He thought she was just another lost kid in the storm, until he saw the tattoo on her wrist. That tiny angel wing meant one thing in Denver. She belonged to the most feared biker on the streets. Her father wasn't just looking for her. He was hunting whoever took her. And when the truth comes out, the homeless boy who saved her realizes he isn't a hero in this story. He's the leverage. What Reaper does when he finally sees the boy's face. You won't be ready for it. Welcome to the Hells Angels family.
Snow hammered the city so hard it felt like the sky was trying to erase Denver from the map. Cars were abandoned on I-70 like forgotten toys. Storefronts were dark, and the wind screamed through the empty streets as if it were alive. In the middle of that whiteout, a 12-year-old boy ran. Marcus's lungs burned with every breath, needles of ice stabbing his throat as he sprinted down the alley behind the old brick warehouses in Five Points.
The snow was already up to his shins, and it kept coming, sideways, like someone was throwing it at him on purpose. His thin hoodie was soaked through. The holes in his sneaker—let the cold in until he couldn't feel his toes. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Because the sound was still there. A small, broken cry. He skidded, slipped, caught himself on the dented side of a dumpster. The alley was a tunnel of white, the edges swallowed by the storm.
For a second, he thought he'd imagined it. Too many nights alone. Too many bad dreams. Then he heard it again. A whimper. Weak. Fading. Hello. His voice cracked in the wind. Who's there? No answer. Just the storm roaring. Marcus gritted his teeth and pushed deeper into the alley, boots crunching over ice and glass. This place. He'd slept here the week before, when the shelter downtown turned him away for being full. He knew the broken loading dock door, the graffiti on the wall. Layers of tags, and curse words, and one faded heart with initials scratched out. The sound came again to his left. He turned and saw a crumpled shape half-buried in snow beside the metal steps. At first he thought it was a pile of clothes someone had dumped.
Then a small hand twitched. Marcus's heart kicked hard. He dropped to his knees, brushing the snow away with shaking fingers. She couldn't have been more than seven. Her jacket had once been pink, the kind little girls wore to elementary school playgrounds and Target parking lots, but now it was torn and crusted with ice. Her brown hair stuck to her forehead in frozen clumps. Her lips were blue. Her eyes, big, hazel, and glassy, blinked at him like she couldn't quite see if he was real. Hey, Marcus whispered, his voice suddenly gentle. Hey, hey, stay with me. What's your name? Her teeth chattered. L. Lily. Lily okay. He swallowed, feeling the panic crawl up his throat. Nobody was coming down this alley. Nobody ever did. Not on a good day, and definitely not tonight.
Can you move? She tried to sit up and winced, clutching her side. I'm cold. She whispered, 'I lost. I lost my dad.' Marcus looked up and down the alley. No footprints except his. No car lights. Just a world made of snow and silence. He knew what happened to people who stayed outside in weather like this. He'd seen it once, two months ago, an old man— they covered with a sheet near the bus station downtown. The volunteers said exposure, like it was just a word and nothing. Not a slow, quiet way to disappear. He wasn't going to let that happen to her. Okay, listen to me, he said, his voice suddenly firm, older than 12. I'm gonna get you somewhere warm, alright? You just gotta trust me. Her eyes filled with tears.
Daddy told me not to talk to strangers. He let out a humorless laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. Yeah, well, tonight you got stuck with one. He leaned closer. But I'm the only one you've got. You want to see your dad again. She hesitated, then gave the small— Then we move now. He slid his arms under her, shocked by how light she was, how stiff her fingers felt when they clutched at his hoodie. When he picked her up, a soft, pain sound slipped from her lips, and her head fell against his chest. The wind hit them like a wall as soon as he stood, almost knocking him backward. He hunched over her, turning his back to the storm, and forced his legs to move. One step. Then another. The door.
Get to the door. Halfway to the loading dock, his foot hit a patch of black ice hidden under the snow. His feet flew out from under him. He twisted as he fell, taking the impact on his shoulder so Lily wouldn't. Pain exploded down his arm. Marcus. She whimpered. His name slurred like she wasn't fully awake. He froze. How do you know my name? She blinked slowly. You said it. Before. No, I didn't. He whispered an icy thread of unease slid down his spine, colder than the wind. He didn't press her, not now. He pushed himself up with his good arm, clutching her tighter and staggered toward the rusted metal door at the base of the dock. He knew how to jimmy the latch with a flathead screwdriver he kept hidden under the stairs.