Little Girl Texted, “He’s Hitting My Mum’s Arm,” to the Wrong Number — The Hell’s Angel Replied, “I’m On My Way.”

I closed my eyes for half a second. “Okay. That’s good. Stay on the phone with me. We’re coming right now.”

Outside, four Harleys sat in the lot like crouched animals.

We fired them up.

The engines roared into the night, and for the first time in a long time, that sound didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a promise.

“Do you hear that?” I asked her, wind already snapping my words.

“Yes,” she whispered, awe threaded through fear.

“That’s me and my brothers,” I told her. “We’re on our way.”

And we were.

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