Chapter 3 - Blood and Steel
By 2:00 AM, the garage had transformed into an improvised war room and safe haven.
Doc, the club’s medic and a former combat surgeon, set up a sterile station on the workbench. With practiced, gentle hands, he cleansed the deep bruises on Mia’s arms and examined the puppy’s back leg.
"The leg is fractured, but it’s a clean break," Doc reported softy to Mike while Mia sat nearby, wrapped in a heavy leather vest that swallowed her small frame. "A splint, some pain medication, and a few weeks of rest, and this little guy will be running around fine. As for Mia... the bruises on her arms are human finger marks. Grip marks from someone holding her down."
A dark murmur rippled through the gathered bikers.
Mia sat on the couch, sipping hot cocoa, her small hand buried in Goliath’s thick fur. Goliath lay stretched out beside her, acting as a living blanket, his heavy tail thumping softly against the floor every time she petted him.
"Mia," Big Mike said gently, sitting on a low stool across from her. "Can you tell us what happened tonight?"
Mia swallowed hard, looking down at Buster, who was now resting comfortably in a padded basket.
"Arthur isn't my real dad," she whispered, her voice trembling. "My real dad died three years ago. Arthur married my mommy six months ago. At first, he was nice. He bought us dresses and took us to big restaurants. But then he started getting mad."
She paused, tears welling in her big brown eyes. Goliath nudged her chin, nudging his nose against her neck until she let out a tiny, tearful giggle.
"He... he hurt Mommy," Mia continued, her voice barely audible. "He threatened to take me away if she ever said anything. Tonight, Buster barked because Arthur slammed a door. Arthur got so angry... he picked Buster up and threw him against the living room wall. He said he was going to throw him in the river. Mommy tried to stop him, but Arthur locked her in her bedroom."
Mia squeezed her eyes shut. "I took Buster, unlocked the back door, and ran into the woods. I saw the light from your garage and came here because I saw the big dog through the window. I thought... I thought he looked strong enough to protect us."
Big Mike felt a hard lump form in his throat. He looked at Goliath, the dog he had rescued from an illegal fighting ring five years ago. Goliath had carried his own scars for years, refusing to let anyone touch him until he learned to trust again.
"You picked the right dog, kiddo," Mike said, his voice thick with emotion. "And you picked the right house."
Sparks stepped forward, holding his laptop. "Mike, I ran Arthur Vance’s background. It’s bad. He’s the Senior Vice President of Vance Financial. He’s got millions, political connections, and heavy investments in local real estate. But more importantly, he’s on the board of trustees for the county police pension fund. Chief Miller is in his pocket."
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"So calling the local cops isn't an option," Doc noted grimly.
"Not yet," Mike replied. "Arthur’s going to use every legal lever he has to claim we kidnapped his stepdaughter. We need air-tight proof, and we need federal protection."
