A college boy raped the biker president’s 13-year-old daughter and posted the video online thinking his senator father made him untouchable. He was wrong. Thomas was working on his Harley when his phone rang. Lisa is in the hospital and there’s a video and everyone has seen it. Thomas dropped his wrench. What video? Just come to St.Mary’s right now.

 60 steel demons followed their president to the hospital. They found Lisa unconscious in a bed, Linda crying beside her. What happened? Thomas demanded. Dr. Patterson pulled him aside. Your daughter was drugged at a party and someone raped and filmed her while she was unconscious and posted it online. The room went silent.

Deadly silent. Who was all Thomas said. Brad Wellington, the senator’s son from the university. Every biker in that room knew that name. Senator Wellington owned judges, cops, and prosecutors. His son was untouchable. Or so everyone thought. Lisa woke up 3 hours later. The first thing she said broke everyone’s heart.

Dad, everyone at school has seen it. I want to die. Thomas knelt beside his little girl. You’re not going to die, baby. But someone is. Dad, please don’t do anything stupid, Lisa begged. Thomas kissed her forehead. I won’t do anything stupid. I’ll do something smart. That night, the steel demons held church.

Every member attended, rage filling the room like smoke. We all know the system won’t touch him, Thomas said. So, we handle this our way. Tank cracked his knuckles. When do we move? First, we need information. Snake, their tech expert, went to work. Within hours, he’d hacked Brad’s entire life. Computer, phone, cloud storage, everything.

 Boss, you need to see this, Snake said, his face pale. Brad had 43 videos, different girls, all drugged, all unconscious. He kept them like trophies. He’s been doing this for years, Snake reported. And look at these messages. Brad had been bragging to friends. Got the biker’s daughter, youngest one yet. Dad will handle any problems like always.

Download everything, Thomas ordered. We’re going to need it. Three nights later, Brad Wellington left a frat party at 2:00 a.m. drunk, laughing, not a care in the world. His car wouldn’t start. Strange since it was a new Mercedes. “Need help?” a voice asked from the darkness. “Brad turned to find 15 bikers surrounding him.” His face went white.

“My father is a senator,” Brad shouted. “You can’t touch me.” Thomas stepped forward slowly. “Your father isn’t here. I’ll call the police.” Go ahead, Thomas said. Take revenge at any cost, Lance. You just hit like and subscribe. Tell them you’re alone with the men whose daughter you destroyed. Brad’s hands shook as he pulled out his phone.

No signal. Snake had made sure of that with a jammer. What do you want? Brad whimpered. Justice, Thomas replied. They dragged Brad to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. the place where problems got solved permanently. Brad was crying now, begging, “Please, I have money. My father can pay anything.

” Thomas pulled up a chair and sat facing Brad, who was zip tied to a pole. “You drugged my 13-year-old daughter,” Thomas said calmly. “You filmed her. You posted it online for the world to see.” Brad started sobbing. “Please don’t kill me. Please, I’ll do anything.” “Anything?” Thomas asked. Yes. Anything. Good.

You’re going to confess. They filmed Brad confessing to everything. All 43 girls. How his father covered it up. Which cops were paid off. Which prosecutors were bought. Brad sang like a bird, hoping it would save his life. Please, I confessed. Let me go, Brad begged. Thomas stood up. Oh, we’re letting you go.

 But first, Tank and Razer dragged in several barrels. The smell of tar filled the warehouse. “No, no, no!” Brad screamed, realizing what was coming. They stripped Brad naked, his designer clothes cut away with knives, his gold watch, his fraternity ring, everything that made him feel powerful. “You like making videos?” Thomas asked.

 “We’re going to make one, too.” They didn’t use hot tar. That would kill him. They used warm roofing tar, sticky and humiliating, but not fatal. Brad screamed as they covered him head to toe in black tar. Then came the feathers from pillows they’d brought specifically for this. Please stop, Brad sobbed, looking like a giant mutant chicken.

 Did Lisa ask you to stop? Thomas asked quietly. Brad went silent. They filmed everything. Brad covered in tar and feathers, crying, confessing his crimes again while looking ridiculous. Now, here’s what happens, Thomas explained. This video goes everywhere. Every news outlet, every social media platform, everyone you know. No, Brad wailed. That will destroy me.

 Like you destroyed 43 girls, Tank asked. But they weren’t done. Razer brought out a tattoo gun. Hold still. This is going to hurt. They tattooed Predator across Brad’s forehead in large black letters. Permanent ink. Permanent shame. You can’t do this, Brad screamed. This is assault. Report it, Thomas suggested. Explain to the police how you got here.

Finally, around dawn, they threw Brad out on a street corner in the rich part of town, naked except for tar and feathers, predator branded on his face with copies of his confession plastered to every nearby wall. A jogger found him and called 911. By noon, the videos were everywhere.

 Brad’s confession, the 43 victims, the corruption, everything, but also the video of Brad tarred, feathered, and marked. The internet exploded. Memes were created within hours. Brad Wellington became the most humiliated man in America. Senator Wellington tried damage control, but you can’t spin 43 victims and a sobbing confession. The FBI had to act.

 The evidence was too public to ignore. Brad was arrested that afternoon, not just for the assaults, but for what they found when they searched his computer with the evidence the bikers had anonymously provided. Senator Wellington was arrested 2 days later for corruption and obstruction of justice. But the best part happened at Brad’s bail hearing.

 He walked in wearing a hat to hide the tattoo, but the judge made him remove it. The entire courtroom gasped, seeing predator across his forehead. “Your honor, my client was assaulted,” Brad’s lawyer protested. Do you have proof? The judge asked. Brad couldn’t answer. Admitting what happened meant admitting where he was and why. Bail was denied.

Brad was deemed a flight risk and danger to the community. In jail, Brad discovered that inmates really don’t like men who hurt children. The tattoo on his forehead made him an instant target. He begged for solitary confinement. Got it. Now he sits alone 23 hours a day with nothing but his thoughts and that word staring back at him in every reflection.

 The 43 girls came forward after seeing Brad’s confession. The trial was swift and brutal. Brad Wellington got 90 years in federal prison. Senator Wellington got 35 years. The warehouse video was never traced back to the Steel Demons. Officially, Brad was attacked by unknown vigilantes. Unofficially, everyone knew exactly who had delivered street justice.

 Thomas visited Brad once in prison. Just once. Brad was different. Broken. The tattoo had been partially removed, but left horrible scars that still spelled out the word. “You destroyed me,” Brad whispered. “No,” Thomas replied. “You destroyed yourself.” “We just made sure everyone knew it.” “Your daughter, is she okay?” Brad asked.

 “That’s none of your concern.” “I’m sorry,” Brad sobbed. Sorry you got caught, Thomas corrected. Sorry you’re not untouchable. Sorry Daddy couldn’t save you. The Steel Demons never faced charges. No evidence linked them to Brad’s humiliation. Brad Wellington became a cautionary tale. The untouchable senator’s son who learned that some forms of justice don’t come from courts.

 They come from fathers who love their daughters more than they fear the law. The tar eventually washed off. The feathers were removed, but the video lives forever online. Brad Wellington crying, confessing, looking like a pathetic chicken. Every few months, it resurfaces. Goes viral again. His shame refreshed for new audiences.

 In prison, Brad counts days. 90 years equals 32,850 days. He served 1,825 so far. Only 31,025 to go. The steel demons still ride, still protect, still deliver justice when the system fails. Because sometimes the law isn’t enough. Sometimes evil needs to be humiliated, marked, and caged. And sometimes a senator’s son needs to learn that real power doesn’t come from daddy’s money.

 It comes from righteous fury and brothers who refuse to let evil win. Brad Wellington learned that lesson covered in tar and feathers, crying like the coward he always was. The word predator might have faded from his forehead, but it’s burned into his soul forever. That’s what happens when you hurt a biker’s daughter.