A teenage girl stumbled barefoot into a gas station parking lot, mascara running down her face, torn dress hanging off her small frame. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, shaking so hard she could barely stand. Inside the convenience store, the attendant was already on the phone, panicked. “There’s a biker gang out here trying to grab some girl!” he shouted. Customers rushed to their cars, assuming the worst. But I knew better. I’d been sitting in my truck by the air pump and saw what no

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