Engines roared back to life in unison, a deafening chorus that vibrated through the pavement and into bone. Leather vests, heavy boots, and steel formed an unbreakable circle around Logan and Madison.
Chrome became a fortress.
Noise became a warning.
Logan lifted Madison gently onto his motorcycle seat. She clutched the handlebars instinctively, a small stuffed rabbit pressed tightly against her chest.
“You are safe,” Logan told her quietly. “Nobody is touching you today.”
For a moment that stretched endlessly, the interstate transformed into a battlefield defined entirely by tension.
Then another car arrived.
A silver sedan screeched violently onto the shoulder.
A woman stumbled out, hair disheveled, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. She ran toward the officers, waving a thick folder above her head.
“That is my granddaughter!” she cried desperately. “Please, do not let him take her!”
Everything unraveled quickly after that.
Her name was Donna Caldwell.