The little girl’s scream tore through the morning air before anyone saw her. Six years old barefoot school uniform torn at the shoulder, blood streaking down her shin. She burst through the diner door so hard the glass rattled in its frame. Her voice cracked with terror. He’s going to kill me. Please, he’s going to kill me.

 

 

 Four men in leather vests turned from their breakfast coffee cups frozen halfway to their lips. The child’s eyes were wild, searching desperate. behind her through the rain soaked parking lot. Headlights cut through the gray dawn. Getting closer. She wasn’t running from a nightmare. She was running from something real.

 

Marcus Hayes didn’t move right away. He’d learned that in Fallujah, assess first, react second. But his hand went to his belt, instinctively muscle memory from 20 years of carrying a sidearm. The little girl stood in the doorway, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

 Rain dripped from her black hair onto the lenolium, each dropped loud as a drum beat in the sudden silence. “Please,” she whispered again softer now, like she’d used up all her voice on that first scream. Please don’t let him take me. Sal Romano was already moving his medic training kicking in before his brain caught up.

 He crossed the distance between his booth and the door in four strides, dropping to one knee in front of the child. His hands hovered near her shoulders, but didn’t touch protocol even now. Hey, sweetheart. I’m S. Nobody’s taking you anywhere. Can you tell me who’s after you? The girl’s eyes darted past him to the window.

 Derek, he killed my brother and now he’s going to kill me, too, because I saw him do it and I have proof. But nobody believes me because his dad owns everything. And slow down, S said gently. Take a breath. Start with your name. Emma. Emma Chen. I’m six, she gulped air. Derek Hardrove killed my brother Jason 3 weeks ago and I took a picture and he’s been trying to get it back.

 And this morning he chased me from the bus stop and I ran and ran and the door swung open again. Three teenage boys walked in wet from the rain, wearing jackets that cost more than most people made in a week. The one in front was tall, athletic, with the kind of confidence that came from never hearing the word no. He smiled when he saw Emma, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

There you are, Emma. Your mom’s been calling everyone. You scared her half to death running off like that. Marcus stood slowly, positioning himself between the boys and the girl. Tommy Park and Carlos Ortiz flanked him without a word, the four of them forming a wall of leather and muscle. Tommy’s hand rested casually on the wrench, hanging from his belt loop.

 

 That’s funny, Marcus said, his voice flat and cold. Because she just told us she’s running from you. Dererick’s smile widened. Look, I don’t know what story she fed you, but Emma’s been having some trouble since her brother died. Accident really messed her up. She gets confused sometimes. Thinks she sees things that didn’t happen. We’re just trying to help her get home safe.

Is that right? Carlos asked. that why she’s bleeding. She fell. Running through the woods in the rain tends to cause that. Derek took a step forward. Come on, Emma. Let’s go. These gentlemen probably have places to be. Emma pressed herself against S’s back. He’s lying. He killed Jason. I have proof. Marcus felt something shift in his chest. A familiar weight he’d carried for 6 years.

 His daughter Sarah’s face flashed in his mind. 9 years old. Pigtail’s gaptothed smile. Gone. School shooting. He’d been in Afghanistan when it happened. Never got to say goodbye. Never got to protect her when she needed him most. This girl wasn’t Sarah, but the terror in her eyes was identical. Show me, he said to Emma.

 Show me the proof. Emma’s small hands fumbled with her backpack zipper. It took three tries because she was shaking so hard. Finally, she pulled out a phone shattered screen, but still working. She held it up with both hands like an offering. The photo showed a dark street rainslicked pavement, a figure lying crumpled on the ground.

 Standing over the body was a tall figure face partially visible in the glow of nearby headlights. A BMW’s distinctive grill gleamed in the background. The timestamp read 3 weeks ago, 2:17 a.m. Marcus took the phone, carefully, studied the image, looked up at Derek. That you, Derek’s smile finally cracked. She photoshopped that. Everyone knows you can fake anything these days. Funny thing about metadata, Tommy said quietly.

 Photos have it. Shows when they were taken, where on what device, and I used to work Navy it. want me to pull up the details on this one? Dererick’s jaw tightened. One of his friends, a stocky kid with a buzzcut, shifted nervously. Derek, maybe we should just Shut up, Tyler. Derek snapped, then turning back to Marcus. Look, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. My father is Charles Harrove.

 He owns half this town. You really want to make this your problem? Already is my problem, Marcus said. Girl came in asking for help. We don’t turn away people who ask for help. touching. Dererick pulled out his phone. Dad. Yeah, we have a situation at Rosy’s diner. Some bikers are threatening me and my friends. He paused, listening.

Yeah, all of them in their vests. Another pause. Okay, thanks, Dad. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, smiled again. Sheriff’s on his way. Should be here in about 90 seconds. And guess what? He’s going to see four dangerousl looking men surrounding three scared teenagers and one confused little girl. How do you think that’s going to play? Emma whimpered.

 S felt her small hands clutching the back of his shirt. Carlos leaned close to Marcus’ voice low. He’s right. We got no jurisdiction here. We’re not cops anymore. And if the sheriff’s dirty, then we improvise, Marcus said. He looked down at Emma. Sweetheart, I need you to trust me. Can you do that? She nodded, eyes huge. Good.

 When I say run, you run out the back door with S. He’s going to take you somewhere safe. Understand? But what about We’ll be right behind you. Promise. The sound of sirens cut through the rain. Dererick’s smile turned triumphant. Too late. Marcus made his decision in the space between heartbeats. S, go now. S didn’t hesitate. He scooped Emma up.

 She barely weighed 50 lb and bolted for the kitchen. The cook, a heavy set woman named Rosie, who’d served them breakfast every Wednesday for 3 years, took one look at the situation and hit the button to unlock the back door. Through the alley, she said, “Take the fire escape up to Third Street. My car is the blue Honda. Keys are in it.

” S didn’t waste time thanking her. Emma’s arms locked around his neck as he kicked open the back door and ran into the rain. Behind him, Derek lunged forward. Hey, stop them. Tommy’s wrench came up fast, not threatening, just present. I wouldn’t.

 Three sheriff’s vehicles screeched into the parking lot, light bars, blazing red and blue. Six deputies piled out hands on their weapons. The lead officer, Sheriff Roger Bennett, 55, with a gut that hung over his belt and eyes like chips of ice pushed through the diner door. Who’s in charge here? Marcus raised his hands slowly, palms out. That’d be me, Marcus Hayes. These are my brothers, Tommy Park, Carlos Ortiz. We ride with Steel Wolves MC out of Billings.

Steel Wolves? Bennett repeated like the words tasted bad. Uh-huh. And where’s the little girl? What little girl? Marcus asked. Derek stepped forward. The one who ran in here. Emma Chen. These men grabbed her when we tried to take her home. They’re probably planning to. We didn’t grab anyone, Tommy interrupted. Girl came in scared. We tried to help.

 Then these three boys showed up and she got more scared. Started crying about someone named Derek killing her brother. You know anything about that, Sheriff? Bennett’s face went very still. The Chenboy’s death was ruled an accidental hit and run. Investigations closed. investigation,” Carlos said slowly.

 “That what we’re calling it when a kid gets run down and nobody asks questions.” “You calling me a bad cop, son? I’m calling you a cop who maybe didn’t look too hard at a case involving a rich family.” Bennett’s hand dropped to his gun. “You need to watch your mouth.” “And you need to explain why a six-year-old is running scared from your town’s golden boy,” Marcus said.

 His voice hadn’t changed. pitch hadn’t gotten louder, but something in it made three of the deputies take an involuntary step back. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like maybe there’s a reason she didn’t run to you for help. Derek’s friend, Tyler, made a small sound, almost a whimper. Bennett’s eyes snapped to him.

 Something you want to say, son? No, sir. I just We should probably get going. Emma’s probably home by now anyway. Probably. Marcus agreed. Unless she’s still running. Six-year-old girl barefoot in the rain, bleeding from where she fell, running away from these three fine young men. You find that odd sheriff. What I find odd is four bikers with military backgrounds getting involved in local affairs.

Bennett stepped closer. Where’s the girl, Hayes? Not here. That’s so mind if we search the premises? Rosie spoke up from behind the counter. You got a warrant, Roger. Bennett turned to her slowly. Rosie, you don’t want to get involved in this. Too late. I am involved. These gentlemen are customers. They didn’t break any laws.

 And that little girl looked terrified of Derek Hargrove, which makes me wonder what she knows that the rest of us don’t. Careful, Bennett said softly. You got a business license that comes up for renewal next month. Hate to see any problems arise. The threat hung in the air like smoke.

 Marcus felt rage building behind his ribs, hot and familiar. This was wrong. All of it. The scared child, the smug teenager, the corrupt cop protecting money instead of people. It was everything he’d fought against in two tours overseas. Only here it was wearing an American flag and a badge. But rage wouldn’t help, Emma. Strategy would.

 Tell you what, Sheriff Marcus said, “We’ll come down to the station, give our statements, everything by the book. You can question us all you want. We got nothing to hide. Bennett studied him suspicious. You’re volunteering. We’re cooperating. That’s what good citizens do, right? And the girl already told you. Don’t know where she is.

 It was technically true. S would have taken her somewhere safe by now. Somewhere Marcus didn’t know about yet. Plausible deniability. Derek stepped forward again. They’re lying. They have to know. Derek, Bennett said sharply. Go home. I’ll handle this. But Dad said, “I’ll handle it now. Go.” Derek looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Bennett’s expression stopped him.

 He jerked his head at his friends and stalked out Tyler and the other kid, Brad, following close behind. Through the window, Marcus watched them pile into a BMW. Derek’s BMW, the one from the photo. When the door closed, Bennett turned back to Marcus. You know what you’re doing here? Getting in the middle of something you don’t understand. Understand just fine.

 Rich kid kills a 9-year-old boy. Gets away with it because daddy’s got money and connections. Little sister knows the truth and now she’s in danger. That about sum it up. The Chenboy’s death was investigated thoroughly by you, by my department. And the Hargroves had nothing to do with how that investigation concluded.

Bennett’s face flushed red. You’re real close to catching a charge right now. What charge? Helping a scared child. That’s a crime in Cedar Springs. Interfering with a family matter. Murder’s not a family matter, Sheriff. It’s a crime. And if you’re too bought to see that, Bennett moved fast for a man his age. His hand closed around Marcus’ jacket, jerking him forward.

Listen to me, you son of a I don’t know what kind of hero complex you think you’re feeding here, but this isn’t your town. These aren’t your people. That girl’s mother is an immigrant on a shaky visa who can’t afford to make waves. You ride in here on your motorcycles thinking you’re going to save the day.

 All you’re going to do is make things worse for everyone involved. Marcus didn’t resist, didn’t pull back. He just looked Bennett in the eye and said very quietly, “Then I guess you better make sure we don’t find anything that proves you’re wrong.” The moment stretched. Bennett’s breathing was audible, ragged with anger. Finally, he shoved Marcus back. Get out of my town.

 Thought we were going to the station. Change of plans. You and your friends have 30 minutes to be across the county line. After that, I see any steel wolves patches in Cedar Springs. I’m arresting everyone for gang activity. We’re veterans, not a gang. Your 30 minutes started 10 seconds ago. Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains.

 Tommy caught Marcus’s eye, gave a slight nod toward the door. Time to go. They’d pushed as far as they could push without someone getting hurt or arrested, and neither would help Emma. Marcus pulled out his wallet, dropped $40 on the counter for Rosie for the breakfast and the trouble. “Keep it,” she said. and Hayes. That girl needs help. Real help. She’ll get it. They walked out into the rain.

 Three deputies following them to make sure they actually left. Marcus swung his leg over as Harley kicked it to life. The engine’s roar felt good. Solid reel. Tommy and Carlos mounted up on either side. Tommy’s voice came through the helmet. Calm. Sals got Emma at the old ranger station off Highway 12.

 Place has been abandoned for years. How long until Bennett figures that out? Not long enough. We need a real plan. Marcus pulled out onto the highway rain hammering his visor. We got a plan. We’re going to make enough noise that someone who actually gives a damn has to pay attention. How? Emma said she has proof. We’re going to get that proof to someone who can’t ignore it. And we’re going to make sure the Hard Groves can’t touch her before we do. Carlos’s voice.

Marcus, these people own the town. The sheriff, probably the mayor, who knows who else. We’re four guys against an entire system. Then we bring our own system. Marcus accelerated the bike eating up the wet road. Call Boomer. Tell him we need the chapter. All of them. You serious? That’s 30 riders minimum. Dead serious.

 And someone get me the number for that journalist out of Seattle. The one who did the series on police corruption last year. Jessica Ramirez. That’s her. If she’s looking for her next story, I just found it. They rode in formation, rain sllicked highways stretching ahead, mountains rising dark against the gray sky. Marcus’ phone buzzed in his pocket, probably S confirming Emma was secure.

He’d check it when they stopped. Right now, he was calculating angles, considering risks building a strategy. The ranger station was 30 mi ahead. By the time they got there, Boomer would be mobilizing the chapter. By tomorrow morning, they’d have enough bikes to make Bennett nervous.

 By tomorrow afternoon, they’d have a journalist asking questions the sheriff couldn’t dodge. And somewhere in the middle of all that, Marcus was going to figure out how to keep one terrified six-year-old alive long enough to get justice for her dead brother. His daughter’s face flashed in his mind again. Sarah, 9 years old, gone because he wasn’t there.

 Emma was six, still alive, still savable. Not this time, he thought. Not this kid. Not on my watch. The rain intensified. Thunder cracked overhead. His phone buzzed again, insistent. He ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. Right now, he had miles to cover and a child to protect. Behind him, Tommy’s voice crackled through the calm. Marcus S just texted. We got a problem.

 Marcus’ hands tightened on the handlebars. What kind of problem? Emma’s hurt worse than we thought. That blood on her leg. It’s not from falling. S says it looks like someone grabbed her, dragged her. She’s got defensive wounds on her arms. And she’s saying Dererick and his friends have been doing this for weeks, cornering her at school, threatening her, hurting her. The rage Marcus had been controlling. surged up hot and sharp.

 How bad? Bad enough that S wants to take her to a hospital. But if we do that, Bennett will know where we are in 10 minutes. Marcus’ jaw clenched so hard his teeth achd. Tell S to stabilize her. We’ll be there in 15. And then then we stopped playing defense and start making some people very uncomfortable. The ranger station appeared through the rain.

 in a squat concrete building surrounded by overgrown pines. S’s bike was parked under an awning. Emma’s small form wrapped in his jacket sitting on the steps. She looked impossibly tiny, impossibly fragile. Marcus killed his engine, dismounted. Emma looked up at him with eyes that had seen too much. “Am I in trouble?” she asked quietly.

“No, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. You’re safe now. But Derek, Derek’s not going to touch you. None of them are. I promise. She studied him for a long moment. This stranger who’d put himself between her and danger. Finally, she nodded. Uncle Reaper. Marcus blinked.

 What? That’s your road name, right, Reaper? The other kids at school, their uncles have road names, so you’re Uncle Reaper now. Something cracked in Marcus’ chest. sudden and painful and unexpected. Yeah, he managed. Yeah, I am. And Uncle Reaper doesn’t break promises. S appeared in the doorway medical kit in hand. Marcus, we need to talk about those injuries. Emma’s eyes darted between them, frightened again.

 I don’t want to go to the hospital. They’ll find me. Dererick’s dad knows everyone. Not going to the hospital, Marcus said. S’s going to patch you up right here, but I need you to tell me everything from the beginning. Can you do that? She nodded slowly. When did this start? The night Jason died, Derek was driving his new BMW. Tyler was in the passenger seat with his phone out filming like he always does.

 Jason and I were walking home from the library. It was late because mom was working her night shift at the restaurant and Jason said he’d take care of me. Her voice cracked. He was good at taking care of me. Marcus knelt down so they were eye level. Take your time. We were crossing Oak Street. Dererick came around the corner too fast, saw us, and Jason yelled and pushed me out of the way, but he didn’t have time to move. And Dererick hit him.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Dererick stopped the car, got out. Tyler was still filming, and Dererick was laughing. He said, “Did you see that? That was awesome.” S’s face had gone white. Carlos swore under his breath. Jason wasn’t moving. I crawled over to him and there was so much blood.

 And Dererick said, “Oh he’s actually hurt.” And Tyler said, “We should go.” And Dererick said, “Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here.” And they left. Just left him there. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. I took Jason’s phone and I took a picture because I knew nobody would believe me. I knew Dererick’s dad would make it go away.

And then what happened? I called 911. They came and took Jason to the hospital, but he died before we got there. The police came to our apartment the next day and said it was a hit and run. Probably some drunk driver they were investigating. But then Derek started following me at school first, just watching. Then he started leaving notes in my locker. Forget what you saw.

Keep your mouth shut. Nobody believes liars. Marcus felt sick. Did you tell anyone? I tried. I told mom, but she said we had to be careful because she’s not a citizen yet, and if we make trouble, they could send us back to China. I told my teacher, but she said Dererick was a good student and I must be confused because of my grief.

 I told the principal, and he called Derek into his office, and Dererick cried and said he was worried about me because I seemed disturbed, and the principal told me I should talk to the counselor about my imagination. “Jesus,” Tommy muttered. Then Derek got meaner. He and Tyler and Brad, they’d corner me at recess, push me, kick my backpack so all my stuff fell out.

 Derek grabbed my arm once and squeezed until I cried and he whispered, “Give me the phone or next time I’ll break it.” But I couldn’t give him the phone because then there’d be no proof. And Jason died for nothing. She was sobbing now, words tumbling out in a rush. This morning, I was waiting for the bus and Dererick’s car pulled up and he said, “Get in, Emma. We’re going to have a talk.” And I ran.

 I ran into the woods and they chased me and I could hear them laughing and Tyler was filming it like it was a game. And I kept running and running until I saw the diner and all the motorcycles and I thought maybe bikers would be brave enough to fight them because nobody else would. Marcus pulled her into a hug before he could think about whether it was appropriate.

 She was shaking so hard he could feel it through his jacket. “You did the right thing. You were so brave.” “But now you’re in trouble, too,” she whispered against his chest. because of me. We’ve been in trouble before. We’ll be okay. Promise. He thought about Sarah again. All the promises he hadn’t been able to keep. But this time was different. This time he was here. Promise.

S had been examining Emma’s injuries while she talked. Now he looked up at Marcus expression grim. These bruises are consistent with repeated grabbing restraint. The cut on her leg is recent, but there are older marks, too. Healed cuts, probably from being pushed or falling while running. This has been going on for weeks.

 Marcus stood slowly, gently, disentangling himself from Emma’s grip. Tommy, show me that phone. The picture Emma took. Tommy pulled it up on his own phone. He’d already transferred the file. Marcus studied the image more carefully. Now zooming in, Derek’s face was partially visible. But more importantly, the BMW’s license plate was crystal clear.

 And in the bottom corner, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. What’s that? Carlos asked, pointing. Another person, Marcus said slowly. In the back seat. Someone else was in the car. Emma looked up. Brad. Brad Thompson. He was in the back. So, three witnesses, S said. Derek driving Tyler filming Brad watching. All three involved, Marcus said. All three with motive to keep Emma quiet.

 Tommy, can you pull metadata on this photo? Already did. Tommy pulled out his tablet fingers flying over the screen. Photo was taken at 2:17 a.m. 3 weeks ago. Location matches Oak Street, Cedar Springs. Device ID matches Jason Chen’s phone. And here’s the interesting part. There’s another file on this phone. A video 10 seconds long uploaded to cloud storage the same night. Play it, Marcus said.

Tommy’s fingers moved. Sound filled the space. Tyler’s voice young and excited. Dude, that was insane. Did you see him fly? Derek laughing. Told you the new BMW’s got power. Things’s a beast. Brad nervous. Guys, I think he’s really hurt. Derek, he’s fine. Don’t be a Then the sound of a car starting tires squealing. The silence afterward was absolute.

 Emma whispered, “Jason sent that to his friend Marcus before he died. He must have hit record when he heard the car coming. His phone landed by the curb.” “The police never found it because I grabbed it when they weren’t looking.” “You kept evidence from the police?” S asked. “They weren’t looking for evidence.

 Sheriff Bennett came to our apartment and told mom it was tragic, but these things happen and there were no witnesses, so we should just grieve and move on.” He never asked if Jason had a phone. Never asked if I saw anything. Just told us to move on. Her voice turned bitter. I’m six. I’m not stupid. Marcus looked at Tommy. Can you encrypt these files? Keep them safe. Already done.

 Backed up to three separate secure servers. They’d need militarygrade decryption to touch them. Good, because we’re about to make a lot of people very angry. Carlos stepped forward. Marcus, think about what you’re doing. We go to war with the hardroves. That’s not just Derek and his daddy. That’s every person they’ve paid off. Bennett’s entire department. Maybe the mayor.

 Hell, probably half the town council. So, so that’s a lot of enemies. Marcus looked down at Emma, small and scared and 6 years old. She’s worth it. S stood up. Medical kit closed. I’m in. Whatever you need, Tommy nodded. Same. Carlos sighed. Knew you were going to say that. All right. I’m in, too. But we’re going to need backup. Already on it. Marcus pulled out his phone, dialed.

 Boomer, it’s Marcus. Yeah, I know what time it is. Listen, I need the chapter. All of them. He paused, listening. Because we’ve got a six-year-old who watched a rich kid murder her brother and now the entire town’s trying to keep her quiet and I’m not letting that happen. Another pause.

 Big Sky County Old Ranger Station off Highway 12. Tomorrow morning dawn. Pause. 30 riders minimum. And bring your camera. We’re going to need documentation. Final pause. Thanks, brother. See you at dawn. He hung up, looked at his crew. We’ve got until tomorrow morning to get everything ready. S, you stay here with Emma. Don’t let her out of your sight.

 Tommy, I need you to build a full digital case file. Photos, videos, metadata, everything. Make it bulletproof. Carlos, you’re with me. We’re going to pay a visit to Emma’s mother. Bad idea, Carlos said. Her apartment’s probably under surveillance, which is exactly why we’re going. Let them see us. Let them know we’re not backing down. Emma grabbed his hand.

You’re really going to help me? Marcus knelt down again. Sweetheart, I’m not just going to help you. I’m going to make sure everyone knows what happened to Jason. And I’m going to make sure Dererick and his friends never hurt anyone again. That’s a promise. But what if? No. What ifs. You did your part. You survived.

 You kept the evidence. You were braver than most adults I know. Now it’s my turn. She nodded slowly, then reached into her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. This is Brad’s address. He’s the scared one. Tyler’s a jerk, but Brad sometimes he looks like he feels bad. Maybe if you talk to him.

 Marcus took the paper. Smart girl. We’ll talk to him. And Uncle Reaper. Thank you for believing me. The words hit harder than any punch Marcus had ever taken. He squeezed her hand gently. Someone should have believed you. 3 weeks ago, but we’re going to fix that now. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

 Carlos fired up his bike, Marcus following suit. Emma watched from the doorway. S’s hand on her shoulder. She looked impossibly small against the gray afternoon. Marcus gave her a salute. She smiled for the first time since he’d met her tiny, fragile, but real.

 Then he turned his bike toward town and accelerated into the gathering storm. The ride to Emma’s apartment complex took 20 minutes through streets that felt like they were holding their breath. Marcus kept checking his mirrors. No tail yet, but that would change. Carlos rode beside him, silent, focused. They both knew what they were walking into. The Chen apartment was in a complex that had seen better decades.

Peeling paint, cracked asphalt laundry hanging from balconies because the dryers didn’t work half the time. Third floor unit 3B. Marcus took the stairs two at a time. Carlos watching his back. He knocked. No answer. Knocked again harder. Mrs. Chen. My name is Marcus Hayes. I’m here about Emma. The door cracked open. Chains still attached.

 A woman’s face appeared mid-30s. Exhausted eyes red from crying. Where is she? Is she hurt? The school called and said she never arrived. And I’ve been calling everywhere. She’s safe. She’s with my friend. Can we come in? Man’s eyes darted past him to Carlos, then back. You’re the bikers. Derek’s father called me. He said, “You kidnapped my daughter.” “We didn’t kidnap her.

” She ran into a diner asking for help. Said Derek Hardrove was trying to kill her. May’s face crumpled. She unlatched the chain, opened the door fully. Come in quickly. The apartment was small, clean, cramped. Two bedrooms. Photos of two children on every surface. Emma grinning with missing front teeth. Jason with a soccer ball. Both of them together at the park. Jason’s room door was closed.

 Probably hadn’t been opened since he died. May sank onto the couch, hands shaking. This is my fault. I should have done something. Should have fought harder. You were scared, Marcus said gently. That’s not your fault. I should have believed her. She kept telling me Dererick killed Jason, kept showing me that picture, but I told her to delete it.

 I told her we couldn’t fight people like the Harroves. I told her to forget what she saw. Tears spilled down her face. What kind of mother tells her child to forget her brother’s murder? Carlos sat across from her. The kind who’s trying to survive. You’re undocumented. My visa expired 6 months ago.

 I applied for extension, but the process is slow and expensive, and I work two jobs just to pay rent. Charles Hardrove owns this building. He came to see me the day after Jason died. Told me he was sorry for my loss, gave me an envelope with $5,000, said it was for funeral expenses, said if I needed anything to call him, and then Marcus asked. Then Sheriff Bennett came, told me the investigation was ongoing, but it looked like a hit and run.

 Probably a drunk driver who panicked, asked if Jason had any enemies. I said, “No, he was 9 years old.” Bennett said, “Sometimes accidents happen, and the best thing was to grieve and move on.” Then he looked around the apartment and said, “Nice place. Be a shame if there were any issues with your residency status.” Marcus felt his jaw clench. He threatened you.

 He didn’t have to say it directly. I understood. Stay quiet. Take the money. Don’t ask questions or lose everything. So, I stayed quiet and Emma watched me stay quiet and she knew I was wrong, but I made her be quiet, too. May’s voice broke. She’s 6 years old, and I made her choose between telling the truth and keeping her mother safe.

You were protecting her the only way you knew how, Carlos said. I was protecting myself, and now she’s in more danger because I was too afraid. Marcus’ phone buzzed. Text from Tommy. Bennett just put out an APB. All units looking for Emma. Says she’s endangered and possibly coerced by hostile actors. Translation: He’s coming for her hard. He showed the message to Carlos, who swore quietly.

Mrs. Chen, Marcus said carefully. Emma’s not just scared. She’s hurt. Bruises, defensive wounds. This has been going on for weeks. May’s face went white. What do you mean? Dererick and his friends have been cornering her at school, hurting her, threatening her, trying to get her to give them Jason’s phone. But she never she never said because she knew you were scared.

 She was trying to protect you, too. May stood abruptly pacing. I have to see her. Where is she? Safe location. And she needs to stay there until we can figure out how to how to what? You can’t fight the Hard Groves. Nobody can. They own the sheriff, the mayor, half the business owners in this town. Charles Hargrove has lawyers in every county.

He’s already called me three times today. Wants to talk about Emma. Offering money to help with her trauma. How much? Carlos asked. Half a million dollars plus a full scholarship to any college plus guaranteed legal residency for me. Marcus felt his stomach drop. What did you tell him? I told him I needed to think about it. And then Emma didn’t come home from school and I didn’t know what to think anymore.

 She looked at Marcus desperately. That money could change our lives. Emma would never have to worry about anything ever again. She could go to the best schools, have the best opportunities. But Dererick would never face justice for killing Jason. Marcus finished quietly. May’s face twisted with anguish.

 Jason’s already dead. Nothing I do will bring him back. But Emma’s alive. And if I don’t take this money, Charles Harrove will destroy us anyway. He’ll have me deported. Emma put in foster care. At least this way, she’s safe. She’s not safe. Marcus said, “That money’s not about keeping her safe. It’s about keeping her quiet.

 What happens the next time Dererick decides to play a game with someone’s life? The next kid who doesn’t have half a million dollars protecting them? That’s not my responsibility. It is if you let him get away with murder. The words hung there harsh and true. May sank back onto the couch, face in her hands. Carlos’s phone buzzed. He checked it, face going grim. Marcus, we got company.

 Through the window, three sheriff’s vehicles were pulling into the parking lot. Marcus moved fast. Is there a back way out? Fire escape, May said, pointing. But where will you don’t know yet? Mrs. Chen listened to me carefully. When the sheriff asks, you tell him exactly what we said. We came here, told you Emma was safe.

 You told us to bring her back. You cooperated fully. Understand? But you have to trust me. Can you do that? Heavy footsteps on the stairs outside. May looked at Marcus at Carlos, then nodded slowly. Find my daughter. Keep her safe. That’s the plan. Marcus and Carlos slipped through the apartment’s back door onto the fire escape.

 Below, two deputies were already covering the rear exit. Above the roof was three floors up. They went up. Behind them, they heard pounding on the apartment door. Bennett’s voice. Mrs. Chen, open up. We need to talk about your daughter. Marcus reached the roof, hauled himself over the edge. Carlos followed.

 They were four stories up tar paper and old duct work surrounded by other buildings. No direct escape. Brilliant plan, Carlos muttered. We’re trapped. Working on it, Marcus scanned the rooftops. The building next door was close, maybe 8 ft. Doable if you didn’t think about the four-story drop. No, Carlos said flatly. Hell no. You got a better idea.

 Yeah, we surrender and lawyer up. Bennett’s not taking us to a lawyer. He’s taking us somewhere quiet where we can’t talk. Marcus backed up, measuring the distance. On three. Marcus. One, this is insane. Two, we’re not kids anymore. Three, Marcus ran Carlos, swearing behind him, but running anyway.

 They hit the edge and jumped, gravity pulling hard for one terrifying second before their boots slammed onto the adjacent roof. Marcus stumbled, caught himself. Carlos landed harder, rolled, came up breathing hard. “I hate you,” Carlos gasped. Love you, too. Let’s move. They crossed two more rooftops before finding a building with internal stairs. Made it to the ground floor, emerged in an alley three blocks from Emma’s apartment.

 Their bikes were back at the complex surrounded by deputies by now. Marcus pulled out his phone. Tommy, need extraction. We’re on foot three blocks east of Emma’s place. On it, stay put. They pressed into a doorway, watching the street. Two patrol cars cruised past, slow searching. Marcus’ phone buzzed again. Different number. Hayes. Mr. Hayes, this is Charles Hargrove.

 I believe we should talk. Marcus put the phone on speaker so Carlos could hear. Talk. I understand you’ve gotten yourself involved in a very unfortunate situation. My son is devastated by the accusations being made against him. The Chen girl is clearly traumatized and confused.

 I’m prepared to offer a substantial sum to ensure she gets the psychological help she needs. Funny way of saying you want to buy her silence. I want to help a grieving family. Half a million dollars, Mr. Hayes. More money than you’ll see in your lifetime. All I ask is that you bring Emma to a neutral location where she can be reunited with her mother.

 After that, you and your friends are free to leave. No charges pressed. No trouble. And if we don’t, Hargro’s voice went cold. Then I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping child endangerment assault on a minor Derek’s claiming you threatened him and anything else my lawyers can manufacture.

 You’ll spend the next decade in court, even if you’re eventually cleared. Your motorcycle club will be investigated for gang activity. Every member will be scrutinized. Your VA benefits will be challenged. I will systematically dismantle every aspect of your lives. Marcus kept his voice level. You done? I’m offering you a way out. Here’s my counter offer.

 Derek turns himself in. You cooperate with a real investigation. Emma gets justice for her brother. And maybe maybe you only spend 10 years in prison instead of 20 for obstruction and accessory after the fact. Silence on the line. Then you don’t know who you’re dealing with. I know exactly who I’m dealing with.

 Rich man who thinks money makes him bulletproof. Son who thinks daddy will fix everything. System so corrupt it can’t see straight anymore. I’ve dealt with worse in Fallujah. This isn’t Fallujah. No, it’s worse. Over there, the enemy wore uniforms. Here they wear badges and suits and pretend they’re the good guys. Last chance, Hayes. Same to you, Hargrove.

 Because in about 6 hours, 30 bikers are going to roll into your town. By tomorrow morning, a journalist from Seattle is going to start asking questions you can’t dodge. By tomorrow afternoon, the FBI is going to have enough evidence to open an investigation. You’re running out of time to do the right thing. There is no FBI investigation.

Not yet, but there will be. See, Emma’s not just a scared kid. She’s smart. She kept evidence, photos, videos, metadata, and it’s all backed up in places your lawyers will never reach. You’re finished, Harrove. Question is whether you want to go down fighting or whether you want to save whatever reputation you have left by cooperating. Another silence longer this time.

 You’re making a mistake. Made plenty of those. This isn’t one of them. The line went dead. Carlos whistled low. That was either really brave or really stupid. Little of both. Marcus scanned the street again. Where’s Tommy? as if summoned a battered pickup truck rounded the corner. Rosy’s vehicle from the diner.

 Tommy at the wheel, Rosie beside him. They pulled up Tommy leaning out the window. Your chariot awaits. Marcus and Carlos piled into the bed, crouching low as Tommy drove out of town. Ros’s voice drifted back through the cab window. Sheriff came by the diner after you left. Threatened to shut me down if I helped you. You didn’t have to.

 That little girl sat in my diner bleeding and terrified, and every adult in this town failed her. Someone needs to do right by her. Might as well be us. They made it to the ranger station without pursuit. S had Emma inside, cleaned up, bandaged, wearing one of S’s oversized t-shirts, like a dress. She jumped up when Marcus walked in. Did you see my mom? Is she okay? She’s worried about you, but she’s safe. Marcus knelt down.

 Emma, your mom told me something. Charles Hargrove offered her a lot of money to make this go away. Half a million dollars. Emma’s face went very still. Did she take it? She said she needed to think about it. That means she’s going to take it. Emma’s voice was flat dead. Jason died and she’s going to take money and pretend it didn’t happen. She’s scared. I’m scared, too.

 But Jason’s dead because Derek Hargrove thinks people are toys he can break. And if he gets away with it, he’ll do it again and again and nobody will stop him because his dad has money. Her voice cracked. Jason died protecting me. If mom takes that money, he died for nothing. Marcus had no answer to that because Emma was right.

 She was 6 years old and she understood justice better than most adults. Tommy came in tablet in hand. Marcus, you need to see this. The screen showed a social media post from Brad Thompson posted 30 minutes ago. Feeling blessed for amazing friends who always have my back. How loyalty N squad. Attached was a photo Derek Tyler and Brad at Dererick’s house smiling celebrating something.

 But it was the comment section that made Marcus’s blood run cold. Tyler had commented, “One problem down, one to go.” Dererick’s response, “Patience. Dad’s handling it. That’s a threat, Carlos said. That’s evidence. Tommy’s fingers flew. Screenshotted, archived, metadata preserved. They’re getting cocky. S stepped forward.

 Marcus, we need to talk about Emma’s injuries. Some of these bruises are old. 2 3 weeks. This didn’t start recently. This has been systematic. You’re saying they’ve been hurting her since Jason died. I’m saying someone’s been hurting her longer than that. Look at this. S showed his phone photos he’d taken of Emma’s arms, her back.

 These scars here months old. Healed fracture in her left wrist probably 6 months ago. Whoever’s been doing this has been doing it for a while. Emma had gone very quiet in the corner. Marcus approached slowly. Emma, sweetheart, who else hurt you? Nobody. Emma, I said nobody. Her voice turned sharp, defensive, then quieter.

 It doesn’t matter anymore. It matters to me. She looked up at him, eyes wet. You’re going to leave anyway. Everyone leaves. Everyone says they’ll help and then they leave and I’m alone again. Marcus felt something break inside his chest. This was Sarah’s fear, too, in those last months before she died.

 Fear that he’d deploy again, that he’d choose the mission over her, that she’d be alone when it mattered. He’d failed Sarah. He wouldn’t fail Emma. I’m not leaving, he said quietly. Not until this is finished. Not until you’re safe. That’s a promise. Promises don’t mean anything. Mine do. They stared at each other. This broken veteran and this traumatized child.

 Both of them carrying wounds that would never fully heal. Finally, Emma spoke voice barely a whisper. My dad used to hurt us before he got sick when he was drunk. He’d hit mom and Jason would get in the way and then dad would hit Jason and I learned to hide in the closet until it was over. After dad died, I thought it was over. But then Jason died and now Dererick’s hurting me and I can’t hide anymore because there’s no closet big enough.

 The words hung in the air like smoke. S looked away, jaw tight. Carlos swore softly. Tommy’s hands had stopped moving on his tablet. Marcus kept his voice gentle. Did you tell anyone about your dad? Mom said it was private family business. Said if we told they’d take us away from her, so we didn’t tell.

 And Jason, he protected you from your dad. Always, he’d get hurt instead of me every time. Her voice broke. And then he got hurt instead of me one more time. And now he’s dead. And I can’t. I can’t. Marcus pulled her into his arms before she could finish. Felt her small body shaking with sobs she’d been holding back for weeks, maybe months, maybe years.

It’s not your fault, he said firmly. None of this is your fault. But if I hadn’t been there, Dererick would have hit someone else. Because that’s what people like Derek do. They hurt people because they think they can get away with it. The only person responsible for Jason’s death is Derek. Nobody else. Not you, not your mom, nobody. Emma cried harder.

 The kind of crying that sounded like something breaking open. S quietly hearded the others outside to give them privacy. When the sobs finally subsided, Emma pulled back, wiping her face. “Uncle Reaper, do you think Jason’s mad at me for not dying with him?” The question hit like shrapnel. “No, sweetheart.

 I think he’s proud of you for surviving, for fighting, for keeping that phone safe so Derek couldn’t hide what he did.” You really think so? I know so. Outside, the sound of engines cut through the evening air. Not cars, motorcycles. A lot of motorcycles. Marcus stepped to the window. Through the trees, headlights were approaching. 20, 30, maybe more.

 The steel wolves had arrived. Boomer led the pack. His Harley rumbling like thunder. He killed the engine, dismounted, walked up the steps. 58 years old, Vietnam vet, face like weathered leather. Behind him, the rest of the chapter spread out. mechanics, teachers, nurses, construction workers, all of them veterans, all of them understanding what it meant to protect the vulnerable.

 Marcus Boomer clasped his hand. Heard you found trouble. Trouble found us. Same thing. Boomer looked past him to Emma who was peeking around the door frame. That the kid? That’s Emma. Emma, this is Boomer. He’s the boss. Emma came out slowly, eyes huge. Are all of you here to help me? Boomer knelt down, same as Marcus had. That’s right.

 Nobody hurts kids on our watch. Your uncle Reaper filled me in on the situation. We’re going to make sure you get justice for your brother. How? Well, first we’re going to make sure nobody can touch you. Then we’re going to make so much noise that people who matter have to pay attention.

 And then we’re going to watch as the Hard Groves realize they picked the wrong kid to mess with. Emma studied him seriously. Dererick’s dad is really rich. Money doesn’t buy courage, little one, and we’ve got courage in spades. A black SUV pulled up behind the bike’s unmarked government plates. The driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out. Late30s black professional suit FBI badge on her hip.

 She walked toward them with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Marcus Hayes. That’s me. Special Agent Kesha Williams, FBI. I’m here about your call regarding the Jason Chen homicide. Marcus blinked. I didn’t call the FBI. Someone did. Anonymous tip came in 3 hours ago with digital evidence attached. Photos, videos, metadata.

 enough to open a preliminary investigation into Derek Hargrove and potential corruption in Cedar Springs law enforcement. Tommy raised his hand sheepishly. That might have been me. Agent Williams smiled slightly. Good initiative. Where’s Emma Chen? Emma stepped forward. I’m Emma. Hi, Emma. I’m Agent Williams. I have two daughters about your age, and I want to hear everything that happened to you and your brother.

 But first, I need to make sure you’re safe. Are you safe with these men? Emma looked at Marcus at S at the 30 bikers spread out across the clearing. Yes, they’re my uncles now. Your uncles? Agent Williams’ expression softened. Okay, then let’s talk about getting you justice. She pulled out a tablet, opened a recording app. Emma, I’m going to record this conversation.

 You can stop anytime you need to, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened the night your brother died. Can you do that? Emma nodded. And then with Marcus’s hand on her shoulder, she told the whole story again. Every detail, the hit and run, Dererick’s laughter, Tyler’s video, the threats at school, the money offered to her mother, Sheriff Bennett’s warning.

 Agent Williams listened without interrupting her expression growing darker with each sentence. When Emma finished, Williams looked up at Marcus. This is bigger than a hit and run. Charles Harro’s been on our radar for tax evasion and possible money laundering. If he’s also been bribing local law enforcement and intimidating witnesses, especially a child witness that’s federal jurisdiction. So, you can help her? Marcus asked.

 I can try, but I need Emma’s mother to cooperate. And I need that phone with the original evidence. Chain of custody matters. Phone’s here, Tommy said, holding it up carefully. And we’ve got backup copies encrypted and stored off site. Smart. Williams took the phone, bagged it as evidence. I’m going to need statements from all of you. And Mrs.

 Chen, where is she? Her apartment. Probably under surveillance by now. Then we’ll go get her. With federal authority backing us, Sheriff Bennett can’t interfere. William stood. Emma, you’re going to come with me. We’ll put you in protective custody until we can sort this out. Emma’s hand tightened on Marcus’ jacket. I want to stay with Uncle Reaper. I understand, but regulations require.

Please, I’ll talk to anyone, answer any questions, but please don’t make me go somewhere without them. I’ll run again. I’ll keep running. Williams looked at Marcus, read something in his expression. You’re a veteran, Marine Corps, two tours. Any experience with child protective services? I have a daughter. The words came out harder than Marcus intended.

 Had she died 6 years ago while I was deployed. I couldn’t protect her then, but I can protect Emma now. William studied him for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. Okay, irregular. But given the circumstances and the level of local corruption, I’m authorizing temporary protective placement with you pending mother’s consent and background check. But Emma doesn’t leave your site and you report to me every 6 hours. Clear crystal.

 Emma looked up at Marcus smiled tremulously. Really, I can stay. Really? Touching? A new voice said from the darkness. Everyone turned. Sheriff Bennett stood at the edge of the clearing, six deputies behind him, all with hands on their weapons. But the girls coming with me. Federal jurisdiction doesn’t override parental custody. Agent Williams and Emma’s mother specifically requested she be returned to local care.

Williams stepped forward. You’re interfering with a federal investigation, Sheriff. I’m enforcing a mother’s rights. Mrs. Chen called me 20 minutes ago distraught, saying her daughter had been taken by dangerous men and she wanted her back immediately. “That’s a lie,” Marcus said flatly.

 “You calling a griefstricken mother a liar?” Bennett smiled. “Because I’ve got the phone records right here.” And a signed statement from Mrs. Chen requesting police intervention. Agent Williams pulled out her own phone dialed. Put it on speaker. May Chen’s voice answered, shaking, “Hello, Mrs. Chen. This is agent Kesha Williams with the FBI.

 Did you request Sheriff Bennett retrieve your daughter? Silence. Then I I was told it was necessary for Emma’s safety. By whom? Charles Hargrove came to my apartment after you left Mr. Hayes. He said if Emma didn’t come home tonight, he’d have me arrested for child endangerment. He said he’d make sure I never saw her again. He said cooperating was the only way to keep her safe.

That’s extortion. Williams said. “That’s a desperate mother doing what she thinks is best.” Bennett countered. “Bottom line, Agent Williams. You don’t have custody. I do, and I’m taking the girl.” Boomer stepped forward. The rest of the Steel Wolves moving with him.

 30 men, all veterans, all standing between the deputies and Emma. That’s not happening. Bennett’s hand moved to his gun. You’re threatening law enforcement. We’re protecting a child. There’s a difference. Stand down or I’ll arrest every one of you. Try it, Boomer said calmly. And explain to the press why you needed six armed officers to kidnap a six-year-old from federal protective custody. This is kidnapping.

 This is justice, Marcus interrupted. And you’re terrified of it because you know what Emma saw. You know Derek Hargrove murdered Jason Chen. You know you helped cover it up. And now you’re trying to silence the only witness before she can testify. Bennett’s face flushed red. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Then let’s get specific.

 Emma, do you recognize Sheriff Bennett? Emma peaked around S’s leg. He came to our apartment the day after Jason died, told mom to move on. And did he investigate? No, he said there were no witnesses. But you were a witness. He never asked. Agent Williams’ expression had gone ice cold. Sheriff Bennett, I’m officially placing you on notice.

 This investigation now includes potential obstruction of justice and witness intimidation. If you interfere further, I’ll have you arrested. Federal charges, federal court. Do you understand? Bennett stared at her at Marcus at the wall of bikers.

 His deputies were looking nervous now, reading the situation, realizing this was bigger than they’d been told. One of them, a young guy couldn’t be more than 25, spoke up quietly. Sheriff, maybe we should let the feds handle this. Shut up, Daniels. But sir, if there’s an actual federal investigation, I said, “Shut up.” The deputy fell silent, but Marcus could see doubt spreading through the group. They were local cops, not monsters. They’d been told this was a simple custody issue.

Now they were realizing it was something else entirely. Bennett’s radio crackled. A voice. Sheriff, we’ve got a situation downtown. Protest forming at the courthouse. 50 people and growing. Protest about what? Jason Chen. Someone leaked the story to social media. People are demanding answers. Marcus allowed himself a small smile. That would be Tommy’s doing.

 Posted everything to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Emma’s story. Jason’s death. Your cover up. It’s gone viral in the last hour. Right now, about 10,000 people know Derek Harrove murdered a 9-year-old boy and walked free. Bennett’s face went white. You son of a His phone rang. He answered, listened, went even paler. Yes, sir. I understand. No, sir. I’ll Yes, sir. Right away.

 He hung up, looked at Marcus with pure hatred. Charles Hargrove wants to meet you, Agent Williams. Tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m. at the courthouse. He says he’s willing to discuss a resolution. What kind of resolution? Williams asked. He didn’t say, just said to tell you he’s prepared to cooperate with certain conditions.

 We don’t negotiate with child murders, Marcus said flatly. You will if you want Emma’s mother to keep custody. Because right now, Hargrove’s lawyers are filing emergency papers to have Emma removed from Mayan’s care on grounds of parental neglect. By tomorrow morning, unless you cooperate, Emma becomes a ward of the state. Emma made a small terrified sound.

 Marcus felt rage building in his chest again, hot and sharp. You’re threatening to take her from her mother if we don’t back down. I’m telling you the reality of the situation. Harrove has lawyers. You have motorcycles. Guess which one wins in court. Agent Williams stepped between them. Nobody’s taking Emma anywhere tonight. She stays in federal protective custody with Mr. Hayes as temporary guardian until we sort this out.

Tomorrow morning, we meet with Harrove. We hear what he has to say. And then we proceed according to federal guidelines. Clear. Bennett looked like he wanted to argue, but whatever Charles Harrove had said on that phone call had shaken him. He nodded stiffly, turned, walked back to his vehicles. The deputies followed, looking relieved to leave. When they were gone, Williams turned to Marcus.

Tomorrow morning could be a trap. I know. You still want to go? Marcus looked down at Emma, who was pressed against his leg, shaking. What choice do we have? None, Williams admitted. But I’ll have backup. And if Harrove tries anything, I’ll bury him. Get in line, Boomer muttered. Williams spent the next hour taking statements from everyone.

 Marcus, S, Tommy, Carlos, even Rosie, who’d driven out to give her account. Emma sat with S quiet, exhausted. When Williams finally left, promising to return at 8:00 a.m., Emma was already asleep on a makeshift bed of motorcycle jackets. Marcus stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. She looked so small, so fragile. Sarah had looked like that, too, the last time he’d seen her before deploying.

Peaceful, safe. Two weeks later, she’d been dead. “You okay?” S asked quietly, coming up beside him. “No.” “Yeah, me neither. This whole thing is fooar. We’re going to fix it.” “How hard Harro’s got money lawyers connections. We’ve got good intentions and borrowed time. We’ve got something he doesn’t.

” Marcus said, “We’ve got nothing to lose, and we’ve got her.” He nodded toward Emma. “She’s already survived more than most people do in a lifetime. her father’s abuse, her brother’s murder, weeks of threats and violence. She could have given up a hundred times. Could have handed over that phone, stayed quiet, let them win. But she didn’t. 6 years old and she’s got more courage than Bennett Hargrove and Derek combined. Kids’s a fighter, S agreed.

So, we fight for her. Whatever it takes. Carlos appeared from outside. Marcus. Tommy pulled more data. You need to see this. They gathered around Tommy’s laptop. He pulled up Derek Hargrove’s social media public profiles, private messages he’d managed to access through perfectly legal methods that Marcus chose not to question too closely. “Look at this,” Tommy said, pointing.

 “Two months before Jason died, Dererick posted this photo. It showed Derek standing beside his new BMW, grinning.” Caption: “Dad finally let me get the beast. Time to see what this baby can do.” So Carlos asked. So look at the comments. Tyler wrote, “Let’s go hunting.” Brad wrote, “Easy there, speed racer. Don’t kill anyone. Lol.” And Dererick’s response, “No promises.

” Marcus felt ice slide down his spine. Keep going. One month before Jason died, Derek got a speeding ticket. Dismissed by surprise, Judge Haron Moss, who’s Charles Harrove’s golf buddy. 3 weeks before Jason died, Dererick was cited for reckless endangerment after nearly hitting a pedestrian in a school zone.

Also dismissed. “He was escalating,” S said quietly. “Yeah, and here’s where it gets worse.” Tommy pulled up another screen. Dererick’s been in therapy since age 12. Courtmandated after he assaulted another student, broke the kid’s arm with a baseball bat.

 Charles Hardgrove settled out of court for undisclosed amount. Derek’s therapist diagnosed him with conduct disorder with possible sociopathic tendencies. Recommended intensive intervention. “Did he get it?” Marcus asked. “Nope.” Charles pulled him out of therapy after 6 months claimed the therapist was biased, and Dererick’s behavior has been escalating ever since.

 “Violence toward animals, toward other students, toward anyone who doesn’t give him what he wants,” Carlos swore. So Jason wasn’t the first. Jason was the first who died, but he wasn’t the first Derek hurt. Marcus thought about Emma’s description. Derek laughing Tyler filming Brad watching like it was entertainment. Like a child’s life was a game.

 What about Tyler and Brad? Tyler’s got his own issues. Three assault charges before age 18, all dismissed. Comes from money father’s a state senator. Brad’s cleaner middle-class family, decent grades. But his social media suggests he’s terrified of Derek. Lots of posts about loyalty, not betraying friends. I think Brad wants out, but doesn’t know how. Then we give him a way out, Marcus decided.

Agent Williams said she needs testimony. Brad’s scared of Derek, scared of consequences. But if we can convince him Dererick’s going down either way, he might flip. Sin finished. Worth a shot. Tommy, you got Brad’s address. Emma gave it to you, remember? Marcus pulled out the crumpled paper from his pocket. Brad Thompson, 447 Maple Street.

 Carlos, you’re with me. We’re going to have a conversation with Brad now. It’s almost midnight. Exactly. Kids probably lying awake, freaking out about what’s coming. Perfect time to offer him a lifeline. Boomer stepped out of the shadows. Marcus hadn’t realized he’d been listening. You need backup. No.

 Too many bikers will scare him. This needs to be subtle. Subtle’s not really our style tonight. It is. Marcus grabbed his jacket. S, you stay with Emma. Boomer postcards around the perimeter. If Bennett comes back, call me immediately. Tommy keep monitoring social media. This story is spreading, and I want to know how Hardrove responds on it.

 Marcus and Carlos mounted their bikes, rode into the night. The streets of Cedar Springs were quiet, dark. Maple Street was in a nice neighborhood, not hardrove rich, but comfortable houses with tidy lawns, twocar garages, basketball hoops and driveways. Number four and 47 was a two-story colonial lights off except for one upstairs window. Brad’s room probably.

 They parked two houses down, approached on foot. “How are we doing this?” Carlos whispered. “Front door. We knock. We talk. And if his parents answer, we asked to speak with their son about a serious matter concerning Derek Hargrove. Trust me, they’ll listen. But it was Brad who answered when Marcus knocked, still dressed, eyes red like he’d been crying.

 He took one look at them and tried to slam the door. Carlos’s boot stopped it. “We just want to talk,” Marcus said gently. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” “Then listen. Derek Hargrove murdered Jason Chen. You were in the car. That makes you a witness. Maybe an accessory depending on what you knew and when.

 Tomorrow morning, Charles Harrove is meeting with the FBI. This is going federal and when it does, Dererick’s going down. Question is whether you go down with him. Brad’s face crumpled. I didn’t know he was going to do it. I swear I didn’t know. Then tell us what happened while there’s still time. I can’t. Derek said if I talk.

 Dererick’s not going to be in a position to threaten anyone much longer, Carlos said. But the FBI might be willing to work with you if you cooperate. Maybe immunity, maybe reduce charges, but only if you speak up now. Brad looked between them, terrified, torn. My parents, we’ll be proud you did the right thing, Marcus finished. Or they’ll be visiting you in prison for the next decade. Your choice.

Brad’s hands shook. Come inside. quietly. My parents are asleep. They followed him through the darkened house to his bedroom. Typical teenage space unmade bed clothes on the floor computer setup in the corner, but no trophies, no team photos. Just a kid who looked like he’d been carrying something heavy for too long. Brad sat on his bed, head in his hands.

Dererick’s been my best friend since third grade. I knew he had problems, but I thought I thought I could help him, keep him from doing anything too crazy. “What happened the night Jason died?” Marcus asked. Derek called me and Tyler said he wanted to go for a drive in his new car.

 We’d been drinking not a lot, but enough. Derek was showing off, speeding, running red lights. Tyler thought it was hilarious. Kept filming everything. I told Dererick to slow down, but he just laughed. And then then we turned on to Oak Street and Dererick saw these two kids walking. He said, “Watch this.” And accelerated.

 I thought he was just trying to scare them. I swear I thought he’d swerve at the last second. Brad’s voice broke, but he didn’t swerve. He aimed right for them. The older kid pushed the little girl out of the way and Dererick hit him going 45 m an hour. The sound. God, the sound. He was crying now. Full body sobs.

Tyler kept filming. Dererick got out, looked at the kid on the ground, and started laughing. Said it was the biggest rush he’d ever felt. I got out and threw up. And then Derek said, “Come on, we have to go.” And Tyler said, “That was insane, dude.” And they both got back in the car like nothing happened.

 Like they didn’t just kill someone. “What did you do?” Carlos asked. “I got back in the car. I didn’t know what else to do.” We went back to Dererick’s house. He called his dad. Charles showed up 20 minutes later. Didn’t even act surprised. Just said, “You boys are going to forget this happened. Brad Tyler, go home. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll handle it.

” And you just went along with it. I was terrified. Dererick’s dad is powerful. The sheriff works for him. I didn’t think anyone would believe me even if I talked and Derek kept saying everything was fine. It was an accident. The kid ran out in front of the car. But you know that’s not true. Marcus said quietly. You saw Derek aim for him.

 Yes, Brad whispered. I saw it and I’ve been having nightmares every night since. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. I keep seeing that kid fly through the air. Keep hearing Derek laugh. I wanted to tell someone, but Dererick said if I talked, he’d say I was the one driving, that it was all my fault. Brad, listen to me.

 Tomorrow morning, FBI special agent Kesha Williams is meeting with the Hargroves. If you come forward before that meeting, if you give a statement and agree to testify, she can protect you. But if you wait until after Dererick’s arrested, it’s too late for a deal. Understand? Brad nodded, wiping his face. I’ll do it. I’ll tell them everything. I just I need to know Jason’s sister is okay.

 Is she safe? She’s safe. Scared, but safe. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I should have stopped Derek, but I didn’t. and I’m sorry. You can tell her yourself when you testify. They left Brad with Agent Williams’ number instructions to call first thing in the morning.

 On the ride back to the ranger station, Carlos said, “Think he’ll actually do it?” Yeah, kids eaten up with guilt. He wants out. That just leaves Tyler and Derek. Tyler’s a lost cause. He’s as twisted as Derek. But without Brad backing them up, their story falls apart. We’ve got physical evidence, digital evidence, eyewitness testimony from Emma, and now a co-conspirator flipping. This case is solid. No.

 So why do I feel like we’re missing something? Because they were. Marcus felt it, too. A nagging sense that they were reacting instead of anticipating. Charles Hargrove wasn’t the type to surrender easily. Tomorrow’s meeting was a trap of some kind. He just couldn’t see the shape of it yet. They pulled up to the ranger station to find chaos.

 S was outside, phone to his ear, face grim. Boomer had six bikers surrounding the building. And Emma was standing in the doorway, eyes huge, holding something in her hands. Marcus was off his bike before the engine fully stopped. What happened? Emma held out the object, a small package wrapped in brown paper. It was on the doorstep with this note. Marcus took the note, read it aloud.

Tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m. courthouse. Come alone or Emma’s mother dies. This is not a negotiation. Bring the phone. CH. Carlos swore viciously. They took May Chen. How Williams had people watching her apartment. Harrove owns half the building. Said probably has keys to every unit. Could have grabbed her through the back, avoided all surveillance.

 Marcus looked at Emma. Sweetheart, I need you to stay calm. Your mom is going to be okay. You don’t know that, Emma whispered. No, he didn’t. And the package in his hands felt heavy weighted with implications. He opened it carefully. Inside was a photo of May Chen bound to a chair, terrified but unharmed, and a burner phone. Marcus powered it on.

 One message. This is how it ends. pays. Tomorrow 9:00 a.m. You bring the phone with all evidence. You bring Emma. You make her recant her story on camera. You all get on your bikes and leave town forever. Or May Chan dies. Your choice. Marcus looked up at 30 expectant faces.

 At Emma, small and terrified at his brothers ready to fight but not sure how. We go to the meeting, he said finally. Marcus, Boomer started. We go, but not alone, not unarmed, and not without a plan. He looked at Emma. Tomorrow morning, your mom comes home safe. Dererick faces justice, and the Harrods learn you don’t threaten children and walk away. That’s a promise.

 Emma nodded, but her eyes said what they were both thinking. Promises were easy to make and hard to keep. Tomorrow would prove which kind this was. The night passed in minutes that felt like hours. Marcus didn’t sleep. None of them did. At 3:00 a.m., Agent Williams arrived with two other federal agents, faces grim.

 She took one look at the photo of May Chen, and her jaw went tight. “This is kidnapping, federal offense. I can have a tactical team here in 30 minutes.” “And May Chen dies before they breach the door,” Marcus said flatly. Hargrove’s not stupid. He knows what he’s doing. So, what do you suggest? We play his game until we don’t. William studied him. That’s not a plan. It’s the start of one.

 Marcus spread a map across the hood of his bike. Courthouse is here. Main entrance faces Oak Street. Back entrance opens to the parking structure. If Harrove’s smart, he’s got May somewhere in the building. Probably the basement old holding cells from when it was the original jail. How do you know that? Tommy pulled building schematics. Place is 100 years old. Used to be sheriff’s station, courthouse, and jail allin-one.

Basement’s not in current use, but the cells are still there. Perfect place to stash someone. Tommy nodded, pulling up blueprints on his tablet. Three entrances to the basement, main stairs from the courthouse lobby service entrance from the parking garage, and an old coal shoot that probably hasn’t been opened in 50 years.

 Probably isn’t definitely, Carlos pointed out. Which is why we’re checking all three. Marcus looked at Boomer. How many riders you got? 38 now. More coming. I need 20 on the street outside the courthouse. Visible. Loud.

 Make Bennett and Harrove think we brought an army, but I need 10 more split between the parking garage and the rear of the building. Quiet. Out of sight. Anyone tries to move May Chen, they intercept. And the rest of us. Williams, you’re going in the front door with me and Emma. Official federal business. Harrove asked for a meeting. He’s getting one, but we’re wired. Everything he says gets recorded. He’ll search us, Williams warned. Then we get creative. Marcus turned to S.

 You still got that medical monitoring equipment, the stuff that tracks vitals. Yeah, for PTSD patients. Why? Because Emma’s six. It’s perfectly reasonable for her doctor to insist she wear a heart monitor during a stressful situation, especially given her trauma history. Williams caught on immediately.

 Medical equipment with a wireless transmitter that can broadcast to any nearby receiver, Tommy finished. Hammy, I can modify one in an hour. Audio and video, they’ll never know. That’s Williams paused. That’s either brilliant or completely illegal. Child’s life is on the line,” Marcus said. “I’ll take illegal if it keeps her alive.

” Emma had been sitting silently through all of this, wrapped in a blanket that swallowed her small frame. Now she spoke up, voice, quiet but steady. What if they hurt my mom anyway, even if I say what they want? The question hung heavy. Marcus knelt in front of her. Then we make sure they don’t get the chance. But Emma, I need you to understand something.

 When we walk into that courthouse, you’re the strongest person in the room. Not Harrove, not Derek, not the sheriff. You, because you’re the only one telling the truth. Truth doesn’t always win, Emma said. My dad told the truth about his boss stealing and he got fired for it. Jason told the truth about bullies at school and they beat him up worse. Truth just makes people mad sometimes, Marcus agreed.

 But lies eventually fall apart. And we’ve got evidence backing up your truth. Photos, videos, witnesses. Derek can’t hide forever. But my mom, your mom is strong, too. She’s survived things you don’t even know about. And she’s fighting for you right now, even tied to a chair in some basement. So, we’re going to fight for her. Deal. Emma held out her pinky. Pinky promise.

 Marcus hooked his pinky with hers, felt the smallness of her hand, the trust she was placing in a stranger. Pinky promise. By 8:00 a.m., they were ready. Emma wore the modified heart monitor under her shirt, the tiny camera disguised as a medical alert button. Tommy had tested it three times. Perfect audio and video feed to his laptop half a mile away.

 S had coached Emma on what to say if Harrove tried to make her recant. Williams had coordinated with her FBI team, positioned them in unmarked vehicles around the courthouse, and Marcus had made peace with the possibility that this could all go very wrong. They rode toward town in formation.

 Marcus in the lead with Emma on the back of his bike, her small arms wrapped tight around his waist. Williams followed in her SUV. Behind them, 20 steel wolves bikes rumbled like controlled thunder, a statement that couldn’t be ignored. Cedar Springs looked different in the morning light. People lined the streets watching. Some held signs justice for Jason.

 Believe Emma. Children matter. The social media posts had worked what started as local gossip had exploded into regional outrage. National news vans were already setting up near the courthouse. Sheriff Bennett stood on the courthouse steps, face red with anger. This is a closed meeting. press needs to clear out.

 A reporter from Seattle, Jessica Ramirez, the one Marcus had contacted, stepped forward with a camera crew. Sheriff Bennett, is it true you closed the Jason Chen investigation without interviewing the primary witness? No comment. Is it true Charles Harrove offered Emma Chen’s mother $500,000 to keep her daughter from testifying? I said no comment.

Sheriff, are you aware the FBI has opened an investigation into corruption in your department? Bennett’s hand went to his gun. Boomer’s voice cut through the chaos. Touch that weapon and 30 witnesses see you threaten a reporter. Your call. Bennett’s hand dropped. He turned stalked into the courthouse.

 The reporters tried to follow, but deputies blocked the doors. Marcus dismounted, helped Emma down. She was shaking despite the warm morning. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “Me, too, but we’re doing this together.” Williams joined them, her expression, “All business. Recording equipment is active. Stay calm. Stay on script and let me do most of the talking.

” Emma, if anyone asks you a direct question, you tell the truth. Don’t lie for anyone, not even to protect your mother. Understood? Emma nodded. They walked up the steps together, past news cameras, and angry deputies through doors that felt like they were closing on a trap. The courthouse lobby was empty except for Charles Hargrove.

 He stood in the center of the marble floor wearing a suit that probably cost more than Marcus made in 6 months. Tall, distinguished silver hair, perfectly styled. He looked like a senator or a CEO, someone used to power comfortable with it. Mr. Hayes, Agent Williams, and little Emma. Harrove smile was warm practiced. Thank you for coming.

Where’s M Chun? Williams demanded. safe. Uncomfortable, but safe as long as everyone cooperates. Kidnapping is a federal offense, Mr. Hargrove. Kidnapping. Hargrove looked genuinely puzzled. Mrs. Chen came to me voluntarily. She was concerned about her daughter’s safety given the dangerous men she’d fallen in with. I offered her a secure location until the situation could be resolved.

Hardly kidnapping. “Bullshit,” Marcus said flatly. Harrove’s smile didn’t waver. Mr. Hayes, I understand you’re emotional about this. You see yourself as a protector, but Emma doesn’t need protection from me. She needs protection from her own confused memories and the adults who are encouraging her delusions. Emma’s hand tightened on Marcus’.

 He felt her trembling, felt the fear radiating off her, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. I’m not delusional. Your son killed my brother. Emma, sweetheart, I know you believe that and I know how scary that night must have been. But Derek wasn’t anywhere near Oak Street when the accident happened. He was at home with me and his mother. That’s a lie.

 We have security footage, timestamped video showing Derek entering our home at 9:00 p.m. and not leaving until morning. He couldn’t have been driving that car. William stepped forward, then explained the photo Emma took, the one showing your son’s BMW at the scene. photoshopped. Any expert will tell you. In fact, I’ve already had three independent analysts examine it.

 All three confirmed the image was digitally altered. That’s not Emma started. But Hargrove kept talking. Emma, someone is using you. Someone put that phone in your hands, told you what to say, coached you on a story that simply isn’t true. And now these men, these bikers are using your trauma to wage some kind of vigilante campaign against my family.

It’s despicable. Marcus felt ragebuilding but forced it down. Harrove was good, calm, reasonable, playing the concerned adult worried about a troubled child. To anyone watching, he looked like the victim. Where’s your son? Williams asked. I’d like to speak with Derek. He’s with his attorney, as is his right.

 My son has been harassed, threatened, accused of murder by a six-year-old who admits she has nightmares and memory problems. Until I’m convinced this situation is safe, Dererick remains under legal protection. Convenient, necessary. Harro’s expression hardened slightly. Agent Williams, let’s stop pretending this is about truth or justice. This is about a griefstricken family looking for someone to blame. And a group of veterans with hero complexes enabling their worst impulses.

My son is innocent. The real driver was never found. And Emma is being manipulated by people who should know better. I’m not being manipulated. Emma’s voice rose cracking. Derek killed Jason. I saw it. Tyler filmed it. Brad was in the back seat.

 Brad Thompson has already given a statement saying he was home that night. Tyler Mark says the same. You’re accusing three innocent teenagers of murder based on what? A photo you claim to have taken but can’t prove is real audio that could have been recorded anytime, anywhere. The metadata William started can be faked. You know that. I know that. This is a witch hunt built on the word of a traumatized child whose own mother admits she’s been having psychological problems since her father died. Emma’s breathing was getting faster. Panicked.

Marcus squeezed her hand. Stay calm. He’s lying. Am I? Harrove turned to Emma and for the first time his mask slipped slightly. There was something cold in his eyes calculating. Emma, do you know what happens to little girls who make false accusations, who destroy innocent people’s lives with lies? I’m not lying.

 They get taken away from their mothers, put in foster care, moved from home to home. never see their families again. He let that sink in. Is that what you want? To lose your mother, too? Emma’s face crumpled. No. Then tell the truth. Tell Agent Williams you made a mistake. You were confused. You didn’t really see what happened. Tell her and your mother goes free. You go home. Life goes back to normal.

 Don’t listen to him. Marcus said urgently. Emma, look at me. He’s trying to scare you into lying. Don’t do it. But my mom, your mom wants you to tell the truth. That’s what she told us. Remember Harrove’s voice turned sharp. Hayes, you’re interfering with a minor’s decision. Step back. I’m protecting her from coercion. There’s a difference. Sheriff Bennett, Hargrove called out. Mr.

 Hayes is becoming aggressive. Please remove him. Bennett appeared from a side hallway with two deputies. Hayes, you need to leave. Not without Emma. Emma stays. She’s going to give a corrected statement without intimidation from you. Marcus looked at Williams, who shook her head fractionally. Don’t engage. Not yet. He stepped back, hands raised, but stayed close enough to Emma that she could see him.

 Hargrove knelt down to Emma’s level. All fake sympathy again. Sweetheart, I know this is hard, but think about your mother. Think about your future. All you have to do is say you made a mistake. That’s it. Five words. I made a mistake and this nightmare ends. Emma looked at Harrove at Marcus at the deputies. Her voice came out tiny broken.

 What if I don’t? Then I call my lawyers. By noon, your mother is charged with child endangerment for allowing you to be taken by dangerous criminals. By tonight, you’re in state custody. By tomorrow, she’s on a plane back to China. Is that what you want? You can’t do that, William said. I have custody, temporary custody, which expires the moment I file the proper paperwork. My lawyers are standing by.

 Hargrove pulled out his phone, held it up. One call, Agent Williams. That’s all it takes. Emma was crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. Uncle Reaper, what do I do? Marcus’ heart was breaking. This was the trap. Not violence, not threats, just cold legal manipulation wielded by someone who knew exactly how to use money and power to destroy vulnerable people. He could see Emma fracturing.

 Could see her trying to choose between truth and survival. And then Emma’s expression changed. Something hardened in her eyes. Something that looked too old for 6 years. She wiped her face, looked directly at Harrove, and said, “No.” Harrove blinked. What? No, I’m not lying. Dererick killed Jason and you’re trying to make me pretend he didn’t because you don’t care about truth.

 You just care about protecting your son even though he’s a murderer. Emma, Jason died protecting me. He always protected me from our dad when he was drunk and angry. From bullies at school. From Derek that night. And if I lie now, if I say it didn’t happen, then Jason died for nothing. So no, I’m not lying. Even if you take my mom away, even if you put me in foster care, even if I never see her again, Jason deserves better.

 And I’m not letting Dererick get away with killing him.” The words hung in the air. Marcus felt something crack in his chest. Pride maybe, or grief, or some combination of both. This six-year-old child had just chosen truth over safety, justice over family. The bravest thing he’d ever seen. Harrove’s face went cold.

 Then you’ve made your choice. He raised his phone, started to dial. Williams moved to stop him, but Bennett blocked her. Federal agent or not, you’re interfering. The courthouse doors burst open. Brad Thompson stumbled in out of breath, his mother right behind him. Stop. Stop. I’ll tell you everything. Everyone froze.

 Harrove’s finger hovered over his phone. Brad, what are you doing? I was in the car, Brad gasped. The night Jason Chen died, I was in Dererick’s BMW. Tyler was filming. Derek aimed for those kids on purpose. He laughed after he hit Jason. Called it a rush. And you paid Sheriff Bennett to make it go away.

 Harrove’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Brad, you’re confused. You weren’t. I was there and I’ve been having nightmares every night because I didn’t stop him. I should have stopped him, but I didn’t. And a kid died. Brad was crying now, the words pouring out. Dererick’s been threatening me for weeks. Said if I talked, he’d blame everything on me. But Emma’s right.

Jason deserves better, and I can’t I can’t carry this anymore. Brad’s mother stepped forward, a small woman with tired eyes. My son came to me last night, told me everything. I brought him here to tell the truth because that’s what we do in this family, even when it’s hard. Williams moved fast, pulling out her phone.

 Brad Thompson, are you willing to give an official statement to the FBI regarding what you witnessed the night of Jason Chen’s death? Brad nodded, wiping his face. Yes, all of it. Then you’re in federal protective custody as of right now. Sheriff Bennett, if you interfere with this witness, you’ll be arrested for obstruction.

Bennett looked at Harrove uncertain. Harrove’s jaw was tight. Brad, think very carefully. You’re about to ruin three lives yours. Derek’s Tyler’s for what? A confused little girl’s fantasy. It’s not a fantasy. Brad’s voice cracked. We killed a kid and you know it.

 You’ve known it for 3 weeks and you’ve been covering it up and paying people off and I’m done. I’m done lying. You’re making a mistake. The only mistake I made was not speaking up sooner. Harrove turned to Bennett. Sheriff, arrest this boy for making false statements. On what grounds? Williams demanded. He’s clearly been coerced by Hayes and his gang. I’m not part of a gang, Brad said. I’m just tired of being scared.

 Tired of watching Dererick hurt people and get away with it. Tired of being part of something evil? The word hung there. Evil. Simple. Direct. True. Harrove’s mask finally cracked. You stupid boy. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My lawyers will destroy you. Your family will lose everything.

 You’ll spend your teenage years in prison. For what? For some dead kid who doesn’t matter. The slap came before anyone could react. Brad’s mother moved like lightning, her hand connecting with Hargrove’s face hard enough to echo through the courthouse. That’s my son, and Jason Chen mattered. He was 9 years old, and he mattered. Hargrove staggered back, stunned.

Bennett moved to arrest her, but Williams stepped between them. Touch her and I arrest you. Federal charges right now. Bennett froze, looking lost. The situation had spiraled completely out of his control. Emma’s voice came quiet but clear. Where’s my mom? Harrove straightened his jacket, touched his face where Brad’s mother had hid him. When he looked at Emma, all the fake kindness was gone.

Basement, third cell. You want her? Go get her. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Marcus was already moving Emma on his heels. They found the basement stairs descended into darkness that smelled of mold and old fear. The cells were ancient, rusted, most standing empty. In the third cell, man sat bound to a chair tape over her mouth, eyes wide with terror.

 Emma screamed, “Mom!” Marcus pulled at the cell door locked. “Kease! We need keys! Allow me!” Boomer’s voice came from behind them. He’d followed them down. One kick and the old lock shattered. They rushed in. Marcus cut May’s bonds with his knife while Emma tore the tape from her mother’s mouth. May ghast pulled Emma into her arms. “Oh god, baby, are you okay? Did they hurt you?” “I’m okay.

 I’m okay, Mom.” Emma was sobbing. I told the truth. I didn’t lie. Even when he said he’d take you away, I didn’t lie. I know. I heard everything. May looked at Marcus over Emma’s head, tears streaming. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping her safe. She kept herself safe,” Marcus said quietly. “Bravest kid I ever met.

 Upstairs, voices were rising, shouting, the sound of boots on marble. They climbed back to find chaos in the lobby. More FBI agents had arrived. Bennett was in handcuffs, face purple with rage. Brad and his mother were giving statements. And in the center of it all, Agent Williams was reading Charles Hargrove his rights. You have the right to remain silent.

 Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. This is absurd, Hargrove snarled. You have nothing, no evidence, no case. We have Brad Thompson’s testimony, Emma Chen’s testimony, physical evidence, including photos and video. We have recordings of you threatening a federal officer and admitting to holding May Chen against her will.

 And we have Sheriff Bennett’s phone records showing 53 calls to your private number in the 3 weeks since Jason Chen’s death. William snapped the cuffs on. Charles Hargrove, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, witness intimidation, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy to commit murder. My son didn’t. Your son aimed a vehicle at two children and killed one of them. Brad Thompson’s testimony confirms it. Tyler Marks is in custody right now, giving his own statement.

 Turns out his father, the senator, isn’t willing to risk his career protecting someone else’s kid. And Derek is going down for vehicular homicide at minimum as an adult because Montana law says 16 is old enough to face adult consequences for adult crimes. Hargrove went pale. You can’t. I can and I am. Deputies take him. Two FBI agents led Harrove away.

 He kept shouting about lawyers and lawsuits and political connections, but the words were hollow now. Everyone could hear it. The desperate ranting of someone who’d finally been cornered. Emma watched him go, then looked up at Marcus. Is it over? Not yet. There’s still the trial. But the hard part, the part where you had to be brave and stand alone. That’s done. You did it.

 We did it. Emma corrected. You and Uncle S and Uncle Carlos and Uncle Tommy and Boomer and Brad and Agent Williams and all the bikers and her voice broke. Jason. Jason helped. He got the video. He tried to protect me. He’s still protecting me. Marcus knelt down. Yeah, he is. And I bet he’s proud of you right now. You think so? I know so.

Outside the crowd had grown. Reporters shouted questions as Harrove was led to a federal vehicle. The steel wolves lined the courthouse steps, a wall of leather and loyalty. Someone started clapping, then another person, then a dozen.

 Within seconds, the entire crowd was applauding, cheering for a six-year-old girl who’d brought down an empire. Emma pressed against Marcus’ leg overwhelmed. May Chen stood beside them, one arm around her daughter, the other hand gripping Marcus’ jacket like an anchor. Jessica Ramirez pushed through the crowd camera crew and toe. “Mr. Hayes, can you comment on what happened here today?” Marcus looked down at Emma.

“Not me. She’s the story.” Emma, Jessica said gently kneeling down. The whole country’s been watching your story. Is there anything you want to say? Emma thought for a long moment. Then if someone hurts you, tell someone. Even if you’re scared, even if they say nobody will believe you, keep telling until someone listens. Because Jason deserve to be heard.

 Every kid deserves to be heard. The simple words hit like thunder. Jessica’s eyes were wet. Thank you, Emma, for being brave. The crowd erupted again. Emma managed a small smile, the first real smile Marcus had seen from her. Agent Williams appeared looking exhausted but satisfied. We’ve got Derek Hargrove in custody.

 Tyler Marx is cooperating in exchange for reduced charges. Brad Thompson and his mother are in protective custody. Sheriff Bennett is facing federal charges. Charles Harrove is going to be arraigned tomorrow morning on multiple felonies. What about Emma? Marcus asked. She’ll need to testify eventually, but we’ve got enough to proceed without her for now.

 She can go home, be a kid again. Williams looked at May. Mrs. Chen, I’ve arranged for temporary housing through a federal witness protection program. Just until the trial’s over. Somewhere safe, somewhere the Harro can’t reach you. May’s voice shook. How can I ever repay you? Raise that daughter of yours. Let her know the world isn’t all Charles Hargroves and corrupt sheriffs.

 Teach her there are still people who fight for what’s right. I will. They stood in the courthouse entrance, sunlight streaming through the doors, the chaos of reporters and supporters and justice swirling around them. Marcus felt something he hadn’t felt in 6 years. Not quite peace, but close. Like maybe Sarah would understand what he’d done here. Like maybe this one time he’d been where he needed to be when it mattered.

 Emma tugged on his hand. Uncle Reaper, will I see you again after we go to the safe house? Marcus looked at May who nodded. Permission. Yeah, kid. You’ll see me again. We’re family now. And family shows up. Pinky promise. He hooked his pinky with hers again. Felt that small hand grip his with surprising strength.

Pinky Promise. As they walked down the courthouse steps together, surrounded by 30 bikers and federal agents and reporters and everyday people who’d decided to care, Marcus thought about all the roads that had led him here. Fallujah, Sarah’s death, the years of grief and guilt and wondering if any of it mattered. Maybe it did. Maybe it all led to this moment.

 A six-year-old girl safe a murderer in handcuffs. A corrupt system finally facing consequences. Not a happy ending exactly, but a just one. And in a world as broken as this one, justice was enough. Carlos clapped him on the shoulder. Hell of a morning. Yeah. What now? Marcus looked at Emma, already talking with her mother, planning what toys to bring to the safe house, asking if they’d have a TV, worrying about missing school, being a kid again. Finally, now we make sure she stays safe until Dererick’s behind bars and then then we

ride. Sin finished. Find the next kid who needs help. Exactly. They mounted their bikes engines rumbling to life. Emma waved from the steps. Marcus waved back, then turned toward the open road. Behind them, Cedar Springs was already changing. Reporters were interviewing witnesses. Federal agents were collecting evidence. The Hardrove Empire was crumbling one revelation at a time.

 And in the center of it all, a six-year-old girl had proven that truth mattered more than money. That courage came in small packages, and that sometimes, just sometimes, the good guys won. Not because they were stronger or smarter or better armed, but because they showed up when everyone else walked away.

 Marcus accelerated, felt the familiar freedom of highway beneath his tires, knew his brothers were riding beside him. They had miles to go, plenty more kids who needed protecting. Plenty more, Charles Harroes, thinking they were untouchable. But for today, they’d done what they came to do. They’d kept a promise. And in Marcus’s world, that was everything. 3 days later, Marcus got the call he’d been dreading.

 Agent Williams’ voice was tight, controlled. We have a problem. What kind of problem? Derek Hargrove made bail. $2 million. Judge Ramsay approved it this morning. Marcus felt his blood go cold. How? He’s charged with vehicular homicide. That’s not a bailable offense in Montana. Judge Ramsay decided Derek wasn’t a flight risk. House arrest with ankle monitor. He’s confined to the Harrove estate until trial. Ramsay’s in their pocket.

Can’t prove it. But yes, probably. Gets worse, though. Charles Hargrove also made bail. 5 million. Same conditions. So, they’re both home, father and son, planning their next move. That’s what worries me. Emma and her mother are safe in the federal safe house, but Dererick knows she’s the key witness if something happens to her before trial.

 Nothing’s going to happen to her, Marcus said flatly. Where’s the safe house? You know, I can’t tell you that, Williams. I can tell you it’s within 50 mi of Cedar Springs. Close enough for Emma to testify when needed. And I can tell you we have two agents posted 24/7, but Marcus the Hard Groves have resources. Money connections, people willing to do anything for the right price. Then we add our own security.

 Steel wolves can post guards, rotate shifts. You’re not law enforcement. You have no legal authority. Don’t need legal authority to stand outside a building and watch. We’re not breaking any laws. Just concerned citizens exercising our right to peacefully assemble. Williams was quiet for a moment.

 If I were to accidentally mention that the safe house is the old Morrison Hotel on Route 47, and if you happen to hear that information, I couldn’t stop you from visiting the area as a tourist. Appreciate the travel tip. Marcus, be careful. The Harroes are desperate. Desperate people are dangerous. He hung up. Called Boomer.

 We need 24-hour coverage on Emma’s location, Route 47 Morrison Hotel. I want eyes on every entrance, every window, every possible approach. Already ahead of you, Boomer said. Had Tommy tracked the FBI vehicles that picked up Emma and her mom been watching the place since yesterday. 4-hour shifts, six riders per shift. Anyone try anything? Not yet, but there’s been a black Mercedes circling the area. Different driver each time.

 Rental plates. Tommy’s trying to trace them back to whoever’s paying. Marcus grabbed his jacket. I’m heading there now. Figured you would. S and Carlos are already there. The Morrison Hotel was exactly what it sounded like. An old roadside motel from the 50s, long past its glory days, but still functional.

 20 rooms arranged in an L-shape around a parking lot. Emma and May were in room 14, middle of the long. Two FBI agents in room 13. Two more in room 15. Steel Wolves bikes were parked strategically around the lot riders positioned to see all angles. S met Marcus at his bike. She’s okay. Scared, but okay. May holding up better than expected.

 Can I see her? Williams cleared it. Room 14. Marcus knocked gently. Mayan opened the door, face drawn with exhaustion. Mr. Hayes, come in. The room was standard motel fair. Two double beds, cheap furniture, TV playing cartoons on mute. Emma sat on the far bed, coloring in a book that someone had bought her.

 She looked up when Marcus entered, smiled tentatively. “Uncle Reaper, you came. Told you I would.” He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd her. “How you holding up, kid?” “Okay, I guess. Mom says we have to stay here until the trial. Could be months. Months away from home, away from school. That’s hard. Better than being dead. The words came out flat. Matter of fact, too old for six. Dererick’s out of jail.

 Mom told me. She tried to make it sound okay, but I could tell she was scared. May looked away. Guilty. Emma reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. It’s okay, Mom. I’m scared, too. You shouldn’t have to be, May said, voice breaking. You’re 6 years old.

 You should be worried about homework and making friends, not whether someone’s going to hurt you. But I am worried about it, so we might as well talk about it. Marcus felt that familiar ache in his chest. This kid had been forced to grow up too fast, had seen things no child should see, carried burdens no child should carry, and yet she was still here, still fighting, still finding ways to comfort her terrified mother.

 Emma, I want you to know something, Marcus said carefully. Derek can’t get to you here. Agent Williams has guards. We have guards. There are 12 people whose only job is keeping you safe. What if that’s not enough? Then we make it enough. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that? She studied him seriously. You promised you wouldn’t leave. you pinky promised.

 And I’m keeping that promise. I’m not going anywhere until Derek is in prison and you can go home. What if he gets away with it? What if the judge lets him go like they let his dad go? The question hit hard because Marcus had been wondering the same thing. Judge Ramsay had already shown questionable judgment.

 How many other people in the system were compromised? How far did Hard Gro’s influence reach? Then we appeal, Marcus said. We go to higher courts, federal courts. We make so much noise that someone clean has to pay attention. But Emma, I need you to understand something. The trial is going to be hard.

 Derek’s lawyers are going to try to make you look confused or mistaken. They’re going to ask you the same questions a hundred different ways, trying to trip you up. I know. Agent Williams told me she’s been practicing with me. Question and answer over and over. Good. Because the truth is your weapon. As long as you tell the truth exactly as it happened, they can’t beat you. Emma nodded slowly.

 What if I forget something? What if I get scared and can’t remember? Then you say, “I don’t remember.” That’s okay. Better to admit you don’t know than to make something up. The lawyers will try to make you guess, but you don’t have to. Just tell them what you know for certain. Okay. She went back to her coloring.

 Uncle Reaper, can I ask you something? anything. Do you have kids? The question caught him off guard. May looked up sharply, sensing dangerous territory. Marcus took a slow breath. I had a daughter, Sarah. She died 6 years ago. Emma’s crayon stopped moving. How? School shooting. She was nine. I was overseas when it happened.

 Never got to say goodbye. Do you think about her a lot? Every day. Me, too. About Jason. I mean, every day I think about him. Wonder what he’d say about all this. Whether he’d be proud or scared or mad that I got him killed. You didn’t get him killed, Emma. Derek killed him. That’s the only truth that matters. Yeah.

 But if I hadn’t been there, then Derek would have hit someone else eventually. Because that’s what people like Derek do. They hurt people until someone stops them. Jason stopped him from hurting you. Now you’re stopping him from hurting anyone else. That’s what Jason would want. Emma wiped her eyes. I miss him. I know.

 Does it get better? Missing someone. Marcus thought about Sarah about the hollow space she’d left behind about 6 years of grief that never quite faded. It gets different. The sharp edges smooth out. You learn to carry it, but you never stop missing them. That’s sad. Yeah, it is. They sat in silence for a while. This broken veteran and this traumatized child. Both of them carrying ghosts.

Finally, Emma spoke again. Thank you for telling me the truth. Mom always tries to make things sound better than they are. But I like knowing the truth, even when it’s sad. Truth’s important, Marcus agreed. Even when it hurts. His phone buzzed. Text from Tommy. Black Mercedes back. Third pass in an hour. Getting license plate now. Marcus stood.

 I need to check on something, but I’ll be right outside if you need me. Okay. Okay. He stepped out into the parking lot. The black Mercedes was indeed circling slow, deliberate. Tommy was on his laptop in room 7, tracking everything. Marcus walked over. “Got it,” Tommy said without looking up. rental from Billings airport. Paid cash, fake ID.

 But I pulled security footage from the rental company. Drivers, a local guy named Ray Hutchkins, ex- cop got fired 3 years ago for excessive force. Now works private security. For who? Guess Hargrove. Bingo. Charles Hargrove’s company employs six private security contractors. Hutchkins is one of them.

 And get this, two days ago, Hutchkins withdrew $15,000 cash from his bank account. That’s not normal. Marcus felt ice in his gut. He’s being paid to do something. Surveillance at minimum, maybe worse. And that’s what I’m thinking. Want me to call Williams? Do it and get me everything on Hutchkins Address Associates criminal history. Everything. While Tommy worked, Marcus walked the perimeter.

 The motel sat on a straight stretch of highway forest on three sides. Plenty of cover for someone who wanted to approach unseen, but also plenty of sight lines for defenders who knew what they were doing. Carlos appeared beside him. Saw the Mercedes. We’re tracking it. Good. I want to know everywhere it goes. Everyone it talks to. This is reconnaissance for something bigger.

 You think they’d really try to grab Emma in federal custody? That’s insane. They’re already facing life in prison. What’s one more charge and if Emma disappears before trial? Case falls apart, Carlos finished grimly. No witness, no testimony. Brad’s statement helps, but he wasn’t the primary victim. They need Emma, which is why she’s not leaving this motel until we know it’s safe, even if that means camping here for 6 months.

His phone rang. Agent Williams. Marcus, we have a situation. Judge Ramsay just granted a defense motion to have Emma psychologically evaluated before trial. Independent psychiatrist, courtapp appointed. That’s a trap. I know. But the defense argues Emma’s age and trauma history make her testimony unreliable.

 They want an expert opinion on her mental state, her ability to distinguish reality from imagination. Who’s the psychiatrist? Dr. Leonard Vance. supposed to be one of the best child psychologists in Montana. Let me guess, he’s received donations from the Hardrove Foundation. Williams was quiet. Actually, yes, $20,000 to his research institute last year, but that doesn’t automatically disqualify him. And if we fight the evaluation, the defense argues we’re hiding something.

So, we’re damned either way. Welcome to the legal system. Evaluations scheduled for tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m. Vance will come here to the safe house. I’ll be present for the entire interview. So will I, Marcus. Non-negotiable. Emma trusts me. She’s going to need someone she trusts in that room when a stranger starts asking her to relive the worst night of her life.

William sighed. Fine, but you don’t speak unless I give you permission. Clear. Crystal. He hung up, went back to room 14. May and Emma were watching TV now, some animated movie about talking animals. Marcus knocked, waited for permission to enter. Emma, we need to talk about tomorrow. Her face fell.

 What’s wrong now? Nothing’s wrong, but there’s a doctor coming to talk to you. A psychologist. He’s going to ask you questions about what happened, about how you’re feeling. It’s normal for court cases like this. Is he going to try to make me sound crazy like Derek’s dad did? He might try, but Agent Williams and I will be there, and all you have to do is tell the truth.

 Can you do that? I’m tired of talking about it, Emma said quietly. I’ve told the story so many times to the police, to the FBI, to you, to Agent Williams, to lawyers. How many times do I have to say it before people believe me? I know it’s exhausting, but this is part of the process. The defense gets to challenge everything. They have to. That’s how the system works.

 The system’s stupid. Marcus almost smiled. Sometimes, yeah, but it’s the best system we’ve got. And once you get through this evaluation, once you testify at trial, it’s done. You never have to tell the story again. Emma looked at her mother. Will you be there, too? I don’t know if they’ll let me, May admitted. But I’ll be right outside and Uncle Reaper will be with you.

 Promise? Promise? Marcus and May said in unison. The next morning came too quickly. Dr. Leonard Vance arrived at 8:45 driving a sensible sedan carrying a leather briefcase that screamed expensive. He was 60ish gray beard, neatly trimmed, wire- rimmed glasses, cardigan sweater. He looked exactly like everyone’s idea of a kind grandfather, which made Marcus immediately suspicious.

Williams met Vance at the door, checked his credentials, explained the ground rules. Dr. Vance, this is Marcus Hayes. He’s Emma’s temporary guardian and will be present during the evaluation. Vance studied Marcus with shrewd eyes. Mr. Hayes, I understand you’re one of the bikers who inserted himself into this situation.

 I’m one of the veterans who protected a child in danger. There’s a difference. semantics, but I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to evaluate Emma.” He turned to Williams. “I’ll need at least 2 hours with her. Alone would be preferable.” “Not happening,” Marcus said flatly. “Mr. Hayes, my evaluation needs to be conducted in a neutral environment.

 Your presence could influence Emma’s responses, and your connections to the Hardrow Foundation could influence your conclusions, so I’m staying.” Vance’s expression hardened slightly. That donation is public record and completely ethical. My professional integrity is beyond reproach. Then you won’t mind me observing.

 They stared at each other. Finally, Vance nodded. Very well. But you will not speak, will not react, will not coach Emma in any way. Agreed. Agreed. They entered room 14. Emma sat on the bed wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday. May had wanted to buy her new things, but they couldn’t risk a shopping trip.

 Emma looked small, tired, older than her years. Vance sat in the chair across from her, pulled out a notepad. Hello, Emma. My name is Dr. Vance. I’m here to talk to you about what happened to your brother. Is that okay? Emma glanced at Marcus, who nodded slightly. Okay, good. Now, I want you to know there are no wrong answers here.

 I just want to understand what you remember. Can you tell me about the night Jason died? Emma took a breath, launched into the story. Same details she’d given a dozen times before. Walking home from the library. Dererick’s BMW coming around the corner too fast. Jason pushing her out of the way. The impact.

 Dererick’s laughter. Vance listened without interrupting writing notes. When Emma finished, he looked up. That must have been very frightening. It was. And you took a photo afterward with Jason’s phone. Yes. Why did you do that? Because I knew nobody would believe me. Dererick’s rich and I’m just a kid. I needed proof.

 That’s very clever thinking for a six-year-old. Did someone tell you to take the photo? Marcus felt his jaw tighten. The question was designed to suggest Emma had been coached. No, Emma said. I thought of it myself. Jason always told me if something bad happens, document it.

 He learned that from a video he watched about what to do if you get arrested by bad cops. Vance made another note. Jason sounds like he was very smart. He was the smartest person I knew. You must miss him terribly every day. Do you ever imagine he’s still here, still talking to you? Warning bells went off in Marcus’ head. Vance was testing whether Emma had hallucinations, whether her grief had detached her from reality.

No, Emma said carefully. I know he’s dead. I know I’ll never see him again, but I remember things he taught me. That’s not the same as imagining he’s alive. Of course not. Tell me, Emma, before your brother died, did you ever have trouble telling the difference between things that really happened and things you imagined? No.

Your school counselor’s notes mention you had nightmares after your father died. Vivid nightmares where you couldn’t tell what was real. Emma’s hands clenched. Those were nightmares. I knew they weren’t real when I woke up. That’s different, is it? Sometimes when we’re traumatized, our brains can mix up memories and dreams. It’s not lying. It’s just our minds trying to make sense of confusing events.

 I’m not confused about what happened to Jason. But you were confused about your father, weren’t you? You told your teacher once that your father hit you, but then you said you made it up, which was true. Marcus felt rage building. May had gone pale. Emma’s voice trembled. My dad did hit me and Jason and Mom, but mom said if I told people, they’d take me away from her. So I said I made it up, but it was real.

 So you’ve lied before to protect your mother. That’s not fair. Emma started. I’m not judging you, sweetheart. I’m just trying to understand. You lied then to protect your mother. Is it possible you’re lying now to protect her from something else? Maybe from losing her visa, from being deported? Emma’s face crumpled. I’m not lying about Derek. I saw what I saw.

 But your mother was threatened with deportation if you didn’t cooperate with the Hard Groves. Correct. That must be very scary. Maybe scary enough to make you believe you saw something that didn’t quite happen the way you remember. Stop it, Emma whispered. Stop trying to make me sound crazy. Nobody thinks you’re crazy, Emma. But six-year-old children sometimes have trouble with complex memories.

 Sometimes they fill in gaps with things they think happened or things adults suggested happened. Nobody suggested anything. Emma’s voice rose. Derek killed Jason. Tyler filmed it. Brad was in the car. I have proof. Photos can be manipulated. It’s not manipulated. Emma, calm down. No, you’re just like everyone else. You don’t care about the truth. You just care about protecting Derek because his dad pays you.

 Vance’s expression flickered just for a second. Guilt or anger hard to tell. Emma, I’m trying to help you. You’re trying to make the judge think I’m a liar. Emma was crying now, furious tears. You’re trying to make it so Dererick gets away with murdering my brother. That’s enough, Marcus said, standing. This evaluation is over. Mr.

 Hayes, you agreed not to interfere, and you agreed to conduct a fair evaluation, not to gaslight a traumatized child into questioning her own memories. Vance stood closing his notepad. This is exactly why guardians shouldn’t be present. You’re influencing her responses. I haven’t said a word until now. Emma’s responses are her own and they’re clear she knows what she saw.

 She’s not confused, not delusional, not making anything up. That’s not for you to determine, and it’s not for you to manipulate her into doubting herself. Marcus moved between Vance and Emma. You’re done here. I need at least another hour. You’re done. Get out. Vance looked at Williams, who’d been watching silently. Agent Williams, this is highly irregular.

 I need to complete my evaluation. Williams stood slowly. Dr. Vance, I think Mr. Hayes is right. Your questioning crossed a line from evaluation into interrogation. We’re done here. The court ordered this evaluation, and I’m the supervising federal agent. I’m ending the interview on grounds that it was becoming psychologically harmful to the witness.

You can put that in your report. Vance’s face flushed red. This will reflect poorly on Emma’s credibility. Then I guess the defense will have to explain why their expert couldn’t complete his evaluation without emotionally abusing a six-year-old. Williams opened the door. We’re done, doctor. Vance gathered his things, shot Marcus a look of pure hatred, and left.

 The door closed behind him with a solid thunk. Emma was shaking, crying silently. May pulled her into a hug. It’s okay, baby. It’s over. He thinks I’m lying. The judge is going to think I’m lying. Dererick’s going to get away with it. No, Marcus said firmly. No, he’s not. That doctor tried to trick you and you didn’t let him.

 You told the truth even when he tried to twist your words. The judge is going to see that. But what if? No what ifs. We focus on what we know. We know you’re telling the truth. We know Brad’s testimony backs you up. We know the evidence is solid. Vance’s report doesn’t change any of that. Williams’s phone rang. She stepped outside to answer it.

 When she came back in, her face was grim. That was the prosecutor’s office. Trial dates been moved up. 2 weeks from now. 2 weeks? May gasped. That’s not enough time. Defense pushed for it. argued that Emma’s in federal custody, effectively imprisoned, and speedy trial rules apply. Judge agreed. “That’s insane,” Marcus said. “We need time to prepare.

 We work with what we have.” “Emma, you’re going to testify in 2 weeks. Are you ready?” Emma wiped her face, looked at her mother at Marcus at Williams. I’m ready. Let’s finish this. But that night, everything changed. Marcus was asleep in room 8 when his phone buzzed at 2:00 a.m. Tommy’s voice was urgent. Marcus, get out here now. He was dressed and outside in 30 seconds.

Tommy stood in the parking lot laptop open face pale in the screens glow. Someone’s been accessing Emma’s medical records, hospital records from when her dad was sick, school counselor notes, everything the defense would need to build a case that she’s unreliable. How hack job. Good one.

 Covered their tracks, but I managed to trace the IP address back to a law office in Billings. Harro’s lawyers. That’s illegal. Yeah, but it gets worse. Tommy pulled up another screen. Found something else in the hack. They got Emma’s new school enrollment information. Marcus felt ice flood his veins. The safe house address.

 Not exactly, but they’ve got the school district and there are only three elementary schools in that district. They know where Emma’s going to be once trial starts. Williams needs to know about this. Already called her. She’s moving Emma and May tonight. New location. But Marcus Tommy hesitated. The hack came from inside the law office, but the IP logs show someone else accessed the same files from a different location. 30 minutes later. Who? Tommy pulled up a final screen.

Sheriff’s Department, Cedar Springs. Someone in Bennett’s old office accessed everything Harro’s lawyers found. Who’s running the department now? Deputy Chief Frank Morrison, Bennett’s old partner. Marcus swore the corruption went deeper than they’d thought. Morrison’s feeding information to the Harroves. or worse.

 Morrison has access to federal witness protection protocols. If he’s compromised, then nowhere is safe. Marcus was already moving. Get Boomer. Get everyone. We’re moving Emma ourselves right now. Where? Somewhere the system can’t find her. Somewhere off the grid. Where? Then they were packing Emma’s things when Williams arrived. Two more FBI agents with her.

 She took one look at Marcus’s face and knew. You’re not trusting me anymore. I’m not trusting the system. Someone in your protocols is leaking information. Maybe accidentally, maybe deliberately. Either way, Emma’s location is compromised. So, what you’re just going to take her, hide her somewhere? That’s kidnapping a federal witness. Call it protective custody. Call it whatever you want.

 But I’m not leaving her somewhere that Morrison can find her. William stared at him, weighing options, calculating risks. Finally, she nodded. Okay, but I’m coming with you. And we do this my way off book, off record. If this blows up, it’s on both of us. Deal. They loaded Emma and May into an unmarked van.

 Boomer led the convoy 15 bikes, taking different routes, splitting up, regrouping, making sure no one could follow. They drove for 3 hours into the mountains deep into National Forest territory where cell signals died and road signs disappeared. Finally, they pulled up to a cabin Marcus knew from his early steel wolves days. Old hunting lodge owned by a veteran who owed the club favors.

 No electricity, no running water, no way to trace them here. Emma stumbled out of the van exhausted. Where are we? Somewhere safe, Marcus said. Somewhere they’ll never find you. For how long? Two weeks until trial. Then this is over. Emma looked at the dark forest surrounding them. The cabin that looked like something from a horror movie. Okay, let’s do it.

 They settled in. S brought supplies. Carlos set up a generator. Tommy established a satellite internet connection that couldn’t be traced. And Marcus stood watch, knowing that somewhere out there, the Harroves were planning their next move. 2 weeks until trial. 14 days until Emma had to walk into a courtroom and face the boy who’d killed her brother.

 14 days to keep her alive, keep her safe, keep her ready to testify. Marcus checked his gun, loaded a fresh magazine, looked at the dark trees surrounding the cabin. If the Hard Groves wanted Emma, they’d have to go through him first. And this time he wasn’t failing. This time he’d be there when it mattered. This time the kid lived.

 The two weeks passed like years compressed into days. Emma practiced her testimony every morning with Williams reciting the story until her voice went flat from repetition. May cooked on a camping stove trying to create normaly in a cabin with no electricity. And Marcus stood watch sleeping in 4-hour shifts always armed, always alert.

 On day 12, Tommy’s satellite connection picked up news that made Marcus’ blood run cold. Brad Thompson had been in a car accident. Single vehicle collision on a rural highway. Critical condition. Accident my ass. Carlos said the Hard Groves got to him. We don’t know that. Williams cautioned. Could be genuine. Brad’s the strongest witness besides Emma. Now he’s in a coma 2 days before trial.

 That’s not coincidence. Williams made calls, came back with more bad news. Brad’s in ICU. Doctors say he might not wake up for weeks. Even if he does, he probably won’t remember the accident. So, his testimony is gone, Sal said quietly. Not gone. We have his original statement.

 But without him there to testify in person to face cross-examination, it’s weaker. Defense can argue it’s hearsay. Emma had been listening from the corner, her coloring book forgotten. It’s my fault. Brad helped me and now he’s hurt because of me. No, Marcus said sharply. Brad’s hurt because the Harroes are criminals who will do anything to avoid justice. That’s on them, not you.

 But if I hadn’t, Emma, listen to me. You didn’t choose this. Derek chose to kill Jason. Charles Hargrove chose to cover it up. Brad chose to tell the truth. Those are their choices, their consequences. You’re just trying to survive. Don’t you dare take responsibility for their evil. She nodded, but her eyes said she didn’t quite believe him.

 That night, Marcus found her sitting outside the cabin, staring at stars that were impossibly bright without city lights to drown them. He sat beside her, said nothing, just waited. Finally, Emma spoke. What if I freeze up in court? What if I see Derek and I can’t talk? Then you take a breath. You look at me and you remember why you’re doing this. For Jason.

 For Jason. And for every other kid Dererick might hurt if he walks free, you’re not just testifying about the past. You’re protecting the future. That’s a lot for a six-year-old. Yeah, it is. But you’re not a normal six-year-old. You’re braver than most adults I’ve served with, and I’ve served with some pretty brave people. Emma leaned against his shoulder.

 Uncle Reaper, after the trial, when this is over, will you still visit or will you go back to your life and forget about me? Marcus felt something crack in his chest, kid. I couldn’t forget you if I tried. You’re family now, and family doesn’t abandon family. Promise, Pinky. Promise. They hooked fingers.

 And for just a moment, Marcus allowed himself to imagine a future where Emma wasn’t running, wasn’t scared, was just a regular kid going to school and complaining about homework and living a normal life. Then his phone buzzed. Williams, we’ve got movement. Morrison just put out an alert saying Emma’s been kidnapped by a dangerous militia group. He’s mobilizing county sheriffs to search for her.

 He’s forcing our hand, Marcus said, trying to make us bring her out of hiding. It’s working. If we don’t show up for trial tomorrow, the case gets dismissed. Derek walks. And if we do show up, Morrison knows exactly where we’ll be. So, we need a plan. A damn good one. They spent the night strategizing. By dawn, they had something that might work barely. The courthouse had underground parking.

They’d enter through there, bypass the public entrance where Morrison would have people watching. Williams would coordinate with federal marshals she trusted, not local cops. and the steel wolves would create a diversion drawing attention away from Emma’s arrival.

 It was risky, full of holes, but it was what they had. Emma barely slept. At 5:00 a.m., Marcus found her already dressed, sitting on her bed, hands clenched in her lap. I’m ready. You sure? No, but I’m doing it anyway. May checked Emma’s clothes one more time, smoothed her hair, kissed her forehead. I’m so proud of you, baby. Your brother would be so proud. I hope so.

 They loaded into two vehicles, Emma and May, with Williams in an unmarked sedan. Marcus and the others following on bikes. The ride to the courthouse took 90 minutes. With every mile, Marcus felt the tension ratcheting higher. They arrived at 7:00 a.m. The courthouse steps were already crowded. Protesters, reporters, people who’d been following the story online. Signs everywhere.

Justice for Jason. children over money. Derek Hargrove is guilty. But there were counterprotesters, too. People holding signs saying, “Innocent until proven guilty and stop the witch hunt.” The Hard Groves had money and money bought loyalists. Williams’ phone rang. She answered, listened, her face going pale.

Say that again. Pause. You’re certain. Longer. Pause. Understood. She hung up. Looked at Marcus. Tyler Marks recanted his testimony. Says he was coerced by FBI agents into making false statements. His new story matches Derek’s. They weren’t anywhere near Oak Street that night. He’s lying, Emma said from the back seat. Tyler was there.

 He filmed everything. I know, but without Brad to contradict him, it’s your word against Tyler and Derek. Two against one. But the video defense is arguing the video’s audio could have been recorded any time. That it doesn’t prove Derek was driving. Emma, they’re attacking every piece of evidence we have.

 This is going to be harder than we thought. They entered through the underground garage. Federal marshals met them, formed a protective circle around Emma. They took a service elevator to the third floor, avoiding the main lobby where Morrison’s people would be watching. The courtroom was already filling up.

 Charles Harg Grove sat at the defense table with three lawyers, all in expensive suits, all radiating confidence. Derek sat beside his father wearing a suit that made him look younger, more innocent. His hair was neatly cut, face, clean shaven. He looked nothing like the laughing killer from Emma’s description. When Dererick saw Emma enter, he smiled. Not a smirk, not a threat, just a small sad smile that said, “I’m sorry you’re confused.” A smile calculated to make him look sympathetic. Emma’s hand tightened on Marcus’s. I hate him.

 I know, but you don’t have to like him. You just have to tell the truth about him. Judge Ramsay entered Old Stern, allegedly impartial, but Marcus had his doubts. All rise. Court is now in session. The state of Montana versus Derek Hargrove case number. The formalities washed over Marcus.

 He was focused on Emma watching her face, reading her fear, her determination, her exhaustion. 6 years old, and carrying the weight of justice on shoulders that shouldn’t have to carry anything heavier than a backpack. The prosecutor, a woman named Sarah Chen, no relation to Emma, but she’d taken the case personally, stood. Your honor, the state calls Emma Chen to the stand. Emma stood on shaking legs.

 May squeezed her hand once released her. Williams nodded encouragement. Marcus gave her a small salute. Emma walked to the witness stand so small she could barely see over the edge. The baiff brought a phone book for her to sit on. Someone in the gallery snickered. The judge’s gavel came down hard. This is a courtroom, not a comedy club. Next person who makes a sound gets removed. Proceed. Ms. Chen.

 The prosecutor approached gently. Emma, can you state your full name for the record? Emma Lee Chen. And how old are you, Emma? Six, almost seven. Emma, do you know why you’re here today? To tell the truth about what happened to my brother and what happened to your brother. Emma took a breath looking at Marcus. He nodded once. She turned back to the prosecutor. Derek Hargrove killed him.

He hit Jason with his car on purpose and then he left him there to die. Murmurss through the courtroom. The judge’s gavel again. order. For the next hour, the prosecutor walked Emma through her testimony. The walk home from the library. Dererick’s BMW coming too fast. Jason pushing her out of the way.

 The impact. Derek getting out laughing. Tyler filming. The photo Emma took with Jason’s phone. Emma’s voice never wavered. She spoke clearly, simply truthfully. No embellishment, no drama, just a child recounting the worst night of her life. Then came cross-examination. Derek’s lead attorney, a man named Richard Klene, 60 silver-haired, famous for getting rich clients acquitted, stood slowly.

Emma, my name is Mr. Klene. I’m going to ask you some questions. Is that okay? Okay, Emma, you love your brother very much, don’t you? Yes. And when he died, you were very sad. Yes. So sad that you had nightmares. Isn’t that right? Yes. Nightmares where you saw scary things that weren’t real. They were nightmares.

I knew they weren’t real when I woke up. But in the moment, in the nightmare, they felt real, didn’t they? Emma hesitated. I guess so. Sometimes your mind creates images that feel real but aren’t. Is that fair to say, but objection? Sarah Chen called leading the witness. sustained. Mr. Klene rephrase.

 Klein smiled. Emma, you told your school counselor that sometimes you have trouble sleeping because you see your brother in your dreams. Is that true? Yes. And in those dreams does your brother talk to you. Sometimes tell you things. Sometimes. What kind of things? That he’s okay. That he loves me. That I should be brave.

So, your mind creates conversations with your dead brother. Conversations that feel real, but aren’t actually happening. Emma’s voice got smaller. They’re just dreams. But they feel real while you’re having them. Just like the night your brother died felt real. But Emma, what if what if your memory of that night is like your dreams? What if your mind created details that feel real but aren’t quite accurate? No, I know what I saw. You were 6 years old. It was dark. You were terrified your brother was dying.

That’s a lot of chaos for a little girl. Isn’t it possible you didn’t see everything clearly? I saw Derek hit Jason. I saw his face. Or did you see a car hit Jason and later when you learned Derek drove a BMW, your mind filled in that it was Derek? No, I saw him. Emma, you don’t like Derek very much, do you? No.

 Why not? because he killed my brother or because you need someone to blame for your brother’s death and Dererick’s a convenient target. Objection. Sarah Chen was on her feet. Council is badgering a six-year-old witness. Withdrawn. Klein paused, letting the suggestion hang in the air. Emma, your mother was threatened with deportation if you testified. Isn’t that right? Yes.

 So, you have a strong reason to want Derek to be guilty because if he’s innocent, if this was just a random hit and run that was never solved, then your mother’s immigration problems don’t go away. But if Dererick’s guilty, if his father is punished, then your mother becomes a sympathetic figure.

 A victim, someone the system might help. Emma’s face went red. That’s not I’m not lying for my mom, but you lied before to protect your mother. You told your teacher your father didn’t hit you when he did. You admitted that earlier, so you’re willing to lie when you think it will protect your family. I’m not lying now, Emma. I’m not saying you’re deliberately lying.

 I’m saying your memory might be unreliable. That your mind might have created a story that serves your family’s needs. And six-year-old children often can’t tell the difference between what they remember and what they’ve been told to remember. Objection. Sarah was practically shouting. Your honor, this is outrageous. He’s essentially calling a traumatized child a liar. Sustained.

Mr. Klein, you’re done. But your honor, you’re done. Step back. Klein returned to his seat, satisfied. The damage was done. He’d planted doubt in the jury’s minds. Maybe Emma was confused. Maybe her memory was unreliable.

 Maybe this was all a tragic misunderstanding combined with a desperate family’s need for someone to blame. Emma stepped down from the witness stand, tears streaming down her face. Marcus met her halfway, pulled her into a hug. You did good, kid. You told the truth. But nobody believes me, she sobbed. They think I’m making it up. Some people do, some people don’t. That’s not your fault. You did your part. The trial continued for three more days.

The prosecutor called witnesses Rosie from the diner who testified about Emma’s terror when she ran in. Tommy who testified about the metadata on the photos. Medical examiner who testified about Jason’s injuries being consistent with deliberate impact rather than accident. But the defense countered everything.

 Rosie admitted she didn’t actually see the accident. Tommy admitted metadata could theoretically be altered by someone with enough skill. The medical examiner admitted he couldn’t definitively prove intent. And without Brad Thompson’s testimony, without Tyler Marks cooperating, it came down to one question.

 Did the jury believe a six-year-old girl over two teenage boys and their expensive lawyers? On day four, closing arguments. Sarah Chen went first, her voice ringing through the courtroom. Ladies and gentlemen, this case is simple. A child was murdered. Another child witnessed it. and powerful people are trying to make that witness disappear. Emma Chen is 6 years old. She has no reason to lie.

 She gains nothing from lying. All she wants is justice for her brother. And all Derek Hargrove wants is to avoid consequences for a deliberate cruel act that ended a 9-year-old’s life. Richard Klein stood buttoning his suit jacket. Ladies and gentlemen, my client is a 16-year-old boy who’s been accused of murder based on the unreliable testimony of a traumatized child. There’s no physical evidence connecting Derek to the scene.

 The photo could have been taken anywhere, any time. The video’s audio could have been recorded separately and attached later. And Emma Chen, sweet as she is, has admitted to having nightmares, false memories, and a history of lying to protect her family. Is that really the standard we want for convicting someone of murder? One child’s word against common sense.

 The jury deliberated for 2 days. Marcus spent those days with Emma at a hotel near the courthouse playing card games, watching mindless TV, anything to distract her from the waiting. On the afternoon of day two, Marcus’ phone rang. Williams jury’s back. They rushed to the courthouse. The gallery was packed, every seat taken, people standing in the aisles. Emma sat between Marcus and May holding both their hands.

Judge Ramsay entered. Has the jury reached a verdict? The foreman stood a middle-aged woman school teacher, mother of three. We have your honor. In the case of the state of Montana versus Derek Hargrove on the charge of vehicular homicide, how do you find? The pause felt infinite. Emma’s hands squeezed Marcus’ so hard it hurt.

 We find the defendant guilty. The courtroom exploded. Shouts, crying applause. Charles Hargrove shot to his feet. This is a miscarriage of justice. Will appeal. Derek sat frozen face white with shock. Judge Ramsay’s gavvel slammed down repeatedly. Order. I will have order. The noise slowly died. Emma was crying pressed against her mother.

 Marcus felt something like relief flooding through him. On the charge of fleeing the scene of an accident. How do you find guilty? On the charge of witness intimidation, guilty. Three guilty verdicts. Derek Hargrove was going to prison. Sentencing will be scheduled for Ramsay consulted his calendar. 3 weeks from today.

 Until then, the defendant is remanded into custody pending. Your honor, Klein was on his feet. We request continue bail. Denied. Baiff take the defendant into custody. Two baiffs moved toward Derek. He looked at his father at the jury at Emma and for just a second his mask slipped. The nice boy facade cracked and something ugly showed through. He mouthed words at Emma, “This isn’t over.

” Then the baleiffs had him were walking him out in handcuffs. Charles Hargrove followed, shouting about appeals and corruption and injustice, but his voice was background noise now powerless. Emma turned to Marcus. Is it really over? Yeah, kid. It’s really over. Jason would be happy, right? Jason would be so damn proud of you. Outside the courthouse, reporters mobbed them.

Jessica Ramirez pushed through. Emma, you just helped convict someone three times your age of murder. How do you feel? Emma thought for a long moment. Tired and sad because Jason’s still dead. But also, I think I feel like maybe people will listen now. When kids say something bad happened, maybe they’ll listen.

 You think your testimony will change things? I hope so, because there are lots of kids like me, kids who see bad things and nobody believes them. And maybe if I can do this, they can, too. The clip went viral within hours. By the next morning, Emma’s face was on every news channel. Six-year-old hero brings down killer. Child’s courage exposes corruption.

Emma Chen, the bravest witness. Three weeks later, they returned for sentencing. Derek Harrove looking smaller now in an orange jumpsuit. No expensive suit to hide behind. Judge Ramsay read the sentence without emotion. Derek Hargrove, you have been found guilty of vehicular homicide, fleeing the scene of an accident, and witness intimidation.

While the court recognizes you were 16 at the time of these crimes, the deliberate nature of your actions and your complete lack of remorse require adult sentencing. You are hereby sentenced to 25 years in state prison. With good behavior, you will be eligible for parole in 18 years.

 When you leave prison, you will be 34 years old, perhaps old enough to understand the consequences of your actions. Derek didn’t react, just stared straight ahead as they led him away. Charles Hargrove’s trial came two months later. He was convicted of obstruction of justice, witnessed tampering and kidnapping. 15 years federal prison. His real estate empire collapsed within weeks.

 Everything he’d built crumbled because he’d tried to protect a son who wasn’t worth protecting. Sheriff Bennett got 8 years. Deputy Chief Morrison got 10. The entire Cedar Springs law enforcement system was gutted and rebuilt. and Emma Chen went home. Marcus helped them move into a new apartment, better neighborhood, better school, paid for by a GoFundMe that had raised $400,000 from people who’d followed the story. May’s immigration status was fast-tracked.

 Within 6 months, she had her green card. Emma started therapy, real therapy, with someone who wasn’t paid by the Harro. Started processing the trauma properly. Started being a kid again, going to school, making friends, joining soccer. But she stayed in touch with Marcus, called him every Sunday, sent him drawings, visited him at his garage where he worked on bikes. One year after the trial, Marcus got a call from Emma’s school.

 She’d been invited to speak at an assembly about standing up to bullies. Would Marcus come watch? He rode 3 hours to be there, sat in the back of the auditorium, while Emma, now seven and a half, stood at a microphone that was still too tall for her. My name is Emma Chen. A year ago, my brother Jason died protecting me from someone who hurt people for fun.

 For a long time, nobody believed me about what happened. Adults told me I was confused or making things up. But I wasn’t. And I kept telling the truth even when it was scary, even when people said I was wrong. Because Jason deserved people to know the truth. And because if I stayed quiet, the person who hurt him would hurt someone else.

 So my message today is this. If something bad happens to you, tell someone. Keep telling until someone listens. Don’t give up. Don’t let adults tell you you’re wrong when you know you’re right. Your voice matters. Use it. The auditorium erupted in applause. Emma saw Marcus in the back, waved.

 He waved back, felt that familiar ache in his chest that was part grief, part pride, part something he couldn’t name. After the assembly, Emma ran up to him. You came? Of course I came. Pinky promised I wouldn’t leave. Remember? I remember everything now. Agent William says, “My memor is getting better. More details coming back.” She says, “Trauma can hide things, but healing brings them back.” That’s good. That’s real good. Emma looked up at him.

Seriously, Uncle Reaper, I’ve been thinking. There are lots of kids like me. Kids who need help. Kids who don’t have bikers to protect them. What if we started something like a program or a group where people who care can help kids who need it? Marcus felt something shift in his chest.

 You mean like a nonprofit legal advocacy for children? Yeah, we could call it Jason’s voice. Help kids who aren’t being heard. Emma, that’s that’s actually brilliant. Will you help me when I’m older and can really do it? Marcus knelt down so they were eye level. Kid, I’ll help you right now. We’ll start small, but yeah, let’s do it.

 Let’s make sure Jason’s death meant something. Emma hugged him hard. Thank you for not giving up on me. Never. Not ever. They stood outside the school. This broken veteran and this healing child planning how to save kids they’d never met. Behind them, the steel wolves bikes lined up. Sal Carlos, Tommy, Boomer, 20 others who’d ridden 3 hours just to support Emma.

She’s something special, Boomer said quietly. Yeah, Marcus agreed. She is. You think we made a difference long-term? Marcus watched Emma talking animatedly with her mother about her speech about her ideas about the future. Yeah, we did. Maybe not the difference we expected, but the right one.

 5 years later, Jason’s voice was a reality, a nonprofit legal advocacy group for children in Montana. Emma, now 12, served on the junior board. Marcus ran operations. They’d helped 93 kids get justice in cases where the system had failed them. Emma still testified sometimes when cases involve child witnesses. Still told her story to juries who needed to hear it.

 But mostly she focused on school on being a kid on healing. She visited Jason’s grave every year on his birthday, brought flowers, told him about her life, about the kids they’d helped, about the difference his death had made. And every time she ended the same way, I didn’t let them make me quiet.

 Jason, just like you taught me, I used my voice, and I’m never going to stop. Marcus stood nearby during those visits, keeping watch, keeping guard. His phone buzzed another case, another kid who needed help. He’d answer it in a minute. Right now, he was here fulfilling a promise he’d made to a terrified six-year-old in a diner 5 years ago.

 Some promises were easy to keep, some were hard, but all of them mattered. And Marcus Hayes, who’d spent 6 years drowning in guilt over a daughter he couldn’t save, had finally learned that sometimes redemption doesn’t look like the past. Sometimes it looks like the future.

 Sometimes it looks like a 12-year-old girl who learned to fight because people believed in her when nobody else would. Sarah would have liked Emma, would have loved what they’d built together, would have understood that this was what Marcus had been looking for all along. Not to erase the past, but to honor it by protecting the future. Emma finished at the grave, turned back toward Marcus. Ready to go, Uncle Reaper? Yeah, kid. Let’s ride.

They walked back to his bike together. Emma pulled on the helmet he’d bought her custom painted with butterflies and her brother’s name. She climbed on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, trusting him completely. Marcus started the engine, felt the familiar rumble, the promise of open road ahead.

 Behind them, Cedar Springs was different now, better. Because one six-year-old girl had refused to be silenced. And in front of them, an endless highway stretched toward whatever came next. More kids who needed help, more fights worth having, more promises to keep. Marcus accelerated into the afternoon sun. Emma’s laughter cutting through the engine noise. And for the first time in 6 years, he felt something like peace.

 Not because the pain was gone, not because Sarah was any less dead, but because he’d learned what his daughter had tried to teach him all along. Being there matters. Showing up matters. Keeping promises matters. And he’d been there for Emma every single time. That was enough. That was everything. That was legacy.