Page 24 of My Ex-Military Biker

"Can you breathe?"

"Barely," he manages.

"Ribs are broken, at least two. You're going to hurt for a while but you're not dying today."

"My hand?"

I look at it again and the damage is extensive, really bad.

"Looks broken in multiple places. You'll probably need surgery soon."

"Fuck," he breathes out.

Behind me I hear the first impact, meat connecting with bone, someone hitting concrete hard, a scream that cuts off abruptly.

I don't turn around because that's not my responsibility right now.

"Stay still," I tell Perry. "I need to stabilize your hand before we can move you."

I pull off my shirt and rip it into strips, then start wrapping his hand as carefully as possible given the circumstances.

Every small movement makes him produce sounds of pain but it can't be helped, the hand needs immobilization or the bones will shift during transport and he could lose function permanently.

Behind me come more sounds of violence. Grunts of effort, another heavy impact, someone begging in a voice that cracks.

Then the begging stops entirely.

I finish wrapping Perry's hand and check his face. He's still conscious but fading fast.

"Perry, stay with me."

"I'm here," he says, though his voice is weaker.

"Who gave the order for this?"

"They didn't say. Just kept saying it was about respect. About what happened on Route 9."

"What about the third one?"

"Left before you got here. Probably went to report back."

Footsteps approach from behind and Holt appears beside me. His knuckles are split and bleeding but he's not even breathing hard.

"Ready to move him?" he asks.

"Yeah, but carefully. Those broken ribs can puncture a lung if we're not careful."

Diesel appears on Perry's other side, also showing blood on his hands. Neither of them looks particularly concerned about it.

Together we get Perry to his feet and he makes sounds of pain but manages not to scream. Tough bastard.

"Bike or truck?" Diesel asks.

"Bike will be faster. I'll take him."

Getting a man with broken ribs and a shattered hand onto a motorcycle isn't ideal, but we manage it between the three of us.

He settles behind me with his broken hand cradled protectively against his chest and his other arm wrapped around my waist.