let their President through.
Jim walked straight to the counter, pulling the trembling puppy from his jacket
and laying it gently on the exam table. “He needs help,” Jim said, his voice thick with
emotion. “Do whatever it takes. The bill’s covered.”
The head veterinarian, Dr. Evans, rushed out from the back. She took one look at
the puppy’s condition, scooped him up, and hurried him into the trauma room. The
doors swung shut, leaving a hundred bikers waiting in the cramped lobby and
spilling out into the parking lot.
For the next three hours, not a single biker left the clinic. They canceled the rest
of their run. Tough, imposing men sat on the tiny plastic chairs in the waiting room,
pacing the floors, and leaning against their bikes outside. They drank bad vending
machine coffee and spoke in hushed tones.
Jax walked up to Jim, handing him a cup of coffee. “How you holding up, boss?”
“I just can’t get the image out of my head,” Jim replied quietly. “Tied up in a bag.
Thrown out a window. It takes a special kind of evil to do that.”
Finally, Dr. Evans emerged from the back room. She looked exhausted but
offered a small, reassuring smile. The entire lobby fell dead silent, all eyes locked on