50 Bikers are hiding in my house and my abusive foster parents have no idea they are silently hiding in our basement right now.
I’m seventeen-year-old Marcus, and three hours ago I did the craziest thing I’ve ever done – I stood on the highway exit ramp with a sign that said “HELP: Foster parents sell drugs, keep five kids locked in basement, police won’t believe us because my foster dad IS a cop.”
The scariest part? The biker who stopped wasn’t just any rider. When he read my sign and saw my black eye, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said
“I’m Detective Morrison, and I’ve been trying to catch your foster father for six years. Kid, you just gave me everything I need.”
What happened in the next four hours would free five kids, expose the biggest police corruption scandal in our county’s history, and prove that sometimes the most dangerous-looking people are actually the heroes nobody expects.
I’d been in the system for eight years. Twelve different homes. The Hendersons seemed perfect at first – big house, cop father, nurse mother, always smiling for the social workers. By month two, I knew the truth.
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