The room went completely silent. One of the bikers took off his sunglasses and I could see tears in his eyes. Another one was staring at a specific photo—David’s unit photo from his last deployment.
“That’s Sergeant Martinez,” the biker whispered. “David Martinez. Third Battalion. He saved four guys in my brother’s unit. Threw himself on an IED to protect them.”
I couldn’t breathe. “You knew David?”
“I didn’t know him personally, ma’am. But every Marine knows his story. He’s a hero. Gave his life to save others.” The biker’s voice cracked. “They gave him the Medal of Honor posthumously.”
Rick shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry for her loss, but this is business. She owes three months’ rent.”
Marcus turned on him so fast Rick stepped backward. “How much?”
“Thirty-five hundred with fees.”
Marcus pulled out his phone. “Brothers, church meeting. Outside. Now.”
All thirty bikers filed out of my apartment. I could hear them talking in the hallway. Voices raised. Some angry. Some emotional. After ten minutes, they came back in.
Marcus handed Rick a check. “Thirty-five hundred. Her rent is paid in full.”
