“Please! Pretend to be my son!”
The entire diner froze.
The camera whipped toward the booth. Four men in black leather stared back, stunned. At the center sat their leader—a giant biker with a scar across his jaw and eyes that had forgotten how to trust anyone.
Before anyone could speak, he rose.
Towering. Dangerous. Calm.
The woman hid behind him just as another man stormed through the diner doors in an expensive suit, rain on his shoulders, rage in his face.
“Move away from her!” he shouted.
The lead biker stepped forward, blocking the aisle completely.
“You found the wrong table.”
Chairs scraped as customers backed away. Even the other bikers stood ready.
The suited man moved closer, voice cracking with fury.
“She had one son. He died!”
The woman suddenly grabbed the biker’s wrist. His sleeve slid back.
The camera punched in close.
A faded crescent-shaped birthmark marked his forearm.
The woman gasped like the air had been stolen from her. Her hands began to shake.
The suited man went pale instantly.
“Michael…” he whispered.
The biker looked from one face to the other, stunned for the first time in years.
Every person in the diner stood motionless as the truth crashed over the room.
Watch Part 2 in the comments.
