Little girl said to biker “Would you be my daddy? My daddy’s in jail for killing my mommy. My grandma says I need a new one. Do you want to be my daddy?”
I’d been putting gas in my Harley at the Chevron off Route 66 when this tiny blonde thing, couldn’t have been more than five, walked right up to me. No fear.
Just those big green eyes looking up at me like I might be the answer to her problems.
Her grandmother was inside paying, hadn’t noticed the kid had wandered over to the leather-clad giant with skull tattoos on his arms.
I’m Vincent “Reaper” Torres, 64 years old, been riding with the Desert Wolves MC for thirty-eight years.
Six-foot-four, 280 pounds, beard down to my chest, and enough ink to cover a small building. Kids usually run from me. This one was holding up her stuffed bunny for me to see.
“This is Mr. Hoppy,” she said. “He doesn’t have a daddy either.”
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