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I FOUND A DYING HELLS ANGELS PRESIDENT IN THE SNOW – AND 750 BIKERS CAME FOR ME

Chapter 2

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It was heavy, ruined, and sunk into the snow.His thigh was trapped beneath the frame at an angle that made her stomach roll.Ava had watched enough school safety videos and emergency clips to know moving wreckage could be dangerous.She also knew leaving him pinned in freezing snow could kill him faster than any mistake she made.She planted her shoes in the drift, wrapped both hands around the handlebars, and pulled.Nothing happened.The Harley might as well have been welded to the earth.Ava gritted her teeth and pulled again.Pain tore up her arms.Her feet slipped.Her shoulders screamed.Kid, the man rasped.Ava ignored him.She shifted her grip and pulled with everything hunger, fear, anger, and seventeen years of being told she was nothing had left inside her.For one impossible second, the bike lifted.Just an inch.Maybe two.Enough.Move, she gasped.The man dragged his leg free with a sound that seemed to tear him open.Then the motorcycle crashed back down into the snow.Ava fell to her knees, chest heaving, vision flashing gray at the edges.The man stared at her.You are insane, he whispered.A broken laugh shook out of him.You are heavy, Ava muttered.Her teeth chattered so hard the words clicked together.She searched his vest with shaking hands when he jerked his chin toward an inside pocket.There was a phone there, slick with blood but still working.The screen lit up in the dark.No lock.Recent calls filled the screen with names that sounded less like contacts and more like warnings.Tank.Rabbit.Bones.Clubhouse.Emergency.Ava hesitated for one heartbeat.Then she pressed Emergency.The line rang once.A voice answered, low and hard.Yeah.There has been a wreck, Ava said.The words tumbled out of her.Interstate 90 eastbound, just past the Billings Motorsports Park exit.Your guy went off the road.He is alive, but he is bad.Real bad.Who is this.Just a kid, Ava said.But if you do not get here soon, your president is going to freeze to death in a ditch.Silence followed.It was so deep she thought the call had dropped.Then the voice returned colder than the wind.Stay with him.Do not let him sleep.We are coming.The line went dead.Ava stared at the phone.Then she looked at the man in the snow.President.The word on his patch felt heavier now.She had not just called friends.She had summoned whatever kind of family men like him had.Above the highway, the night began to tremble.At first Ava thought the storm was changing.Then the sound deepened.One engine.Then three.Then ten.Then so many that the air itself seemed to growl.Headlights crested the rise in a long unbroken line, cutting through the snowfall like white fire.Ava stood in the ditch with snow up to her shins and watched Interstate 90 fill with motorcycles.They came in formation, roaring out of the Montana darkness, chrome flashing, tires cutting through slush, every rider moving like part of one enormous creature.They did not send a car.They brought an army.The motorcycles stopped along the shoulder, front wheels lined near the bent guardrail.Engines idled until Ava felt the vibration in her bones.Men in leather and denim dismounted without shouting.Their patches caught the glare.Their faces were hard, bearded, scarred, unreadable.Ava stood below them beside their dying president and felt every eye pin her to the snow.She knew what she looked like.A runaway.A stranger.A trap.Maybe even bait.A man with a gray beard swung over the rail and slid down the slope with surprising control.His shoulders filled his leather cut, and a small name patch over his heart read Bull.Behind him came others.Bones dropped to his knees beside the injured man and began checking pulse, breathing, bleeding, and the pinned leg.Another biker braced the president’s neck with hands that were unexpectedly careful.Someone shouted for an ambulance.Someone else moved people back.The chaos had order inside it.
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I FOUND A DYING HELLS ANGELS PRESIDENT IN THE SNOW – AND 750 BIKERS CAME FOR ME

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