Page 19 of My Older Biker

We leave him zip-tied and bleeding against the wall.

Roan and Axel are inside pouring the rest of the accelerant through the warehouse. The building is mostly empty but it's Marrow's base. What's left of their operation in this county. Destroying it sends a message that can't be misunderstood.

I light the drug pile first. Drop a road flare onto the accelerant-soaked bricks. The flames catch immediately. Spread fast. The smell is acrid and toxic. Chemical smoke pours into the air.

Axel lights the warehouse. The fire inside spreads through the accelerant trails. Orange light fills the windows. Black smoke billows out the open door.

"Time to move," I say.

We're halfway back to the bikes when the pain registers. Hot and sharp across my left ribs. I look down. My shirt is torn. Blood spreading dark across the black fabric.

"Dean." Tate is beside me immediately. His hand on my arm. "You're hit."

"Graze."

"Let me see."

I lift my shirt. The wound runs horizontal across my ribs just below my cut. The bullet tore through skin and the top layer of muscle but didn't go deep. It's bleeding steady though. More than a scratch. Less than critical.

"You need stitches," Tate says.

"Later."

"Dean."

"We don't have time. Sirens are close."

He hears them too. Faint but getting louder. We have maybe five minutes before emergency services arrive.

Tate pulls duct tape and gauze from his pack. Works fast. Packs the wound with gauze and tapes it down hard. It's field work. Rough. But it'll hold long enough to get home.

"Go," he says.

We reach the bikes. Mount up. Six engines roar to life simultaneously. We're gone before the first fire truck arrives.

The ride back is long. Every bump in the road sends pain through my ribs. The tape holds but I can feel blood seeping through the gauze. Warm and wet against my skin.

My mind keeps circling back to Perry. To the office where we found the heroin. To the two Marrow members dead on the warehouse floor. To Sully screaming when Cain pressed into his wound.

Violence has consequences. Always. Even when it's necessary. Even when it's earned.

By the time I pull into my driveway it's three in the morning. I kill the engine. Sit on the bike for a long moment. Everything hurts. My ribs. My hands from gripping the bars too tight. The space in my chest where the weight of killing two people sits.

Perry is still dead. We burned Marrow's base and killed two of their members and interrogated a third and it doesn't bring Perry back. Doesn't change that he died alone.

The front door opens.

Zoe is standing there in my shirt and bare legs. She sees me and her face drains of color. Goes completely white.

I dismount slowly. Every movement pulls at the wound. Walk toward her.

She doesn't move, she just stares at the blood on my shirt and at the soot on my face and hands.

"How bad?" Her voice is steady but I can see her hands shaking.

"I'm fine."

"That's blood."