Bullies Mock His Christmas Wish—Then a Biker Gang Showed Up
They tore up his letter to Santa, mocking his wish… But they didn’t see who was standing behind them.
The icy snowball smacked Leo’s cheek, momentarily blinding him with pain. Ten-year-old Leo lay curled on the frozen driveway, clutching his precious letter to Santa. “Crybaby!” Kyle sneered, forming another icy weapon. “No mommy to run to now, huh?”
Brad, older and meaner, loomed over Leo. “Hand it over, Leo,” he demanded. Leo shook his head, whispering, “Please, it’s private.” But Brad kicked snow into his face and snatched the letter from his numb fingers.
As Brad read aloud Leo’s heartfelt wish for a dad to rescue him from Mrs. Gable’s basement, laughter erupted. “You think Santa’s gonna bring you a dad?” Kyle jeered. “You’re just garbage.”
Tears stung Leo’s eyes as Brad tore the letter to shreds, scattering his wish to the wind. Brad raised another snowball, aiming for Leo’s face, but a sudden rumble filled the air. The ground vibrated as the roar of engines grew louder.
“What is that?” Kyle’s voice quivered.
A fleet of motorcycles lined the curb. Towering men in leather vests approached, led by a giant with a skull emblem across his chest. The leader stopped before Brad, who dropped the snowball in terror.
“You gonna throw that?” the man asked, his voice a gravelly rumble. Brad stammered, “N-no, sir.”
Turning to Leo, the man knelt, brushing snow from his shoulder. “He’s with us,” he declared, pointing to his PRESIDENT patch.
Mrs. Gable stormed out, spewing threats and outrage. Gunner, the leader, faced her calmly. “Call the police,” he said. “We’ll wait. But first, let’s talk about Leo.”
Gunner’s quiet determination cut through Mrs. Gable’s bluster. He demanded to see Leo’s room. Reluctantly, she led them to the basement door, the slide lock glaringly obvious. Gunner’s eyes hardened as he surveyed the cold, damp space where Leo slept.
With a photo of Leo’s father in hand, Gunner’s eyes softened. “Leo, your dad was one of us,” he revealed. “He left to raise a family, but he was an Iron Skull.”
Mrs. Gable’s protests were drowned out by Gunner’s resolve. He ordered his crew to prepare for Leo’s departure, calling in a lawye
Bundled in a biker jacket, Leo climbed onto Gunner’s Harley. “Ready to roll?” Gunner asked, revving the engine. “Ready!” Leo shouted, gripping Gunner’s waist as they roared away.
They arrived at the Iron Skulls’ clubhouse, a festive haven bustling with families. Gunner introduced Leo as Jimmy The Saint’s boy. The room embraced him, the warmth of acceptance overwhelming.
Over ribs and laughter, Gunner presented Leo with a kid-sized leather vest. “You earn the skull,” Gunner said, “with good grades, chores, respect. Can you handle it?”
Leo nodded, his heart full. “I can handle it.”
Surrounded by his new family, Leo whispered, “Thank you, Santa.” Gunner heard him, his smile crinkling his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Leo. Welcome to the Skulls.”
