The man lunged.
The blade sliced Noah’s forearm, fire ripping through his skin.
Noah cried out and swung.
CLANG.
The pipe smashed into the man’s hand. The knife flew.
Noah swung again, forcing the man back just long enough for the girl to scramble free.
“Run!” Noah yelled.
The man cursed, dove into the van, and sped off.
Noah collapsed against the wall, shaking, blood running down his arm.
The girl stood frozen at the alley’s edge.
“Are you… okay?” she whispered.
“I’m fine,” Noah lied.
The Roar
Before either of them could move, the ground began to tremble.
Not a truck.
Something deeper.
Louder.
Motorcycles.
A wall of engines thundered around the corner—black leather, chrome, and the unmistakable Death’s Head of the Hells Angels.
The lead biker—a massive man with a gray beard—leapt off his bike before it fully stopped.
“Emily!” he shouted, panic ripping through his voice.
“Daddy!” the girl screamed, running straight into his arms.
The biker dropped to his knees, clutching her like she might disappear.
“I’ve got her!” another biker yelled. “Where is he?!”
Emily pulled back, pointing toward the shadows.
“He had a knife… he was going to take me. But he stopped him.”
Every head turned.