This little girl had been told by her mother that if she ever needed help, real help, find the bikers.

Snake knelt down to her level, his massive frame making her look even smaller. The entire bar held its breath.

“What’s your name, princess?” he asked, his voice gentler than any of us had ever heard it.

“Emma,” she said, then added something that made every biker in that room reach for their phones: “The bad man is a policeman. That’s why Mommy said only find bikers.”

Snake picked up Emma like she weighed nothing, this terrifying-looking man cradling her like precious cargo.

“Brothers,” he said to the room. “We ride.”

No discussion needed. No vote taken. A child had asked for help.

“Tiny,” he barked to his sergeant-at-arms, “take five brothers and go to the hospital. Tell them we’re bringing in an unconscious woman, possible overdose or poisoning. Don’t let them call it in until we get there.”

“Road