Dr. Martinez, the attending oncologist, met us in the hallway. He looked at my bandage, then at the two enormous motorcyclists next to me, and finally at Emma. He looked exhausted and skeptical, but also intrigued.
“You are the bikers,” he said.
« Yes, » I confirmed. « Emma called us. We have the money. The treatment needs to begin as soon as possible. »
He looked at me for a long time, gauging the honesty in my face. « I have to be honest. Even with the experimental treatment, Rosa’s chances are maybe 40 percent. The cancer is already advanced. The treatment might not work. »
« But there’s a chance, » Raven said, her voice breaking through the clinical caution. « Now that she has the money, you have that chance. »
« Then we’ll take it, » I said, my voice determined and imperious. « What do you need from us? »
The paperwork took two grueling hours. Bank transfers, medical authorization forms, insurance waivers—it was a bureaucratic nightmare that made a prison riot look small. I sat there, reading every line, negotiating with the hospital administration, who were clearly terrified of me but desperate for the money.
Emma sat by her mother’s bedside the whole time. Rosa Rodriguez was weak, pale, and barely conscious, in a kind of twilight zone between pain and medication. But when Emma leaned over and whispered, « Mama, it’ll be okay. The bikers are helping us. They sent Uncle Robert away, » Rosa’s heavy eyelids fluttered.
“Bikers?” Rosa whispered, her voice barely audible.
« They’re good people, Mom, » Emma said, stroking her mother’s forehead with her tiny hand. « They paid for your medicine. They’re saving you. »
A single tear rolled down Rosa’s temple. She looked past Emma to where I stood in the doorway—this enormous, intimidating man. She studied my face, searching not for a threat, but for the truth.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with a gratitude that felt like forgiveness.
I nodded once, my throat tight. « Focus on your recovery. We’ll take care of the rest. »
A new chapter
Treatment began that afternoon. The wait was unbearable. Emma couldn’t stay in the hospital, and child protective services insisted on a guardian. That’s when Raven came into the picture.
Raven, who had a tribal tattoo across her left arm and a master’s degree in social work that she rarely spoke about, told us, « I’m taking her in. I’m a certified foster parent. I keep it quiet, but I use the badge as a shield to protect the children who are being abandoned by the system. Emma will stay with me until Rosa is released. »
Emma’s acceptance was the final piece of the puzzle. The first weeks in Raven’s small, quiet house were difficult. Emma had nightmares; the fear of Robert Chen was deeply ingrained in her. I assigned two of our most silent and capable members to take turns standing guard outside Raven’s house. Robert Chen never returned. My contacts confirmed that he had gone underground, fleeing a threatening investigation. The monster had vanished.
The healing progressed slowly but surely. In the second week, Rosa’s scans showed the first signs of tumor regression. In the third week, Emma began to genuinely smile. She learned how to change the oil on Raven’s Harley—a small, tangible victory over the feeling of helplessness she had experienced. By the fourth week, Rosa was strong enough to sit up. The experimental medication was working.
Two months after that fateful meeting in the middle of the night, Rosa Rodriguez left St. Mary’s Hospital, cured of cancer.
The club was having a party. Rosa and Emma stood before us, the men who seemed to embody danger.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
