“Are you asking if they turned me into the parent?”
Bear nods. “Yeah. Were you the one who did everything for them?”
I nod, somewhat embarrassed. “Yeah. They had a strict routine for all of us, and I followed it to the letter.”
Rick’s brows furrow, but he murmurs, “Where was this?”
“Point Gap, near Sacramento,” I say.
Rick nods.
I continue, as he seems interested. “Well, I was getting bullied in junior high and my foster parents talked to my teacher, but nothing changed. They didn’t know what to do and told my social worker they didn’t have time to keep going to the school about it, so my social worker came to the school to sort it out.”
My brother’s expression looks grimmer by the second, so I hurry the story along.
“They made me sit outside the principal’s office so they could talk. I don’t think they knew that I could hear them because they were talking about how my foster family had too many kids and how I was getting bullied because I wore thrift store clothing and was always tired. The principal asked if I had other family who could take me in. My social worker let it slip that I had an older brother, who’d also been in foster care but they were unable to locate him. She said my brother’s name was Richard.”
He goes very still. “You were bullied?”
I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It got so bad that one of them tripped me on the playground and I ended up with a broken arm. After that, my foster parents decided to homeschool me for the rest of the year,” I pause. “Well. They gave me the books and left me to it. I guess I was lucky I was smart as it didn’t take me long to catch up when I returned to school.”
Rick’s head jerks to one side, and after a moment, I realize he’s counting to ten under his breath. When he turns back around, he has better control of his emotions. “I’m sorry you went through all that shit. I had a rough time in foster care as well. So why do you think I’m your brother? Ain’t no records of my mom having any more kids.”
“Your last name is Mullins,” I point out politely. “And Rick is short for Richard.”
His expression slowly changes to something more open. “Both are very common names. What else did your social worker have to say?”
My face lights up. “After that, I used to quiz her about you every chance I got. She told me that while I was taken at birth, you went into the system when you were seven.”
He gives me a rueful look. “Other than the existence of a baby sister it does sound like what I remember.”
I tell him earnestly, “I’ve been trying to find you for years. Checking out every Richard Mullins in the area. I found an article about Savage Legion MC and a charity drive the club did last year. I knew it had to be you. To be honest I was sad that you’d ended up involved with a motorcycle club. I’d hoped my big brother had done something with his life and found out he was hanging out with outlaws and running drugs.”
I realize what I’ve said comes across as rude. I’m about to backtrack, but my brother just chuckles, looking all kinds of amused. “I’m pretty sure I have a business license and contracts that say I can run all the drugs I want in the tri-county area.”
I glance from my brother to his friend and back again. Both of them look pretty confident. “Running drugs is illegal. Everyone knows that,” I tell them.
His friend speaks up. “Tell her the truth, bro. Don’t be an ass.”
Rick finally explains, “Me and Bear have a small business where we subcontract with five local pharmacies to deliver prescriptions and home medical supplies for people who can’t get out to pick that shit up for themselves.”
I blink as I try to wrap my head around what he’s telling me.
Bear chimes in. “We’re drug runners but not the kind you usually associate with motorcycle clubs. Our job is to pick up the package and get it to the customer fast. We even took HIPAA and have chain-of-custody logs and get signatures when packages are delivered.”
My brother pulls a card out of his pocket and slides it across the table to me. “The name of our company is MedEx Couriers, see? We’re legit.”
Sure enough, that’s the company name on the card along with their names.
“So, you only handle prescription drugs?” I ask, surprised at how relieved I feel to know he’s got a real job. He’s escaped the system.
Rick jerks his chin in a way that clearly means yes.
Then his expression warms a little. “So, when you aged out of care, you decided to come save me from my life of crime.”
I nod because it sounds really silly when he puts it that way. “When I was getting ready to age out, I applied for a private one-time transitional living grant ahead of time so I wouldn’t be left out in the cold the minute I turned eighteen.”
“So what happened, they kick you out?” he asks.
