At two in the morning, the club door swung open hard—Ghost’s fingers brushed his gun… then stopped dead. A small girl, six at most, barefoot in the snow, was cradling a lifeless baby against her chest. Her breath came in thin wisps, her lips dark with cold. She swayed, then crumpled in front of him. “H-help… my brother… he’s not breathing…” Ghost felt his heart tighten in a way he didn’t expect. He knew instantly—this night had just changed.
The club was silent at two in the morning—a rare thing for the Iron Wolves, who usually filled the place with laughter, engines, and bad music. Ghost, the club’s vice president, was alone at the bar, nursing a cup of stale coffee and pretending he wasn’t tired. That was when the front door swung open so violently it slammed against the wall.
Instinct took over. His hand shot to the grip of his gun—until he froze.
A tiny girl stood in the doorway, barefoot in the snow drifting in behind her. Six years old at most. She clutched a limp infant against her chest, his tiny head buried under her chin. Her lips were purple from cold, her breath coming in thin, jerky wisps.
Ghost’s stomach dropped.
She took two steps, swayed, then collapsed onto the floorboards. Ghost lunged forward, kneeling beside her. The baby wasn’t moving.
“H-help…” she whispered, struggling to focus on him. “My brother… he’s not breathing…”
Ghost scooped up the infant first, checking for a pulse. Weak—barely there. Hypothermia. The kind that stole life quietly.
He wrapped the baby in his leather jacket, then lifted the girl into his arms. She trembled uncontrollably.
“What’s your name?” he asked, rushing toward the back room where the club kept emergency supplies.
“Lila,” she breathed.
“Okay, Lila. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
But his mind was racing. A child showing up at a biker clubhouse at two in the morning? Barefoot in the snow? Carrying a baby? Something was wrong—very wrong.
He shouted for the medic on call, Tank, who crashed into the room seconds later. “Damn,” Tank muttered, grabbing blankets. “Where’d they come from?”
“That’s what we’re gonna find out,” Ghost said.
As they worked, Lila tugged weakly at Ghost’s sleeve. “Please… don’t let him die. The… the man said he’d come back…”
Ghost went still.
“What man?” he asked carefully.
Lila’s eyes shifted toward the door, terrified. “The man from the truck.”
Ghost felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
“What truck, Lila?”
She swallowed, voice trembling. “The one… we escaped from.”
Ghost and Tank locked eyes.
And in that instant, both men understood:
This night wasn’t just unusual.
It was the beginning of something dangerous.
And whoever that man was… he might already be looking for them.
Tank worked quickly, warming the baby with heated pads and wrapping Lila in every blanket he could find. Ghost, however, couldn’t shake Lila’s last words. Escaped. From a truck. At this hour. Barefoot. In the middle of winter.
This wasn’t an accident. Someone had abandoned—or taken—these children. When the baby let out the faintest whimper, Tank exhaled in relief. “Breathing’s stabilizing. Weak, but he’s fighting.”
Ghost nodded, but his attention stayed locked on Lila, who was watching him with that anxious, too-old stare kids get when they’ve seen something they shouldn’t. Ghost crouched beside her. “Lila, sweetheart, can you tell me where you came from? Anything helps.”
She hesitated. Her small hands trembled around the cup of warm water Tank had given her.
“We were in a truck,” she said finally. “A white one. The man said he was taking us to see our mom. But… but he lied.”
Ghost felt his jaw tighten.
“Where were you before the truck?” he asked gently.
“A house. With other kids.” She looked down. “Sometimes they cried. The man didn’t like that.”
Tank swore under his breath.
Ghost kept his voice steady. “How did you get away?”
“I waited until he stopped at the gas station. He went inside. I opened the back door… grabbed my brother… and ran.” Her lip trembled. “But I didn’t know where to go. I just kept running. Then I saw the lights on your building.”
Ghost swallowed. If she hadn’t chosen the Iron Wolves… she and her brother might already be dead.
Tank stepped closer. “Ghost, this is bad. Real bad.”
“I know.”
And worse—the man would discover the children were gone. He’d start searching.
Ghost stood up, pacing. “We need to call Detective Harper. If this is what it sounds like, she’ll want to know immediately.”
Harper, an old friend—and one of the few cops who didn’t treat the Iron Wolves like trash—picked up on the first ring. Ghost gave her the condensed version.
Her response was sharp and immediate. “Do not let those kids out of sight. I’m sending a team.”
“Harper,” Ghost added, lowering his voice, “this feels bigger than a kidnapping. Lila mentioned other children.”
A pause. Then: “Hold tight. And don’t open that door for anyone.”
Ghost hung up and looked toward the entrance. He hadn’t heard anything. No footsteps. No engines. But he felt it—an unease crawling across his skin. As if someone, somewhere out in the darkness, was already watching.
Harper and her team arrived twenty minutes later. The moment she stepped inside and saw Lila wrapped in blankets and the baby clinging to life, something hardened in her eyes.
“Good work,” she told Tank, then turned to Ghost. “Walk me through everything.”
He gave her the full account while paramedics carefully evaluated both children. Lila refused to let Ghost out of sight, so Harper questioned her gently while he stayed close.
When Lila finished describing the house, the other children, the man, Harper let out a breath through her teeth. “This matches a case we’ve been building but didn’t have enough evidence to crack.”
Ghost clenched his fists. “So this guy’s been doing this awhile.”
“More than awhile,” she replied grimly. “And if he realizes these two escaped, he’ll try to disappear.”
Ghost looked down at Lila, who clung to his sleeve. “Then we find him before he finds them.”
Harper nodded toward her officers. “We’re already tracing every camera between here and the highway. And we’ll take the kids into protective—”
“No,” Lila whispered suddenly, panic flashing in her eyes. “Please… don’t make us leave.”
Harper softened. “Sweetheart, no one’s taking you to him.”
Ghost crouched beside her. “Lila, they’re good people. They’ll keep you safe.”
“But you saved us,” she whispered. “He’ll come if you’re not there.”
Ghost felt something twist in his chest. The club wasn’t exactly designed for small children—but he wasn’t about to let her spend another night terrified.
He looked up at Harper. “Let them stay until morning. Just one night. My guys will guard every inch of this place.”
Harper hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But if anything happens—”
“It won’t.”
Hours passed. Ghost arranged beds, posted men at every entrance, and stayed awake beside the kids. As dawn approached, he stepped outside to clear his head.
That’s when he saw them.
Tire tracks—fresh—curving from the main road toward the club before turning away again. Someone had pulled up, watched, and driven off.
A cold, crawling certainty hit him:
The man had already found the Iron Wolves. And he now knew exactly where Lila and her baby brother were. Ghost walked back inside, jaw set.
This wasn’t just about sheltering two kids anymore.
This was a fight.
And the Iron Wolves didn’t lose fights.
