The rumble of the engines was a symphony of salvation vibrating through my bones. “Do you hear that, Meera?” I asked, pressing the phone tighter against my ear amid the growling storm of horsepower.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread strung through the chaos.
“That’s us, sweetheart. We’re coming to help.”
The night air was a wolf’s bite as I rode, the road blurring past under the moonlight. It’d been a long time since I felt anything but the usual thrill of speed and the uneasy serenity of the open road. Today, the urgency was raw and unfiltered.
Behind me, Reaper, Chains, and Gunner were shadows in motion, their bikes forming a protective phalanx of iron and intent. We weren’t the law, but sometimes the law took too long. Sometimes the law needed help.
Maple Creek Lane arrived like a stage set up for a tragedy. Peeling paint, darkened windows, and the kind of silence that screamed of broken promises. We pulled up to 847, and I cut the engine, leaving an echo of thunder in its wake. The house was a weary thing, leaning into the night like an old boxer ready to collapse.
“Stay on the line, Meera,” I said, my boots crunching on the gravel as I approached the door with Reaper at my side.
“I’m scared,” she breathed, and it was like she’d passed her fear through the phone, letting it settle somewhere deep in my chest.
“I know. But you’re brave, and you’ve already done the hardest part. We’re here now.”
The door wasn’t locked. It swung inward with a reluctant creak, and inside, the house felt even smaller, the air heavy with the metallic tang of fear. On the stairs, a little girl with a halo of tangled hair clutched the phone like it was a lifeline. Her eyes were too big, too knowing for a child.
I kneeled, meeting her gaze with all the calm I could muster. “Hey, Meera. I’m Dagger. You did so good calling for help.”
She nodded, tears cutting tracks down her cheeks. “Mom…”
I glanced toward the kitchen. Reaper was already there, assessing with a careful detachment that came from years of seeing too much. He looked back at me and nodded once. Alive, she was alive.
“We’ve got her, Meera,” I assured her. “An ambulance is on the way, and your mom’s going to be okay.”
She let out a breath she’d been holding for what felt like her whole life. Her little shoulders slumped, and for a moment, she was just a kid again, drowning in a too-big shirt and too-big worries.
Gunner and Chains hovered at the door, keeping watch, ensuring that the man who did this wouldn’t be returning any time soon. In our world, there were lines you didn’t cross, and sometimes those lines had to be drawn in steel and resolve.
As the wail of sirens approached, Meera reached out, her tiny hand finding mine. It was a silent pact, a promise that she would never be alone again. And as I stood with her, waiting for the paramedics, I knew this night would linger long past moonset.
Sometimes, the world decides to spin differently, and the people you least expect become the heroes you most need. That night, the engines of Hell’s Angels weren’t harbingers of chaos but of hope, and in the end, the sound of salvation roared on two wheels.
