Chapter 16
Bishop
Ox tackled Bomb to the ground, his maniacal laughter echoing off all four slaughterhouse walls. Reaper and Hawk jumped into the fray, wrestling the gun away from the crazy fucker while Pipe and I raced to German’s side.
Blood soaked my Brother’s t-shirt and face, but he was still breathing and blinking. Two excellent signs of life. Searching for the bullet’s entrance, we discovered it was not in his chest as we’d originally thought, but in his shoulder. German, thank Christ, must have moved at the last second and the bullet had hit him much higher up.
“It’s in his shoulder,” I called over mine as Pipe tore German’s shirt to get a better look at the point of entry.
“It went clean through, the lucky bastard,” Pipe announced as he added pressure to the wound. “He’ll only need a few stitches and a strong dose of antibiotics once we get back to the Clubhouse.”
“Let me up, I can stand,” German groused, as we assisted the hard-as-nails Marine to his feet.
I looked dubiously at my Brother. “We need to get you some medical treatment, man. That shot might have gone clean through your shoulder, but blood loss and infection are just as big a killer as any bullet ever was.”
“He’s right,” Reaper added, standing and stashing Bomb’s gun in the waistband of his jeans. “Infections are a real bitch to treat.”
“The Medic can look me over later,” German argued. “Right now, I want to do what we came here to do.”
We all looked over at Bomb who was still thrashing around on the ground, despite Ox and Hawk holding him down with their gargantuan-sized bodies.
Walking over to Bomb, German hovered over his Brother and said, “Tell the Devil he can go fuck himself. I don’t care what he thinks about me or my Brothers,” before delivering a blow so hard to the man’s face that it momentarily stunned him, causing his cold, blue eyes to roll backward into his skull.
Both Hawk and Ox yanked Bomb to his feet and dragged him over to one of the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. Zip-tying his hands behind his back, they snagged him onto the hook and hoisted him a few inches into the air so his feet dangled just out of reach of terra firma.
Reaper lined up his body like a heavy bag. “You ready to take your punishment like a man, Bomb?”
Blood trickled down the disgraced biker’s shattered cheekbone, into his mouth, staining the spaces between his teeth red. “Do your worst, cocksuckers!”
Nodding, the four of us descended like a biblical plague on his ass. And, one by one, we did.