**Diary Entry**
Ill never forget the night little Emily stopped me at the petrol station. Barefoot in her dirty *Peppa Pig* pyjamas, clutching a plastic bag full of pound coins, she begged me to buy milk for her baby brother.
It was past midnight, and Id just pulled in after a 600-kilometre ride, exhausted and aching for home. But there she stood, no older than six, tears cutting tracks through the dust on her face. Shed chosen mea rough-looking bikerover the smartly dressed couple filling up two pumps over.
Please, mister, she whispered, glancing nervously at a battered van parked in the shadows. Jamie hasnt eaten since yesterday. They wont sell to kids, but you you look like you understand.
I followed her gaze to the van, then her bare feet on the cold concrete, and finally to the shop where the clerk watched us warily. Something was very wrong.
Where are your parents? I asked, crouching down despite my protesting knee.
Her eyes flicked back to the van. Sleeping. Theyve been tired. Three days tired.
Three days. My blood ran cold. I knew exactly what that meantId left that world behind fifteen years ago.
Whats your name, love?
Emily. Please, the milk. Jamie wont stop crying, and I dont know what to do.
I stood slowly, resolved. Emily, Ill get the milk. But wait here by my bike, alright?
She nodded desperately, shoving the bag of coins at me. I didnt take it.
Keep your money. Ive got this.
Inside, I grabbed milk, formula, bottled water, and every ready meal I could carry. The clerk, a lad barely out of secondary school, shifted uneasily.
Has that girl been in before? I asked quietly.
Last three nights, he admitted. Different people asking for milk. Yesterday, she tried to buy it herself, but I couldnt rules say
You refused a child milk? My voice dropped dangerously low.
I called social services! They said without an address, they couldnt
I slapped cash on the counter and strode out. Emily was still by my bike, swaying with exhaustion.
When did you last eat? I asked.
Tuesday? Or Monday. I gave Jamie the last biscuits.
It was Thursday night. Technically Friday morning.
I handed her the groceries. Wheres Jamie?
She looked at the van, conflicted. Im not sposed to talk to strangers.
Emily, Im Bear. I ride with the Iron Guardians MC. We help kids. Its what we do. I showed her the patch on my vest: *Protect the Innocent*.
She burst into tears, her tiny body shaking. They wont wake up. I tried, but Jamies hungry, and I dont know
My worst fear confirmed. I called our president, Tank.
Brother, need you and Doc at the BP off the M1. Now. Bring the van.
Whats
Kids in danger. Possible OD. Hurry.
Then I dialled 999 and reported a medical emergency before turning back to Emily.
I need to see Jamie. My mates are comingones a doctor. Well help.
She led me to the van. The smell hit me first: filth, rotting food, despair. In the back, on grubby blankets, a six-month-old baby whimpered weakly. Too weak. And in the front seats
Two adults, unconscious, barely breathing. Needles on the dashboard. The mans lips were blue.
Emily stared up at me, desperate. Theyre not my parents. My aunt and her boyfriend. Mum died last year. Cancer. But they started taking that medicine that makes them sleep
Sirens wailed in the distance. Tanks bike roared into the forecourt, Doc right behind him in our van.
Doc, ex-army medic, checked Jamie instantly. Tank took one look and understood.
How long? he asked.
Kid says three days.
Christ.
Paramedics arrived, administered naloxone, and suddenly the place was chaospolice, ambulances, social workers. Emily clung to me, terrified.
Youre taking Jamie away, she sobbed. I tried to look after him. Im sorry, Im so sorry.
I knelt. Emily, you saved his life. Youre nine years old, and you saved your brother. No ones angry with you.
A social worker approached. Well need to place the children
Together, I said firmly.
That isnt always possible
Tank stepped forward, his patches a testament to decades of service. Maam, that girls the only mother that babys known. Separate them, and youll break them.
More bikes rolled in. Within an hour, thirty Iron Guardians stood in solidarity.
The social worker hesitated. Its a complex situation
No, I said. Its simple. They need a home together. Weve got foster parents in the club. The Wilsonshes ex-forces, shes a nurse. Theyll take them.
Doc nodded. Babys dehydrated, malnourished, but stable.
The aunt and boyfriend, now conscious and cuffed, yelled from the ambulances.
Emily! Dont let them take you! Im sorry!
Emily buried her face in my vest. Will I see them again?
I looked at the Wilsons, who nodded.
Every week, if you want. Youre family now.
Why? she whispered. Why are you helping us?
I thought of my past. Because once, someone helped me when I didnt deserve it. Real bikers protect those who cant protect themselves. And you, Emily, are the bravest girl Ive ever met.
Finally, she let the Wilsons lead her away, but she turned back once.
Bear Mum said angels dont always have wings. Sometimes they have motorbikes.
I had to walk away, my eyes burning.
A week later, I visited Emily and Jamie. She ran to me, clean and grinning. Jamie, chubby-cheeked in Mrs. Wilsons arms, gurgled happily.
He smiled properly yesterday, Emily said proudly.
In the months that followed, the club wrapped around them. Bikes outside their house every Sunday. Emily learning our names; Jamie spoiled by tough men turned gentle giants.
The aunt got three years in prison.
A year later, at our annual charity ride, Emily stood before 500 bikers. Ten years old, safe, strong.
People say bikers are scary, she said, holding Jamie close as the crowd roared. But scary is being nine and not knowing how to help your brother. Scary is
As she finished her speech, the applause thunderous, I knew that stop at the petrol station had been fatea reminder that the bravest heroes sometimes start as a barefoot girl and a handful of coins.
