A broke teen collecting scrap to buy her sick grandmother's medicine found a bloody biker president hiding behind cardboard, and her decision changed everything.

The shadow cast by the high stack of appliances seemed to grow colder as the police searchlights swept nearer.

Luke pulled Sofia closer, his massive hand coming up to rest gently on the side of her beige hoodie, shielding her small frame from any stray beam of light. His gray eyes were intense, burning with a fierce, desperate seriousness that commanded her absolute attention.

"Listen to me," Luke whispered, his voice low, fast, and steady despite the chaos outside.

Sofia stared at him, her heart pounding against her ribs, her small hands gripping his bare, tattooed forearm. "What's happening?"

Luke didn't look back at the aisle. He kept his eyes locked on her small, dirty face.

"Whatever happens in the next five minutes..." Luke said, his words dropping like heavy lead weights into the dark space between them, "...whatever they say, whatever they ask you, whatever they promise... don't tell them your grandmother's name."

Sofia froze, her brown eyes widening in shock. "My... my grandma?"

"Do not give them her name," Luke repeated, his voice shaking with a terrifying, protective gravity. "Do not tell them where you live. Do not tell them what street you take home. You don't know me. You've never seen me. You were just picking up scrap metal."

"Why?" Sofia choked out, a small tear cutting a clean trail through the dust on her cheek. "Why would the police hurt my grandma?"

Luke looked over her shoulder toward the approaching footsteps.

"Because the man leading them isn't a cop tonight," Luke whispered bitterly. "He's a Crown Serpent."

Before Sofia could process his words—before her young mind could untangle the horrifying reality of what he was telling her—a harsh white beam of light cut directly through the gap in the appliances, pinning them both in a blinding glare.

"There! Whitaker!" a booming voice shouted from the main aisle.