A heavily scarred rescue dog showed up bleeding at our motorcycle clubhouse at midnight, dragging a torn piece of a little girl’s pajama top. What we found when we followed him changed our town forever.

The dog’s name was Buster.

A seventy-pound rescue pitbull with a blocky head and a body covered in old scars from the life he’d lived before Lily found him.

Most people looked at Buster and saw danger.

The bikers looked at him and saw a survivor.

And Lily?