Blake was pounding through the compound at a near jog. I was breathlessly trying to keep up with him, with the same panic Blake was feeling starting to rise within me.
We entered the living room and found Dallas, surrounded by several other club members.
His jacket was loose on his back, and he was cradling his arm.
Thank god, he was injured but alive, I thought to myself.
The arm he was protecting looked like it had nearly been torn off. A massive scrape down the side of his leather jacket had torn completely through to his skin. When I stepped closer, there was blood, but not a great deal, beyond those several superficial wounds.
“Call the Doctor.” Was a clear statement from Blake.
Doctor? What doctor?
Surely, we should go to the hospital. I had a flashback to when my father
