Part 1

“I need help.”

Three words. That’s all it took. Three words whispered from a dry throat, swallowed down by the smell of gasoline and old metal. The pounding in my chest was so loud I was sure the whole world could hear it. Every man in that garage went silent.

I was seventeen years old, standing in the doorway of the Iron Saints motorcycle club, shaking so hard my teeth clicked. I’d walked for miles through the darkest streets of Fresno, my knuckles white from gripping the straps of my backpack. My eyes were burning, red and raw from crying, but the tears had dried up about a mile back. Now, there was just cold.

I was staring at three men who looked like they could crush me with one hand.

One of them, the one everyone seemed to orbit around, looked up from the engine he was working on. His name was Jack, but I’d heard people on the street call him “Reaper.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just stared at me with eyes that had seen too much to be shocked by anything. Especially not a pathetic, trembling kid like me.

“Help with what?” he asked. His voice was low, like gravel moving over rocks.

My voice cracked. I tried to swallow. “My stepfather.”

The air in the garage changed. It wasn’t just my imagination. The man I’d later know as Tucker Reed straightened up from his toolbox. The quiet, giant one, Mason Clark, set down the tire iron he was holding.

Jack’s jaw tightened, a small muscle twitching just below his ear. “What did he do?”

I took a breath. Then another. I’d practiced this in my head a thousand times on the walk over. Rehearsed the words, the accusations, the plea. But now, standing here, the words felt like broken glass in my throat.

“He controls everything,” I finally managed to say. “Every word I say. Every breath I take. I can’t… I can’t live like this anymore.”

Jack didn’t move. His eyes searched mine, looking for something. “Does he hurt you?”

I flinched. It was the question everyone always asked. The only question they asked. And because my answer wasn’t simple, they always stopped believing me. “Not with his hands,” I whispered, shame washing over me. “But… but I’m scared of him. Every single day.”

Tucker muttered something under his breath I couldn’t catch. Mason’s fists clenched at his sides.

Jack’s eyes never left my face. “What’s his name?”

“Dwayne Miller.”

The name landed like a punch in the heavy air. Mason’s head snapped up. Tucker let out a quiet, sharp curse.

Jack’s expression went dark. “The ex-cop,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, the tears I thought were gone burning my eyes again. “He knows everyone. He knows the system. If I go to the police, he’ll twist it. He’ll make me look crazy. He always does.”

Jack took a step forward. Not close enough to scare me, just close enough to let me know he was there. Close enough that I didn’t feel like I was going to float away.

“You came to the right place,” he said quietly.

My knees almost gave out. I’d expected to be questioned. I’d expected doubt. I’d expected to be laughed at or, worse, turned away. I had not expected this. I had not expected belief.

“Why?” I whispered, the question escaping before I could stop it. “Why are you helping me?”

Jack’s voice was steady, a lighthouse in the storm that was my life. “Because guys like him think they’re untouchable. And we don’t let that slide.”

Tucker walked toward the back of the garage. “You eat today?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

“Figured,” Tucker said. “Sit down. We’ll get you something.”

Mason, the silent giant, grabbed a thick, worn blanket from a stack in the corner and tossed it onto an old couch. It looked stained and rough, but it was the kindest gesture I’d received in three years.

Jack leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed, studying me. “You’re staying here tonight.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

My chest tightened, a painful knot of relief, fear, and a gratitude so overwhelming it choked me. “What if he comes looking for me?” I asked, my voice small.

Jack’s eyes didn’t waver. “Let him.”

Those two words sent a chill down my spine. But for the first time in my life, it wasn’t from fear. It was from something else. Something that felt dangerously like hope.

I sat on the couch, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. It smelled like oil and metal, but it was warm. Tucker brought me a ham sandwich on white bread and a bottle of water. I ate it like a starved animal. Mason didn’t say anything, but he stayed close, standing like a silent wall between me and the world outside.

Jack pulled up a metal folding chair and sat across from me. “Tell me everything.”

I swallowed the last bite of sandwich. “Where do I even start?”

“Start with why you’re scared,” Jack said.

So I did.

I told him about the dinners, where Dwayne would criticize every word I said, every bite I took, until I just stopped eating with them. I told him about how my mother had stopped looking me in the eye months ago, how her spirit had just… deflated.

I told him about the way Dwayne’s voice could fill a room and make me feel like I was drowning in plain air. About the night I finally locked my bedroom door, and how I’d lay in bed, my heart trying to escape my chest, just praying he wouldn’t knock.

I told him about the time I tried to tell a school counselor. And how Dwayne showed up at the school within an hour, flashing his old badge and that perfect, practiced smile. He’d convinced them I was “acting out,” a “troubled teen” lashing out because of my new family structure. He made me sound like the abuser.

I told them how no one believed me. How, after that, I stopped trying.

Jack listened to every word. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t dismiss me. He didn’t tell me I was overreacting or being dramatic. He just listened.

When I finished, my voice was hoarse and my hands were shaking. The silence in the garage was heavy, broken only by the buzz of a fluorescent light overhead.

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going back there.”

My breath caught. “He’ll come for me. He will.”

“I know,” Jack said. “And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

Tucker crossed his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt. “We’ve dealt with guys like him before.”

Mason gave a single, sharp nod. Silent agreement.

I looked at the three of them. These strangers. These big, scary bikers who had absolutely no reason to believe me, let alone risk their own safety to protect me. And yet, here they were.

“Why?” I whispered again. “Why do you care?”

Jack’s expression, so hard before, softened just a fraction. “Because a long time ago, someone helped me when I had nowhere else to go. And I swore I’d do the same for anyone who walked through that door.”

He stood up, grabbing his leather vest—his “cut”—from the back of a chair. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we figure out the next move.”

I nodded slowly, my mind reeling. I didn’t know what the next move was. I didn’t know if this would work. I didn’t know if Dwayne would find me, or if he’d send the police to drag me back home, or if this whole thing was just going to blow up in my face.

But for the first time in three years, I wasn’t facing it alone.

Tucker killed the lights in the main garage, leaving only a small desk lamp glowing in the corner where I sat. Mason grabbed his jacket and headed for the main door, pausing to glance back at me. “You’re safe here,” he said quietly. Then he was gone.

Jack lingered by the door, his silhouette framed by the faint glow of the Fresno street lights outside. He looked back at me one more time. “Lock the door behind me,” he said. “Don’t open it for anyone but us.”

I nodded. He stepped outside, and the heavy door clicked shut.

I sat there in the dim light, the blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders. My heart was still racing, my mind still spinning, but the crushing weight on my chest had loosened, just a little. I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen.

15 missed calls from Dwayne. 23 texts from Dwayne.

I didn’t read them. I didn’t have to. I knew what they said. The threats disguised as concern. The manipulation. The poison.

Instead, I held down the power button. The screen went black. I set it on the floor.

For the first time in months, I closed my eyes and let myself breathe. Tomorrow would come. Dwayne would come. The fear would come.

But tonight, in a garage that smelled like motor oil, surrounded by strangers, I was safe. And that was enough for now.

What I didn’t know was that “tomorrow” was already here. Dwayne Miller wasn’t the kind of man who let things go. He wasn’t just angry. He was calculating. And he was already on his way.

Part 2

The problem with Dwayne wasn’t just that he was cruel. It was that everyone thought he was a good man. For fifteen years, he’d worn a badge in this town. “Officer Miller.” The guy who showed up at school fundraisers, the man who knew every cop, every judge, every person who mattered. He knew exactly how the system worked because he was the system.

He never yelled in public. He never left marks. He used his voice, his calm, his reputation. He’d stand in my doorway and talk for hours, his voice soft as silk, telling me how ungrateful I was, how weak, how lucky I was that he even bothered with me. “You think anyone’s going to believe you?” he’d say with that cold smile. “I’m a decorated officer. You’re a kid with an attitude problem. Go on. Try me.”

So I’d stopped trying. Until tonight.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up to the sound of a car engine. Not a bike. A regular car, idling just outside. My heart leaped into my throat.

I heard the garage door creak open just a crack. I saw Jack, who had been sleeping in a chair near the door, stand up. He stepped outside into the pre-dawn gray. I scrambled off the couch, my blanket falling to the floor, and crept toward the door, peering through the small, greasy window.

A car was parked right in front of the garage. And Dwayne Miller was getting out.

My blood turned to ice. He was wearing his “concerned father” face. He looked calm. He looked friendly. That was when he was most dangerous.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see them. Jack, standing there like a mountain, arms crossed. Dwayne, using his hands, smiling, trying to look reasonable. I saw Jack take a drag from a cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly. He shook his head.

Dwayne’s smile faltered. Just for a second. His posture changed. He took a step closer to Jack, his “friendly” mask slipping. I saw him point his finger, his voice clearly rising, though I couldn’t make out the words. He was threatening him. I knew that tone.

Jack didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He just stared back. Finally, he flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushed it under his boot, and said something that made Dwayne’s face go dark with rage.

For a moment, they just stood there. A silent, terrifying standoff. Then Dwayne turned, got back in his car, and drove away. Not fast. Slowly. Deliberately.

Jack came back inside, his face grim. He locked the heavy door behind him.

“He knows I’m here,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“Yeah, he does,” Jack said.

Tucker and Mason were awake now, drawn by the voices. “What do we do?” I asked, looking between them.

“We don’t let him take you,” Jack said. He pulled out his phone. “But he’s a cop… an ex-cop.”

“And he’s not untouchable,” Jack said, dialing a number. “Tucker, write down everything. Every threat. Every time he made you feel unsafe. Every single detail you remember. We’re building a case.” He put the phone to his ear. “Mason, call Rachel. Tell her we’ve got one.”

“Who’s Rachel?” I asked.

“A lawyer,” Mason said, pulling out his own phone. “She works with cases like this. She’s not scared of guys like Dwayne.”

For the first time, this felt real. Not just hiding. But fighting back.

We had two days. Two days where I almost let myself believe I was safe. Tucker taught me how to change a bike’s oil. Mason showed me how to wrap my hands before lifting heavy tools, his movements patient and precise. Jack sat with me every evening, going over my notes, helping me remember dates and details I had tried so hard to forget. For the first time in years, I laughed. It was a small, rusty sound, but it was real.

That’s when the knock came.

It was midday. The garage door was open, letting in the bright California sun. I was sitting on a stool, handing Tucker a wrench, when two uniformed police officers walked in.

My heart stopped. My blood ran cold. The wrench slipped from my fingers and clanged on the concrete.

Jack looked up from the engine he was working on. His face stayed calm, but his eyes went sharp. “Can we help you?”

The older officer, a man with graying hair and a shiny badge, stepped forward. “We’re looking for Amber Collins.”

I felt like I was going to be sick.

Jack wiped his hands on a rag, moving to stand between me and them. “What’s this about?”

“Her family reported her missing,” the officer said, his eyes finding me behind Jack. “We need to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s fine,” Tucker said, his voice a low growl.

The officer ignored him. “Miss, are you here of your own free will?”

My throat closed up. All I could see was Dwayne’s smile. You think anyone’s going to believe you? I nodded slowly. “Yes.”

The officer didn’t look convinced. “Your stepfather is very worried about you. He says you left without warning. He just wants to make sure you’re safe.”

“She’s safe here,” Jack said, his voice flat.

The younger officer shifted. “Sir, with all due respect, she’s a minor. Her legal guardian has the right to…”

“To what?” Jack interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet. “To drag her back to a place where she doesn’t feel safe?”

The older officer’s expression hardened. “That’s a serious accusation.”

“It’s the truth,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Both officers turned to me. I took a shaky breath. “He doesn’t hurt me… physically. But I can’t live there. I can’t breathe there. I’m scared of him.”

The officers exchanged a glance. The older one sighed. “Miss Collins, I’ve known Dwayne Miller for over a decade. He’s a good man, a respected officer. What you’re describing… it just doesn’t match the person I know.”

And there it was. The wall I had been hitting for three years. My stomach dropped. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“I believe you believe that,” the officer said kindly, which was worse than yelling. “But sometimes when we’re upset, we see things differently than they are.”

“I’m not upset!” my voice rose, cracking with desperation. “I’m scared!”

The officer leaned back. “Your stepfather has agreed to come pick you up from the station. He wants to talk, work things out.”

“No!” I backed away. “No, please, you can’t!”

“You’re a minor,” the officer said gently. “He’s your legal guardian. Unless there’s concrete evidence of abuse, my hands are tied. I can’t keep you from him.”

“You’re not listening to me!” I screamed, the tears finally breaking free.

The door to the small office opened. And Dwayne walked in.

He looked calm. Concerned. He had the “worried father” mask on, and it was perfect.

“Amber,” he said softly. “Thank God you’re okay.”

I stumbled back, my chair scraping against the floor. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what you told these people, but we can talk about this at home.”

“I’m not going home with you!”

Dwayne’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, you are.”

The older officer stood up. “Mr. Miller, maybe give her a minute…”

Dwayne turned to him, his voice firm but respectful. “With all due respect, officer, this is a family matter. I appreciate your help, but I’ll take it from here.”

The officer hesitated. He looked at me, my face streaked with tears. Then he looked at Dwayne, the calm, decorated ex-cop. And he nodded.

My world collapsed. I looked at the officer, at Dwayne, at the door. “Please,” I whispered one last time. “Don’t make me go with him.”

No one moved.

Dwayne stepped closer. “Come on, Amber. Let’s go home.”

Outside the station, Jack, Tucker, and Mason were sitting on their bikes, waiting. When the door opened and I walked out beside Dwayne, I saw Jack’s jaw clench so hard a muscle jumped.

Dwayne saw them. And he smiled. Not a friendly smile. A victorious one.

I looked at Jack, my eyes screaming the help I couldn’t ask for.

Jack revved his engine, once. A loud, sharp vroom that cut through the air like a gunshot. A warning.

Dwayne just laughed, a quiet, condescending sound. He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward his car. “They can’t protect you forever,” he whispered, so low only I could hear.

I got in the car, my body numb. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked in the side mirror. The three bikes roared to life.

They were following us.

The ride home was suffocating. The silence in the car was louder than any scream. Dwayne didn’t speak. He just drove, calm, controlled. In the side mirror, I could see them. Three headlights, keeping their distance, but always there.

We pulled into the driveway. The house I’d run from.

“Get inside,” he said, his voice flat.

I stepped into the house. It felt smaller, the air thicker. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands folded, her eyes red.

“Mom,” I whispered.

She looked up, but she didn’t stand. She didn’t reach for me. She just sat there, frozen.

Dwayne closed the door behind us. The click of the lock echoed in the silent house. “Go to your room.”

“I want to talk to my mom.”

“Your mother and I need to have a conversation first,” Dwayne said, his voice that terrible, soft calm. “Then we’ll talk. All three of us.”

I looked at my mother, pleading. “Mom, please.”

“Just go to your room, honey,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the table.

My heart shattered. I turned and walked down the hallway, my legs like lead. I stepped into my room and closed the door. I locked it.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely grip my phone. I pulled it out to text Jack, to tell him I was inside, that I was… I don’t know what.

No Service.

My stomach dropped. I checked the settings. Everything looked normal. But there were no bars. No Wi-Fi. He’d done something. He’d cut me off.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my heart pounding so loud it filled my ears. Outside my window, the sun was setting. The street was quiet. Too quiet.

Then I heard it. The low, distant rumble of engines.

I ran to the window. Two houses down, under a streetlight, they parked. Jack, Tucker, and Mason. They got off their bikes, leaned against them, and crossed their arms. They were watching the house. They hadn’t left.

I heard voices from the kitchen. Muffled, but tense. My mother’s, quiet and broken. Dwayne’s, controlled and cold.

Then footsteps. Coming down the hall.

I backed away from the door, my heart trying to escape my chest. The doorknob turned. It was locked.

“Amber.” Dwayne’s voice from the other side. “Open the door.”

I pressed my back against the wall, silent.

“Amber. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Leave me alone!” I screamed.

There was a long pause. When he spoke again, his voice was different. The mask was gone. It was pure poison. “You think those bikers are going to save you? You think they care about you? They’re using you, Amber. Making themselves feel important. But when this is over, they’ll move on. And you’ll still be here. With me.”

“I hate you!” I sobbed.

He laughed. A quiet, bitter sound. “Open the door, Amber.”

“No!”

“Open it!”

“NO!”

The doorknob rattled, hard. Then he slammed his body against the door, making the whole frame shake. I screamed.

Then, silence. His footsteps faded down the hall. I sank to the floor, my back against the bed, gasping for breath. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back.

I crawled to the window. They were still there. The three of them. A silent vigil in the dark.

Hours passed. I didn’t sleep. I just watched them.

Then I heard footsteps again, softer this time. A light tap on the door. “Amber?”

It was my mother.

I hesitated. Then I stood and unlocked the door. She stepped inside, her eyes swollen, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” My voice was hollow.

“For… for not protecting you.”

My chest tightened. “Then help me now. Let’s leave. Right now. We can run.”

She shook her head, looking away. “I can’t. It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Her voice cracked. “Because I’m scared, too.”

I’d known it, of course. Deep down, I’d always known. But hearing her say it out loud broke the last tiny piece of my heart. “So what?” I whispered. “You’re just going to let him do this? To both of us?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed.

“One day,” I said, my voice cold, “he’s going to go too far. And you’re going to wish you’d done something when you had the chance.”

I turned my back on her. “Get out.”

“Amber…”

“GET OUT.”

She flinched, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. I locked it again. Then I sat on the floor, my back against the door, and finally let myself cry.

Morning broke like a fever. I hadn’t slept. I’d spent the entire night by the window, watching the three silhouettes under the streetlight. They never left. Not once.

At 7 AM, a new car pulled up. Not a cop car. A sedan. A woman in a sharp suit got out, holding a briefcase. She walked right up to the front door and knocked.

I heard Dwayne answer, his voice already laced with false authority. “Can I help you?”

“Rachel Ortiz,” the woman said, her voice clear and cutting. “I’m an attorney representing Amber Collins. I have an emergency court order requiring her immediate removal from this residence pending a hearing.”

“I don’t know what she told you, but…”

“This is a protective order signed by Judge Henderson an hour ago,” Rachel said. “You can read it, or I can call the police to enforce it. Your choice.”

I heard a rumble. I looked out the window and saw Jack, Tucker, and Mason walking up the driveway, slow and deliberate. They stood right behind Rachel, a wall of leather and muscle.

Dwayne was silent.

I heard my name. “Amber Collins needs to come with me now.”

My heart raced. I unlocked my door and stepped into the hallway. My mother was standing by the kitchen, tears streaming down her face. Dwayne stood at the front door, his fists clenched, his face a mask of pure rage. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. Not with witnesses. Not with a court order.

“This isn’t over,” he seethed.

Jack stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the lawyer. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

Rachel looked at me. “Miss Collins. You’re coming with me.”

I walked past Dwayne. I didn’t look at him. I kept my head high, even though my hands were shaking. Rachel put a hand on my shoulder and guided me out the door.

The morning air hit my face. It was cool, and clean. It was the air of freedom.

“Told you we weren’t leaving,” Tucker grinned.

Mason gave me a small nod. Jack just looked at me, his expression steady. “You good?”

My voice cracked. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Three days later, I sat in a courtroom. Rachel was beside me. Behind me, the Iron Saints filled the entire first row. Jack, Tucker, and Mason were in the center, wearing button-down shirts instead of their cuts, but they looked just as intimidating.

Across the aisle sat Dwayne and his expensive lawyer. My mother sat two rows behind him, alone.

The judge, a no-nonsense woman named Henderson, looked at me. “Miss Collins, I’d like to hear from you directly.”

My throat went dry. I glanced back at Jack. He gave me a single, slow nod. You got this.

I stood up. “Your honor,” I began, my voice shaking. “I’m here because I’m scared. He never hit me. He never left bruises. But he controlled everything. What I ate, what I said, how I sat. He’d tell me for hours that I was ungrateful, that no one would believe me.”

I looked at Dwayne. He stared back, his face blank.

“I left because I couldn’t breathe anymore,” I told the judge. “And when I asked for help, the Iron Saints believed me. They protected me. I don’t want his money. I just… I just want to be free.”

Jack testified. Dwayne’s lawyer tried to tear him apart. “Isn’t it true you have a criminal record, Mr. Morrison?”

“I was arrested 20 years ago for assault,” Jack said, his voice calm, not rising to the bait. “I served my time. I’ve been clean ever since.”

“And you run a motorcycle club! Hardly a suitable environment for a minor.”

“We gave her safety,” Jack said, his eyes locking on the lawyer, “when no one else would.”

Finally, they called my mother. She was shaking when she took the stand.

“Mrs. Miller,” Dwayne’s lawyer said smoothly. “Do you believe your daughter is in danger at home?”

My mother’s voice was barely a whisper. “No.”

“Has Mr. Miller ever harmed her?”

“No.”

“Has he ever threatened her?”

Linda hesitated. Her hands were trembling. She looked at me, for the first time. Her eyes were pleading with me for… for what? Forgiveness?

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

The lawyer frowned. “You don’t know.”

And then, something inside her broke. The tears spilled over. “I don’t know because I stopped looking,” she sobbed, her voice suddenly loud in the silent room. “I stopped looking because I was scared, too! Scared of making him angry. Scared of losing everything.”

Dwayne’s face went dark.

“I told myself she was exaggerating,” my mother cried, looking at the judge. “But she wasn’t fine. I knew it. My daughter was drowning, and I looked away! I chose him over her. She deserves to be free. She deserves better than me.”

The judge was silent for a long time. Then she looked at me. “Miss Collins, emancipation is not an easy road. You’ll be responsible for yourself. Your housing, your education. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, your honor,” I said.

She looked at Jack. “Mr. Morrison, are you prepared to support her through this transition?”

Jack stood. “Yes, your honor. We all are.”

The judge nodded. “I’m granting the emancipation, effective immediately. Mr. Miller, you are to have no contact with Amber Collins. Violation of this order will have severe consequences.”

The gavel came down.

I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for three years. Rachel squeezed my hand. “You did it.”

Across the aisle, Dwayne stood slowly. His eyes were locked on me. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t remorse. It was pure, cold hatred. He’d lost. For the first time in his life, he had lost. He turned and walked out of the courtroom.

And I realized… I was free.

Six months later, I woke up to the sound of engines and Tucker yelling at Mason about a carburetor. I lived in a small apartment above the Iron Saints garage. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. I made coffee—too much sugar, just how I liked it—and no one told me I was doing it wrong.

I finished high school online. I got a job at a local diner. And every Tuesday, Mason taught me how to ride. He started me on an old Honda Rebel. The first time I twisted the throttle and the bike jumped forward, I screamed. The second time, I laughed.

The fear didn’t disappear overnight. For months, I’d wake up from nightmares, my heart pounding, thinking I was back in that house. But then I’d smell the motor oil, hear the rumble of bikes below, and I’d know I was safe. I’d go to my front door and touch the deadbolt—the one I had the only key to.

My mother texted me. She’d left him. She was in Sacramento, staying with her sister. She was in therapy. I read the message, and for the first time, I didn’t feel anger. I just felt… tired. I texted back one word: “Good.”

I was sitting on the roof with Jack, watching the sunset paint the Fresno sky orange and pink.

“You ever think about what comes next?” he asked.

“All the time,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest. “I want to go to community college. I want to study social work.”

He glanced at me. “Social work?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I want to help kids like me. The ones who think no one will believe them. The ones who are too scared to ask for help.”

“You’d be good at that,” he said.

“I still have bad days,” I admitted. “Days where I hear his voice in my head.”

“That’s normal,” Jack said. “Trauma doesn’t just disappear. But it gets quieter. And you get stronger.” He looked out at the horizon. “Someone pulled me out of a dark place once, too. Taught me everything I know. Before he died, he made me promise to keep this place open. Not just for bikes. But for people who needed it. People like you.”

I looked at him, at this man who had saved my life. “I’m glad you kept that promise.”

“So am I,” he said.

Downstairs, Tucker dropped a wrench and swore, making me laugh. This was my family now. Not perfect. Not polished. But real.

They had saved me. But more than that, they had given me a chance to save myself. My name is Amber Collins. I was a victim. Now, I’m a survivor. And I’m finally, finally, free.