down.
“Shit, kid, a lil’ heads-up would’ve helped,” he complained as he held on to his back, feeling the lacerations that, though were still fresh, were beginning to form some scabs.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
I grabbed the packet attached to his belt, on his back right beside the holster that held his gun. He tried to look over his shoulder until the pain stopped him from turning further. He was surprised when I took the small container tucked underneath his belt, wondering, perhaps, why I knew what it was.
It was their standard emergency kit. Every member of their club - and every one-percenter in the country, if what my father said was correct - had one. They were trained to prepare these kits from the moment they became prospects, and for a good reason - its contents can save their lives as well as the lives of their brothers.
I emptied the kit on the bed. Out came the things that I expected were inside: tampons (to plug bullet holes), masking tape (to secure broken joints), a sewing kit (for minor wounds that need stitching), tylenol (to help relieve the pain), and a pair of condoms (for a variety of uses, really). However, I didn’t find what I was looking for.
“Ain’t got no diapers there,” he said, an attempt at humor. “Besides, I’m old but I ain’t that old to be incontinent.”
“I’m trying to find some cloth so we can clean up your wounds,” I explained.
“Lots of towels in the bathroom,” he suggested.
“I guess we can use those. But what will maintenance think once they see them smudged with blood?”
He grinned. “Clever thinkin’, kid. Ye’r a lot smarter than most of the prospects I know. But don’t fret about it that much. Go use the damn towels. We can just say that ‘ya have ‘yer period.”
“What?!” I couldn’t believe that he actually thought of that excuse.
“Oh... sensitive topic, huh? Nah! Just use them. By the time they’ll get to see the blood, we’ll long be gone from this joint.”
He had a point, so I proceeded to the bathroom to collect all the towels I could find. I went back and proceeded to wipe the lacerations on his torso. Some of them were still bleeding. The worst of his injuries was a tear just above his right rib. A huge chunk of skin was peeled off, and a bit of his flesh was exposed. He grimaced loudly when I tried to scrub it.
“Shit! So that’s where he got me,” he uttered.
“Who?”
“One of those gooks . Tried to shoot me from afar. The bullet grazed me, but I was too preoccupied to know where I was actually hit.”
“I don’t see any hole. Does that mean there’s no bullet inside you?” I asked worriedly.
“Yeah. It’s just a scrape... but please be extra careful because it hurts like hell.”
I chuckled. There he was... a huge, rugged, muscular man, frowning in pain, threatened by the touch of cloth that would clean his wound.
“What’re ‘ya laughin’ at, kid?” he asked, rather peeved.
“Nothing,” I mumbled as I quickly stifled my snicker. A smile lingered on my face, though. It was the first time that I saw him - or any of his kind - ruffled like that.
“The Captolis aren’t happy about losin’ four of their men,” he said as he checked his phone which just beeped. “Veep just texted back. He said the boys are preparing for the worst. They’d be mobilizing tonight. The route from this motel to the clubhouse should be safe come morning.”
“F-Four of them?” I wanted to clarify, my voice breaking with nervousness. I knew he shot some of them just to free me, but I didn’t really know how many, exactly, he had to kill.
“Yeah,” Bane confirmed. “I know that may sound horrifying to ‘ya, but I had to do what I had to do, darlin’. It was either ‘yer ass or theirs. It was either us or them, actually... those
“Shit, kid, a lil’ heads-up would’ve helped,” he complained as he held on to his back, feeling the lacerations that, though were still fresh, were beginning to form some scabs.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
I grabbed the packet attached to his belt, on his back right beside the holster that held his gun. He tried to look over his shoulder until the pain stopped him from turning further. He was surprised when I took the small container tucked underneath his belt, wondering, perhaps, why I knew what it was.
It was their standard emergency kit. Every member of their club - and every one-percenter in the country, if what my father said was correct - had one. They were trained to prepare these kits from the moment they became prospects, and for a good reason - its contents can save their lives as well as the lives of their brothers.
I emptied the kit on the bed. Out came the things that I expected were inside: tampons (to plug bullet holes), masking tape (to secure broken joints), a sewing kit (for minor wounds that need stitching), tylenol (to help relieve the pain), and a pair of condoms (for a variety of uses, really). However, I didn’t find what I was looking for.
“Ain’t got no diapers there,” he said, an attempt at humor. “Besides, I’m old but I ain’t that old to be incontinent.”
“I’m trying to find some cloth so we can clean up your wounds,” I explained.
“Lots of towels in the bathroom,” he suggested.
“I guess we can use those. But what will maintenance think once they see them smudged with blood?”
He grinned. “Clever thinkin’, kid. Ye’r a lot smarter than most of the prospects I know. But don’t fret about it that much. Go use the damn towels. We can just say that ‘ya have ‘yer period.”
“What?!” I couldn’t believe that he actually thought of that excuse.
“Oh... sensitive topic, huh? Nah! Just use them. By the time they’ll get to see the blood, we’ll long be gone from this joint.”
He had a point, so I proceeded to the bathroom to collect all the towels I could find. I went back and proceeded to wipe the lacerations on his torso. Some of them were still bleeding. The worst of his injuries was a tear just above his right rib. A huge chunk of skin was peeled off, and a bit of his flesh was exposed. He grimaced loudly when I tried to scrub it.
“Shit! So that’s where he got me,” he uttered.
“Who?”
“One of those gooks . Tried to shoot me from afar. The bullet grazed me, but I was too preoccupied to know where I was actually hit.”
“I don’t see any hole. Does that mean there’s no bullet inside you?” I asked worriedly.
“Yeah. It’s just a scrape... but please be extra careful because it hurts like hell.”
I chuckled. There he was... a huge, rugged, muscular man, frowning in pain, threatened by the touch of cloth that would clean his wound.
“What’re ‘ya laughin’ at, kid?” he asked, rather peeved.
“Nothing,” I mumbled as I quickly stifled my snicker. A smile lingered on my face, though. It was the first time that I saw him - or any of his kind - ruffled like that.
“The Captolis aren’t happy about losin’ four of their men,” he said as he checked his phone which just beeped. “Veep just texted back. He said the boys are preparing for the worst. They’d be mobilizing tonight. The route from this motel to the clubhouse should be safe come morning.”
“F-Four of them?” I wanted to clarify, my voice breaking with nervousness. I knew he shot some of them just to free me, but I didn’t really know how many, exactly, he had to kill.
“Yeah,” Bane confirmed. “I know that may sound horrifying to ‘ya, but I had to do what I had to do, darlin’. It was either ‘yer ass or theirs. It was either us or them, actually... those
Similar Books
