her social worker's grasp, dropped the diapers, and ran. Panic blinded her to the commotion, the shouts, the two security guards blocking the exit.

She swung out, scratching, hitting, pushing at the arms that stopped her. "Jett!"

Her feet came off the floor. Her world tilted. Unable to see out the door, she kicked and squirmed.

Kylie needed her.

Jett wanted her.

She couldn't go back.

A heavy weight pressed against her back, shoving her breasts against the floor. Raising her head, she shouted, "Jett."

She needed him. He'd help her.

Someone out of her view pushed her head down. Immobile, she made sense of the voices talking. Police. Call. Wanted. Runaway. Minor. Juvenile.

Her chest seized, and she squeezed her eyes closed. She still clutched the money Jett gave her for the diapers in her hand. He'd never know that she planned to come out and get on his motorcycle with him.

She didn't want to leave him.

He'd given her a home and took care of her. She yelled his name, unable to hear her own voice. She wanted to stay.

***

SIRENS GREW LOUDER. Jett turned his head and looked out toward the main road. Today, Brikken motorcycle club would ride halfway to Klamath, California to meet with Komoon Motorcycle Club. The important ride came with danger and a high risk of getting caught by the Feds for manufacturing chopped bike parts and reselling customized motorcycles.

He'd already been caught once and served his time behind bars. Now that Sydney was in his life, he wanted to make sure he stayed free to take care of her.

The police car pulled into the parking lot.

"Fuck," he muttered, starting his Harley.

The blue and red lights lit up the area, heading straight toward him. He rode out of the no-parking area, checking his side mirror to find out if the sudden arrival had anything to do with him. He'd have no problem losing the cop, but it would mean leaving Sydney behind until someone from Brikken could come pick her up and trusting that she'd stay at the store for him.

The police car stopped at the front of the building. A bad feeling came over him. Sydney was inside. If a robbery was going down, he was no use to her outside.

Parking between a truck and a van in the middle of the lot, he got off his bike and walked toward the store. He dodged a car coming down the aisle, keeping sight of the activity in front of the store.

A group of people walked out of the automatic doors together, including two security guards. His gaze lowered to the small figure smashed between the large bodies and he stopped walking.

Rage filled him. He stalked forward. Another cop car arrived, blocking him from Sydney. He cut around the fender and Sydney spotted him.

She shook her head, stopping him from approaching. Trying to find out what was happening, but unable to take his gaze off her, he held her insight, willing her to be strong.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored the call.

"Take her down to the station and put her in holding." A policeman stood beside a middle-aged woman scowling at Sydney. "Her social worker will follow you to the station."

They pushed Sydney into the back of the patrol car. He leaned over, looking through the windshield, keeping contact with her. Sweat broke out on him, and he reached down to the side of his boot for his knife.

"Sir, you're going to have to move out of the way," said a male voice.

He stepped back, glanced at the man, and seeing the security patch on the left side of his chest, disregarded him. He was no more than a glorified watchdog without any power.

Jett walked to the side of the patrol car and bent down.

Sydney crawled across the back seat to get close to him and tried to push on the door. He squatted, out of sight of the police talking to the social worker on the other side of the vehicle. He couldn't afford to get arrested as a felon for breaking into a police car.

Sydney shouted his name inside the closed windows. He put his finger in front of his mouth. Tears stained her cheeks, and his gut tightened. He'd demanded she not wear makeup and act her age around him. Someone must've fucking recognized her.

"I'll find you," he mouthed.

Her face bunched in confusion and her lips moved. He couldn't hear her.

He flicked two fingers, moving them back and forth, and pointed at her. She blinked and nodded, mouthing, "Please."

Placing his hand on his chest, over his heart, he nodded. He promised to find her. Wherever they took her, he'd get her back.

Voices raised outside. He gazed at Sydney and stood, backing away from the car. He had to leave before the officers grew curious about him hanging around.

Sydney put her hand on the window, calling him back. Each step away from her, stole his breath until he turned around and walked to his motorcycle. At the Harley, he flat out sucked in air to stay alive.

Brikken had people inside the police force. He slid onto the seat and started his motorcycle. There was nothing he could do while she remained in holding but the second she got out, he'd find her, and bring her home.