Snake’s eyes hardened at Emma’s words, the revelation striking a chord deep within him. His rough exterior belied a set of principles and a code that he and his fellow bikers lived by—protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, especially from abuse of power. The room, already steeped in tension, became electrified with a new resolve.
The Iron Wolves MC had a reputation, one forged on the fires of loyalty and justice, albeit their own brand of it. Snake stood, towering over the tiny girl, and addressed his brothers. “Alright, you heard Emma. Gear up. We’re riding out.”
In a matter of moments, the bar transformed from a scene of stillness into a hive of activity. Men who moments before had been quietly sipping their drinks or lining up shots were now donning helmets, checking weapons, and discussing plans in hushed, urgent tones. They were going to war, not just for Emma’s mother, but for the innocence of a little girl who dared to believe in their protection.
Snake took Emma by the hand, his grip gentle but reassuring. “We’re gonna find your mom, and no one’s gonna hurt your brother. You have my word.”
Emma’s eyes, still swimming with tears, reflected a glimmer of hope. She nodded, seemingly emboldened by the rough yet tender promise of this unlikely savior.
The bikers mounted their machines, engines roaring to life, the sound echoing like thunder through the midnight air. They rode out of the bar’s parking lot in a column of two, Snake and Emma leading the charge. The town’s streets, usually deserted at this hour, bore witness to the procession of leather and chrome, a cavalcade of defiance against the injustice silently tolerated for too long.
As they approached the neighborhood Emma directed them to, Snake’s mind raced through the possible scenarios. If the bad man was indeed a cop, then this required more than just brute force. It needed careful planning, swift action, and the element of surprise.
They arrived at a nondescript house, the kind that blended easily into its surroundings. But tonight, it stood out—a silent fortress of fear that the Iron Wolves intended to breach. Snake instructed a few of his men to cover the exits while he and a select few approached the front door. Emma, safely nestled with one of the more senior bikers, watched from a distance.
Snake knocked sharply, the kind of knock that brooked no delay. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a man whose face mirrored none of the shame or guilt that his actions warranted. But before the man could utter a word, Snake’s fist connected with his jaw, delivering a justice long overdue.
The Wolves moved swiftly, making their way through the house, finding the basement door and descending into the darkness. There, they found Emma’s mother, unconscious but alive, her breaths shallow but present. Snake carried her out, his heart heavy with the realization of how close they had come to a tragedy.
The sun was beginning to rise as they rode back, Emma’s mother safely on the mend, Emma herself cradled in Snake’s arms, finally at ease. The Iron Wolves had brought light to a dark corner of their town, and as the new day dawned, the message was clear: no one harms those they protect and gets away with it.
Emma had found her heroes, and the town had found its reckoning.
