“Macy, I’m going to help you. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
She laughed. Bitter. “Trust a biker who just paid ten grand for me? Why would I do that?”
I pulled out my knife. She flinched.
“I’m just cutting the ties.”
I cut them off. Handed her my phone. “Call whoever you trust most.”
She stared at it. “I don’t have anyone.”
“Then let me call someone who can help.”
I called Luther. My club’s lawyer. Woke him up at 3 AM.
“Luther, I need help. Human trafficking situation. Got a sixteen-year-old victim. Need safe placement. Need someone who can handle this properly.”
Luther was silent for ten seconds. Then: “Where are you?”
“Don’t move. I’m making calls. Stay on the line.”
Thirty minutes later, two cars pulled up. A woman from a trafficking victim’s advocacy group. A social worker Luther trusted. Not connected to the Kansas City system.
Macy panicked when she saw them. “You said you’d help!”Continue reading…
