Snake’s eyes hardened at Emma’s words, the revelation striking a chord deep within him. His rough exterior belied a set of principles and a code that he and his fellow bikers lived by—protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, especially from abuse of power. The room, already steeped in tension, became electrified with a new resolve.
The Iron Wolves MC had a reputation, one forged on the fires of loyalty and justice, albeit their own brand of it. Snake stood, towering over the tiny girl, and addressed his brothers. “Alright, you heard Emma. Gear up. We’re riding out.”
In a matter of moments, the bar transformed from a scene of stillness into a hive of activity. Men who moments before had been quietly sipping their drinks or lining up shots were now donning helmets, checking weapons, and discussing plans in hushed, urgent tones. They were going to war, not just for Emma’s mother, but for the innocence of a little girl who dared to believe in their protection.
