Every leather-clad rider in that smoke-filled bar fell silent as a tiny child, wearing Disney princess pajamas, appeared in the doorway, tears streaming down her face, staring at thirty rough bikers as if they were her only hope. She walked straight to Snake, the towering six-foot-four president of the Iron Wolves MC, his arms like tree trunks and his face marked with scars. Tugging at his vest, she whispered words that would set the entire motorcycle club into action and expose the town’s darkest secret. “The bad man locked Mommy in the basement and she won’t wake up,” she said...
Continues…