the doctor. “It was close,” she said. “His temperature was dangerously high, and he
was severely malnourished. We had to put him on IV fluids and remove that awful
chain. But... he’s a fighter. His vitals have stabilized. He’s sleeping now.”
A collective sigh of relief, followed by a chorus of cheers, erupted from the
bikers. High-fives and backslaps were exchanged. The Iron Souls had saved a life.
That night, the club gathered at their local clubhouse. The atmosphere was
celebratory, but there was an underlying tension. The puppy was safe, but the
monster who threw him onto the highway was still out there.
Jim stood at the head of the long wooden table, slamming his gavel down. The
room fell silent. “We saved that pup today, and I’m damn proud of all of you. But our
job isn't done. Somebody tossed a living creature onto our highway in a burlap sack.
I want to know who. I want to know what kind of truck they drive. I want to know
everything.”
The bikers nodded in agreement. They weren't police, but they had eyes and
ears everywhere. They had members who drove tow trucks, worked at gas stations,
and ran security for local businesses. The Iron Souls initiated their own
investigation. They pulled dashcam footage from truckers they knew who were on