His shirt hung loose on his thin frame. His sneakers were taped together. Dirt streaked his face—but his eyes were sharp, alert in a way no kid’s eyes should be.
Behind him, tied around his waist with frayed rope, dragged a battered black guitar case.
It was far too heavy.
The boy leaned forward with everything he had.
Scrape.
He stopped, breathing hard. Five bikers stared.
He didn’t run.
He looked straight at the snake patches.
“Are you… the Vipers?” he asked quietly.
Ghost answered. “Yeah. You lost, kid?”
The boy shook his head. “My teacher said… if things got really bad… I should find the men with the snakes. She said you help people no one else will.”
Marcus stepped closer. “What’s your name?”
“Ethan Miller.”
“What’s in the case, Ethan?”
The boy swallowed.
“My baby sister,” he said.
PART 2: Inside the Case
The garage went silent.
Marcus dropped to his knees and opened the rusted latches.
Inside—wrapped in a towel and dirty clothes—was a baby girl. Barely conscious. Lips cracked. Skin pale.
Alive.
Just barely.
“She wouldn’t stop crying,” Ethan whispered. “My stepdad said he’d make her stop. Said he’d put her somewhere she’d be quiet. The guitar case was the only thing he never checks.”