“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice tight. “I’m busy caring for an elderly patient.”
“We’re here to see Margaret,” Axel said, crossing his arms.
“She’s resting. She’s not well. No visitors,” Denise tried to close the door, but Preacher’s boot was already wedged in the frame.
“Funny,” Preacher said, pushing the door open with ease. “She didn’t seem to be resting when she walked six blocks to the diner because she was terrified of you.”
Denise’s face paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You need to leave before I call the police.”
“Please do,” Axel said, stepping into the foyer. The other bikers filed in behind him, filling the small hallway with black leather and the smell of exhaust. “We’d love to talk to the police about elder abuse, theft, and assault.”
At that moment, Doc led Margaret up the front steps. When Denise saw Margaret flanked by the bikers, her bravado crumbled.
“Margaret,” Denise stammered, her voice pitching high and sweet, a desperate attempt to flip the switch. “Honey, where did you go? I was so worried! These men are scaring me, tell them to leave.”
Margaret stood in the doorway, trembling. But then she looked at Preacher, who gave her a nod of encouragement. She looked at Axel, standing like a stone wall between her and her abuser.
“No,” Margaret said. Her voice was stronger this time. “I won’t tell them to leave. And I’m not ‘honey.’ I know about the money, Denise. I know you’ve been drugging my tea.”
“You’re confused, it’s your dementia acting up!” Denise hissed, stepping forward aggressively.
Preacher intercepted her, blocking her path. He loomed over her, his expression dark. “You touch her again, you raise your voice at her again, and you’ll wish the police were the only ones coming for you.”
Denise backed up until she hit the wall. “I… I…”
“Sit down,” Axel commanded.
She sat.

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