“Ring it up,” he instructed. “Add diapers and wipes.”
Madison shook her head immediately.
“I cannot accept that,” she protested weakly.
“You are feeding your child,” the biker replied gently. “That is not charity.”
The younger biker beside him glanced around the silent room.
“Funny how fear never predicts who actually helps,” he murmured.
Madison’s eyes filled with tears she could no longer suppress, while the cashier scanned items with trembling hands. The older biker slid a small envelope toward Madison.
“For gas,” he explained simply.
“Why would you do this?” Madison whispered.
The biker paused briefly, watching Ivy.
“Because I recognize that cry,” he answered softly.
Madison froze.
Something in his tone carried weight beyond casual empathy, and before she could question further, the quiet third biker studied her carefully.
“You lost someone,” he observed calmly. “Not your first child.”
Madison’s breath faltered painfully.
“I had a son,” she whispered.
The older biker nodded slowly, eyes darkening.
“My name is Rex Donovan,” he said quietly. “I knew your brother.”
Madison’s world tilted violently.