To Lily, I’m just the intruder who took over the garage and sleeps next to her mom.

She never calls me. Never. She barely looks me in the eye when I pass the salt at dinner. She usually keeps her headphones on, creating a force field between my world and hers.

So when that phone rang at 10:15 AM on a Tuesday, vibrating against the metal workbench, my stomach dropped faster than a busted elevator cable.

I wiped my hands on a rag, leaving thick black streaks on the gray fabric. My heart hammered a rhythm that had nothing to do with the V-twin engines we were tuning.

I swiped answer.

“Lily?”

Silence.

Static.

Then, a sound that tore my heart right out of my chest and stomped on it. A muffled, desperate sob. The kind of sound a person makes when they are trying to be quiet because they are afraid of being heard.

“Lily, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Jack…”

Her voice was a whisper, trembling so hard it sounded like thin glass about to shatter. It was the first time she had said my name without her mother prompting her.

“Jack, please… I don’t know who else to call. Mom’s at work… she won’t answer. She’s in a meeting.”

“Where are you?” My voice dropped an octave. The guys in the shop—Repo, Tiny, and Dutch—stopped working immediately. They know that tone. It’s the tone I use right before things get broken. It’s the tone that means violence is no longer a possibility, but a certainty.

“School,” she choked out, her breath hitching. “Room 204. They… they made me kneel, Jack. They’re filming me. They won’t let me up. They said if I move…”

She gasped, and I heard a slap in the background. Not on the phone, but near her.

“Smile for the camera, freak,” a male voice sneered in the background.

The line went dead.

I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t tell my boss I was leaving. I didn’t even wash the grease off my hands.

I walked out to the lot where my Harley, a custom Road King with pipes loud enough to wake the dead, was waiting in the sun.

I’m not a hero. I’m a rough man with a rough past. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve spent nights in cells and days in courtrooms.

But Lily? She’s innocent. She’s the only pure thing in my life besides her mother.

And someone was making her kneel? Someone was humiliating her for internet clout?

I put my helmet on, but I didn’t buckle it. I turned the key. The engine roared to life, a thunderclap that shook the birds off the telephone wires.

Chapter 2

Oak Creek High School was twenty minutes away if you drove the speed limit.

I made it in nine.

I wove through traffic like a man possessed. Red lights were suggestions. Stop signs were invisible. The wind whipped at my jacket, tearing at the leather, but I didn’t feel the cold. All I could feel was the rage burning in my gut.

I kept seeing her face. I kept hearing that whimper.

I thought about the last three years. The way I’d tried to be gentle. The way I’d bought her that expensive easel for Christmas and left it by the tree without a tag because I knew she wouldn’t accept it if she knew it was from me. The way I’d stayed out of her way, hoping one day she’d see I wasn’t the monster she thought I was.

And now, when she finally reached out, when she finally needed me, I was twenty minutes away.

I revved the engine, splitting lanes between a minivan and a delivery truck. Horns blared. I didn’t care.

I pulled up to the school.

I didn’t park in the visitor’s lot. I didn’t check in at the front desk to get a sticky badge.

I rode that bike right up onto the sidewalk, the chrome gleaming under the American flag flying on the front lawn. I hopped the curb, the suspension groaning, and killed the engine right in front of the main glass doors.

The silence after the engine cut was deafening.

A security guard came running out, one hand on his belt, his face red and sweaty. He looked like a retired cop who just wanted an easy paycheck.

“Hey! You can’t park there! You can’t be here! Sir, step away from the vehicle!”

I stepped off the bike. I didn’t run. I walked.

Heavy, purposeful steps. My boots crunched on the concrete. The chains on my wallet jingled, a sound that usually warns people to back off.

I looked at the guard. Just one look. I didn’t threaten him verbally. I didn’t raise a fist. I just let him see the look in my eyes. It was the look of a man who has absolutely nothing left to lose.

He stopped dead in his tracks. He took his hand off his belt. He stepped aside, swallowing hard.

“Room 204,” I grunted. It wasn’t a question.

“Second floor, first left,” he stammered, pointing with a shaking finger.

I pushed through the double doors.

The school was quiet. Eerie. Classes were in session. The smell of floor wax, old lockers, and teenage anxiety hit me. It smelled like rules. It smelled like a place where kids were supposed to be safe.

But Lily wasn’t safe.

I walked down that hallway, my leather jacket creaking, my boots heavy on the linoleum. I was a wolf in a sheep pen. I could hear the muffled voices of teachers lecturing about history and algebra through the closed doors.

I took the stairs two at a time.

Second floor. First left.

Then I heard it.

Laughter.

Cruel, high-pitched laughter coming from up ahead. It was the sound of a pack mentality. The sound of predators toying with prey.

Room 204. The door was closed, but the window in it was covered with construction paper.

I stopped outside the door. My breathing was steady, but my blood was boiling, hot lava in my veins.

Through the thin wood, I heard a boy’s voice. Arrogant. Entitled.

“Look at the camera, loser. Say you’re sorry for existing. Say it loud so the subscribers can hear you.”

Then I heard Lily crying. A soft, defeated whimper.

That was it. The last thread of my patience snapped. The civil part of me died right there in the hallway.

I didn’t knock. I didn’t turn the handle.

I stepped back, raised my heavy engineer boot, and kicked the door right below the lock.

Chapter 3

The sound of the door splintering was like a gunshot in a library. Wood chips flew through the air, settling on the linoleum like confetti at a disastrous party. The lock mechanism clattered to the floor, spinning noisily before coming to a rest.

The room froze.

It was a tableau of cruelty interrupted.

In the center of the room, near the teacher’s desk, Lily was on her knees. Her jeans were dusty, her hair a mess, hiding her face. She was trembling, her hands clutched to her chest.

Surrounding her were four of them. Three boys in varsity jackets—the kings of the hallway—and a girl holding a smartphone with a ring light attached to it. They looked like the cast of a teen drama, perfect skin, expensive clothes, and souls rotter than roadkill.

Behind the desk sat a teacher, a middle-aged man with glasses who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the universe. He was staring at his laptop, pretending not to see what was happening right in front of him.

When the door crashed open, the girl with the phone shrieked. The boys jumped back, their defensive instincts kicking in too late.

I stepped through the ruin of the doorframe.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t scream. I just let my boots do the talking. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

The silence in that room was heavy, thick enough to choke on. Twenty-five pairs of teenage eyes widened in unison. They took in the leather cut, the “Iron Reapers” patch, the grease-stained jeans, and the arms that looked like they could bend steel bars.

The girl with the phone lowered it, her mouth hanging open. The recording light was still blinking red.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the boys asked. He was tall, blond, the kind of kid used to getting his way because his daddy donated to the stadium fund. But his voice cracked. He sounded twelve.

I ignored him. My eyes were locked on Lily.

“Lily,” I said. My voice was low, gravel scraping against concrete. “Stand up.”

She looked up. Her face was streaked with mascara. Her eyes were red and puffy. When she saw me, fresh tears spilled over. Not tears of fear this time, but something else. Relief? Shock?

“Jack?” she whispered.

“Stand up, kid. You don’t kneel for anyone. Not ever.”

She tried to move, but her legs were shaking so bad she stumbled.

I moved. Fast.

I crossed the room in three strides. The boys scrambled backward, tripping over desks to get away from me. I reached down and took Lily’s arm. I was gentle, treating her like she was made of porcelain, despite the rage vibrating through my hands. I pulled her to her feet and tucked her behind me.

Now, I was the wall. I was the shield.

I turned my attention to the boy who had spoken. The one who had told her to apologize for existing.

I stepped into his personal space. I towered over him. I could smell his cologne—something expensive and musky trying to mask the scent of sudden, sheer terror.

“You like making movies?” I asked.

He stammered. “I… we were just… it’s a joke. It’s a prank, man. Chill out.”

“A prank,” I repeated. I looked at the girl holding the phone. She was frozen, the phone still pointed at us.

I reached out. My hand moved faster than a cobra strike. I snatched the phone from her grip.

“Hey! That’s an iPhone 15! You can’t—” she started to screech, indignation momentarily overriding her fear.

I looked her in the eye. “Password.”

“What?”

“Unlock it. Now.”

She didn’t argue. Her thumb shook as she pressed it to the screen. The phone unlocked.

I looked at the screen. The video was paused. I saw the thumbnail. Lily, crying, with this punk standing over her laughing.

I didn’t delete it. I needed it. I tapped the screen, emailing the video to myself. Then I sent it to Lily’s mom.

Then, I looked at the boy again. “You think you’re tough? You think power is making a girl kneel?”

He swallowed hard. “Look, sir, I didn’t mean—”

“My name isn’t Sir,” I growled, leaning in until my nose was an inch from his. “It’s Jack. And if you ever, ever look in her direction again, I won’t be kicking a door. I’ll be coming to your house. And I won’t be alone.”

I gestured to the patch on my chest. The scythe and skull of the Reapers.

“You know what this means?”

He nodded frantically. Everyone in this town knew what it meant.

“Good.”

I turned to the teacher. He was standing now, looking pale.

“Mr…?” I trailed off, waiting.

“Simmons,” he squeaked. “Mr. Simmons.”

“Mr. Simmons,” I said, my voice dripping with disdain. “You sat there. You watched them torment her. You let them film it.”

“I… I told them to settle down,” he lied. I could smell the lie on him. “I was writing a referral.”

“You were hiding,” I corrected him. “You’re an adult. You’re supposed to protect them. All of them.”

I grabbed a heavy wooden chair from a nearby desk. I didn’t sit in it. I smashed it against the floor. One leg snapped off.

The class screamed. Mr. Simmons flinched so hard he hit the chalkboard.

“That’s a referral,” I said, tossing the broken chair aside.

I turned back to Lily. She was gripping the back of my leather vest so hard her knuckles were white.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Jack,” she whispered. “The police… the alarm…”

Just then, the wail of sirens cut through the air outside. The school resource officer burst into the room, hand on his holster, followed by the principal.

“Freeze! Hands where I can see them!” the officer shouted.

I didn’t raise my hands. I just turned slowly.

“Officer Miller,” I said calmly.

The cop blinked. He lowered his hand slightly. He knew me. We’d crossed paths a few times. Not always on bad terms. He knew the club kept the drug dealers out of the neighborhood. He knew we had a code.

“Jack?” Miller looked at the broken door, the broken chair, the terrified jocks, and the crying girl clinging to my back. “What the hell is going on?”

“Ask him,” I pointed a grease-stained finger at the blond boy, who was currently hyperventilating. “Ask him why he was forcing my daughter to kneel on the floor while he filmed it for his followers.”

The word hung in the air.

Daughter.

I hadn’t planned to say it. It just came out.

I felt Lily’s head rest against my back. She didn’t correct me.

Chapter 4

The next hour was a blur of bureaucracy and tension, but I stood in the center of it like a lighthouse in a storm.

They tried to separate us.

“Standard procedure,” Principal Henderson said, adjusting his tie. He was a small man with a nervous tick in his left eye. “We need to question the student alone.”

“No,” I said. I sat on the edge of the teacher’s desk, arms crossed. “She’s a minor. I’m her guardian. She doesn’t say a word without me or her mother present. And her mother is thirty minutes out and furious.”

“Mr… ah… Jack,” Henderson started, looking at my cut. “You destroyed school property. You trespassed. This is a serious offense.”

“So is harassment,” I countered. “So is unlawful imprisonment. They wouldn’t let her leave. That’s kidnapping in my book. And you,” I pointed at the teacher who was currently giving a statement to the cop in the corner, “You have a duty of care. Negligence. That’s a lawsuit.”

I’m not a lawyer, but I know enough about the law to know when to push. The club has a lawyer on retainer, a shark named Rosenberg. I’d already texted him.

“We will handle the disciplinary actions regarding the other students internally,” Henderson said, trying to regain control.

“Internally?” I laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. “I just sent that video to her mother. And in about ten minutes, I’m going to post it online. I’m going to let the whole town see what happens in Room 204. I wonder how the school board will feel about ‘internal’ discipline then.”

Henderson went pale. “You can’t do that. Privacy laws…”

“They waived their privacy when they filmed a crime,” I bluffed. I had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good. “Officer Miller, did you see the video?”

Miller nodded grimly. He had watched it on my phone. He looked at the blond kid, Brad, who was sitting in the corner with his parents who had just arrived. The father was wearing a suit, looking annoyed that he had to leave work. The mother was looking at me like I was a cockroach.

“It’s pretty damning, Mr. Henderson,” Miller said. “It’s definitely bullying. Maybe assault.”

Brad’s father stood up. “Now see here. My son is a good kid. This is clearly a misunderstanding. And this… this thug broke into the school!”

I stood up. The chair scrapped against the floor. Brad’s dad took a step back.

“This thug,” I said quietly, “is the only reason your son still has teeth.”

I turned to Lily. “Get your bag.”

“We’re leaving?” she asked, her voice small.

“We’re leaving. You’re done here for today.”

“You can’t just take her,” Henderson sputtered.

“Watch me.”

I walked Lily out of the classroom. The hallway was filled with students now, changing classes. They parted like the Red Sea. Whispers followed us. Phones were out, recording.

Is that him? That’s the guy who kicked the door in. Look at Lily. Is that her dad?

I put my arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the lenses. We walked down the stairs, past the stunned security guard, and out into the bright sunshine.

The air outside felt cleaner.

My bike was still there on the sidewalk. A few kids were standing around it, admiring the chrome, but they scattered when they saw me coming.

I handed Lily my helmet.

“I don’t have one,” she said.

“Take mine.”

“But what about you?”

“I got a hard head. Put it on.”

She strapped the helmet on. It was too big for her, bobbling slightly. It made her look even younger.

“Hop on the back,” I said. “Hold on tight. And I mean tight. I don’t drive like your mom.”

She climbed on. I felt her arms wrap around my waist. Tentatively at first, then tighter. She buried her face in my leather jacket.

I fired up the bike. The engine roared, a beast waking up.

We pulled away from the school, leaving the sirens and the shouting and the toxicity behind.

I didn’t go straight home. I rode out of town, hitting the back roads where the trees arched over the asphalt and the air smelled like pine and gasoline. I needed to cool down. And I figured she needed to breathe.

We rode for twenty minutes in silence. The vibration of the bike, the wind, the noise—it’s therapy. It clears the head.

I pulled into the parking lot of an old diner on Route 9, “Sal’s Stop.” It’s a club hangout, but at this time of day, it was empty.

I killed the engine and kicked the stand down.

Lily didn’t let go immediately. She stayed there for a second, her forehead resting against my back.

“You okay back there?” I asked.

She pulled back and took the helmet off. Her hair was a mess, flattened by the helmet. Her mascara was smeared. But she wasn’t crying anymore.

She looked at me. Really looked at me. Not at the scars, or the patch, or the grease. She looked at me.

“You kicked the door down,” she said. A small, disbelief-filled smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“It was stuck,” I deadpanned.

She let out a short laugh. It was a good sound.

“You really… you really came,” she said softly. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Lily,” I sighed, running a hand through my windblown hair. “I know I’m not your dad. I know I’m rough. I know I scare your friends. But I married your mom. That makes you family. And in my world, you kill for family.”

She looked down at her sneakers. “They said… they said nobody cared about me. That I was invisible.”

“Well,” I gestured to the bike and the road behind us. “I think we just made you the most visible kid in the state of Ohio.”

She looked up, fear flickering in her eyes again. “Everyone is going to be talking about it. The video…”

“Let them talk,” I said. “Let them talk about how the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Iron Reapers is your personal bodyguard. You think Brad is going to mess with you now? You think anyone is?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Damn right.”

My phone buzzed. It was her mom.

I’m at the school. Where are you? The principal is threatening to expel YOU?

I chuckled.

“Mom?” Lily asked.

“Yeah. She’s at the school raising hell. We should probably go save the principal before she takes him apart. She’s scarier than I am.”

Lily smiled. “Yeah. She is.”

“You want a milkshake first?” I asked. “Sal makes the best chocolate malt in the county.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Chocolate sounds good.”

We walked into the diner. I held the door for her.

As we sat in the booth, the waitress, an old friend named Marge, came over with a pot of coffee.

” rough morning, Jack?” she asked, eyeing Lily’s tear-stained face.

“You could say that, Marge,” I said. “Two chocolate malts. Extra whipped cream.”

“Coming right up.”

I looked at Lily across the table. She was tracing the pattern on the Formica with her finger.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, really. Thanks. For… for claiming me.”

I felt a lump in my throat the size of a spark plug.

“Always, kid. Always.”

But the trouble wasn’t over. I knew that. You don’t humiliate a rich kid like Brad and embarrass a school administration without blowback. The war had just started. And I had a feeling the next battle wasn’t going to be fought with fists, but with something much dirtier.

My phone buzzed again. This time it wasn’t her mom.

It was an unknown number.

I swiped answer.

“Yeah?”

“Is this Jack Reynolds?” A man’s voice. Smooth. Professional. Cold.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name is Sterling. I represent the Bradley family. I’m calling to inform you that we are filing a restraining order against you, and pressing charges for assault and battery against a minor. And Mr. Reynolds? If you post that video, we will sue you for everything you own. Including that little garage of yours.”

The line went dead.

I looked at Lily, sipping her milkshake, finally looking peaceful.

I put the phone down on the table.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

I smiled. A wolf’s smile.

“Just fine, kid. Just fine.”

I wasn’t worried about the lawyer. I wasn’t worried about the lawsuit.

Because they didn’t know who they were dealing with. They thought I was just a biker. They didn’t know about the files I had in the safe back at the garage. Files that contained secrets about half the town council, including Brad’s dad.

They wanted a war?

I was about to bring them a nuclear winter.

Chapter 5

We rode back to the garage, the chocolate malt sitting heavy and sweet in my stomach, contrasting sharply with the acid of the lawyer’s threat.

When we pulled into the lot of “Jack’s V-Twins,” my wife, Sarah, was already there. She was pacing back and forth in front of the bay doors, her phone clutched in her hand like a weapon.

She saw us. Her face crumbled.

I barely got the kickstand down before she was on us. She didn’t yell. She didn’t scream. She pulled Lily off the back of that bike and crushed her into a hug that looked like it might snap ribs.

“I saw it,” Sarah sobbed into Lily’s hair. “Jack sent it to me. I saw what they did.”

Lily started crying again, the dam breaking in the safety of her mother’s arms.

I stood back, giving them space. My brothers—Repo, Tiny, and Dutch—stepped out of the shop. They were wiping their hands, their faces grim. They knew. In a small town, news travels faster than a Hayabusa on nitro.

“Cops were here,” Repo said, his voice a low rumble. He’s the President of the chapter. A mountain of a man who makes me look average. “Looking for you.”

“I figured,” I said, unzipping my jacket. “Brad’s dad got a lawyer. They’re talking assault, trespassing, the works.”

Repo spat on the concrete. “Councilman Bradley. That guy’s been trying to rezone our block for years so he can build condos.”

“He threatened the shop,” I told Repo. “Said he’d take everything.”

Repo’s eyes narrowed. “He said that?”

“Verbatim.”

Repo cracked his knuckles. “Then he didn’t just threaten you, brother. He threatened the club.”

Sarah pulled away from Lily, wiping her eyes. Her face had changed. The sadness was gone, replaced by a cold, maternal fury that was terrifying to behold.

“He’s not taking anything,” Sarah said, her voice shaking with rage. “And that boy… that monster… he’s not getting away with this.”

“He won’t,” I promised. “Take Lily inside. Lock the doors. Do not open them for anyone but me or Repo.”

“Where are you going?” Lily asked, her voice small.

“I have an errand to run,” I said.

I walked into the office at the back of the shop. It was messy, covered in parts catalogs and invoices. But in the corner, bolt-mounted to the floor, was a Liberty safe.

I spun the dial. Left, right, left.

The heavy steel door swung open.

Inside, there was cash, a few titles to bikes, and a stack of manila envelopes. I thumbed through them until I found the one marked “Civic Contracts – 2019.”

I pulled it out. It was thin, but it was heavy. It contained the weight of careers.

I tucked the envelope inside my cut.

When I walked back out, Repo was waiting by his bike.

“You going to see Bradley?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No,” I shook my head. “If we both go, it’s a gang intimidation charge. If I go alone, it’s a concerned parent having a conversation.”

Repo grinned. “A conversation. Right.”

“Watch the shop. Watch my girls.”

“With my life,” Repo vowed.

I got back on my Road King. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange. It was fitting.

Chapter 6

Councilman Bradley lived in “The Estates,” a gated community on the north side where the lawns were manicured with nail scissors and the driveways were heated.

The gate guard tried to stop me. I didn’t stop. I just rode around the arm, my pipes setting off the alarm on a parked Lexus as I passed.

I knew the house. Big, white pillars, looks like a plantation home. A monument to ego.

I pulled into the circular driveway. Bradley’s Mercedes was there. And a police cruiser.

Officer Miller was leaning against the squad car. He looked tired.

“Jack,” Miller sighed as I killed the engine. “I have a warrant, man. Don’t make me do this here.”

“I’m turning myself in,” I lied smoothly, stepping off the bike. “But I need five minutes with the Councilman to apologize first. Civilly. To smooth things over so maybe he drops the charges.”

Miller looked at me. He looked at the envelope sticking out of my vest. He’s a good cop, which means he knows the difference between the law and justice. He also knew that if he arrested me now, things would get ugly.

“Five minutes,” Miller said. “I’ll wait here. If I hear yelling, I’m coming in with the taser.”

“Deal.”

I walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

The door opened. It was Bradley. He was wearing a polo shirt and holding a scotch. He looked smug.

“Mr. Reynolds,” he sneered. “I see the police have arrived to escort you to your new home.”

“Can we talk?” I asked.

“I have nothing to say to you. My lawyer will do the talking.”

“Does your lawyer know about the concrete pour on the Oak Creek Bridge project?” I asked quietly.

Bradley froze. The ice in his glass clinked.

“Excuse me?”

“The bridge,” I repeated. “The one your construction firm won the bid for. The one where you used substandard materials and pocketed the difference? The one where you paid a certain building inspector to look the other way?”

His face went from smug to gray in two seconds flat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” I tapped the envelope in my vest. “Because my club ran security for that job site. We saw the invoices. We saw the cash handoffs. We kept copies. Just in case.”

He stared at me. He realized, suddenly, that the tattoos and the leather were just camouflage. He realized he wasn’t dealing with a thug; he was dealing with a businessman who played by older, bloodier rules.

“Come in,” he whispered.

We walked into his study. It smelled of mahogany and fear.

I threw the envelope on his desk.

“Here’s the deal,” I said, not bothering to sit down. “You are going to drop the charges. All of them. You are going to call the school board and tell them that your son is transferring to a private school. In another state. Preferably a military one.”

“This is blackmail,” he hissed.

“No,” I corrected him. “Blackmail is asking for money. I don’t want your money, Bradley. I want my daughter’s peace of mind.”

I leaned over the desk, planting my grease-stained hands on his pristine blotter.

“And if you don’t,” I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper, “I give this envelope to Officer Miller outside. And then I give a copy to the local news. You’ll go to prison for fraud and endangerment. You’ll lose the house, the council seat, everything.”

He looked at the envelope. He looked at me. He did the math.

“And the video?” he asked. “The one of my son?”

“If you do what I say, the video stays private. If you cross me, I make sure every college admissions officer in the country sees it.”

He slumped into his chair, a defeated man.

“Fine,” he croaked. “Fine. Just… take your file.”

“No,” I smiled. “I keep the file. It’s my insurance policy. To make sure you keep your word.”

I turned and walked out.

Chapter 7

I walked out the front door. Officer Miller straightened up, hand hovering near his belt.

“Everything good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, putting my sunglasses on even though it was dusk. “Mr. Bradley has decided not to press charges. It was a misunderstanding.”

Miller looked at the open door, where Bradley was standing in the shadows, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“Is that right, Councilman?” Miller called out.

“Yes,” Bradley’s voice floated out, weak and thin. “Let him go, Officer. No charges.”

Miller shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You have a nice night, Jack.”

“You too, Miller.”

I rode home. The ride felt different this time. Lighter.

But when I got back to the garage, the war wasn’t over. It had just moved to a different front.

The internet.

I walked into the shop. Lily was sitting on a stool, staring at her phone. Sarah was standing next to her, looking pale.

“What?” I asked, heart jumping. “Did he call back?”

“No,” Lily said, looking up. Her eyes were wide. “Jack… look.”

She turned the phone towards me.

It was a TikTok video. But it wasn’t the one of her kneeling.

It was a video taken from the back of the classroom by another student.

It showed the heavy wooden door shaking from a massive impact. Then, the wood splintering. The door flying open. And me, stepping through the dust like the Terminator, pointing a finger at the bully.

The caption read: POV: When you bully the wrong girl and her Stepdad is the FINAL BOSS.

It had 4.2 million views.

“It’s everywhere,” Lily whispered. “Twitter. Instagram. Everyone is sharing it.”

I scrolled through the comments.

OMG who is he? That kick though! W Dad. I wish my dad would do that. The way the bully froze! Gold.

“They’re not making fun of me,” Lily said, sounding stunned. “They’re… they’re on our side.”

“Of course they are,” Sarah said, hugging her from behind. “Because people hate bullies, baby. And they love a hero.”

I looked at the screen. I didn’t feel like a hero. I felt like a tired man who just wanted to eat dinner.

“Is Brad gone?” Lily asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s transferring. You won’t see him again.”

She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for years.

Then, she hopped off the stool. She walked over to me.

I braced myself. I didn’t know what to expect.

She reached out and traced the “Sergeant-at-Arms” patch on my chest.

“You really kept the file?” she asked quietly. “Mom told me.”

“I keep what matters,” I said.

She looked up at me. “Can we… can we go for a ride again sometime? Maybe this weekend? Without the crisis?”

I smiled. The scars on my face crinkled.

“Anytime, kid. I’ll get you your own helmet. A pink one?”

“Black,” she said firmly. “Matte black.”

Chapter 8

Two weeks later.

The fervor had died down. The internet moves fast; 4 million views became yesterday’s news. But at Oak Creek High, the memory lingered.

I pulled up to the curb to drop Lily off. I usually dropped her a block away so she wouldn’t be seen with the loud, scary biker.

“Here?” I asked, slowing down at the corner.

“No,” Lily said, adjusting her backpack. “Pull up to the front.”

I looked at her in the rearview mirror. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I rumbled up to the main entrance. Kids were milling about. When they heard the bike, heads turned. But this time, the looks weren’t fearful. They were respectful. A few kids even gave a thumbs up.

I stopped the bike.

Lily climbed off. She handed me her new, matte black helmet.

“Thanks, Jack,” she said.

“Have a good day. call me if—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “Call you if I need a door kicked down.”

“Or just a ride,” I grunted.

She started to walk away, then stopped. She turned back in front of the whole school.

“Hey, Dad!” she yelled.

I froze. The engine idled beneath me, vibrating through my bones.

“Yeah?” I called back, my voice thick.

“Love you!”

She turned and ran up the stairs, disappearing into the building.

I sat there for a minute, a 280-pound biker sitting on a Harley, trying desperately to blink away the moisture in my eyes before anyone saw.

“Love you too, kid,” I whispered to the air.

I kicked the bike into gear and rolled out.

The war was over. The bad guys lost. And me? I didn’t just win a fight. I didn’t just beat a Councilman.

I won something that can’t be patched or bought.

I won a daughter.

And God help anyone who tries to mess with her again. Because next time, I won’t stop at the door.