I had only gone to the courthouse that morning to deal with a stupid parking ticket. I expected to spend twenty minutes signing papers, paying a fine, and getting back to my life. Instead, I walked past a teenage girl sitting alone on the courthouse steps, crying so hard she could barely speak into her phone. She looked about fifteen, maybe younger, and every few seconds she glanced toward the courthouse doors as if she was expecting someone terrifying to walk through them. People in suits passed without looking twice. Then she whispered something that made me stop. “Please, somebody. Anybody. He’s going to drag me home, and nobody will believe me because he wears a badge.” I didn’t know her name yet. I didn’t know what she’d survived. But within twenty minutes, I knew we couldn’t leave her there alone.
PART 1 — THE GIRL ON THE COURTHOUSE STEPS
My name is Mike, although most people in the motorcycle community call me Big Mike.
The nickname isn’t exactly mysterious.
