Chapter 4 - THE BROTHERHOOD'S VETOBack at the Iron Skulls clubhouse, the storm had finally passed, leaving behind a clean, crisp dawn that painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and gold.
Mia was fast asleep on the club couch again, wrapped in Sledge’s heavy leather riding vest—which looked like a blanket on her—while Goliath rested his massive chin across her small ankles, refusing to move even an inch.
The front doors swung open, and Detective Miller walked in, his trench coat soaked with basement dampness. He looked older, heavier, as if he were carrying the weight of every horror he had just uncovered on Elmwood Lane.
He walked straight up to Mike, who was leaning against the workbench sipping black coffee.
"You guys saved her life," Miller said quietly, pulling a file folder from under his arm. "And you probably cracked an interstate trafficking and child exploitation ring that the feds have been trying to pin on upper-management white-collar syndicates for half a decade. Vance is finished. He’s looking at multiple consecutive life sentences without parole. His assets are frozen, his associates are running for the borders, and his wife is cooperating fully with the state."
Mike didn't smile. He just stared down at the black coffee in his mug. "And Mia?"
"Child services is handling her and her mother. They're being placed into a secure relocation program out of state," Miller said. He hesitated, looking over at the sleeping girl and the giant pitbull guarding her. "Though... it looks like she’s already picked her permanent security detail."
Miller slid a heavy legal document across the workbench toward Mike.
"What's this?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.
"An affidavit from the mother, countersigned by the state prosecutor," Miller said with a faint, tired smirk. "Vance used a shell company to acquire that puppy illegally from an unlicensed breeder as a 'punishment tool' for the kids. Legally, the dog has no registered owner of record. The mother wants Goliath signed over to Mia. Permanent custody."
Mike looked down at the paper, then over at Goliath. The massive pitbull lifted his head, locking those dark, intelligent eyes on Mike, letting out a soft huff of air as if to say, Well? Are you going to sign it or what?
A slow, genuine smile finally broke across Mike’s weathered, bearded face.
"Sledge," Mike called out across the garage.
May you like
"Yeah, prez?"
"Go get the club seal stamp. We're adding a new honorary member to the Iron Skulls."
