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“All right, Dirt.” Her voice is steady despite the intensity of the situation. “This might sting a bit, but we need to clean the wound.”
“I don’t want pain relief.”
“It’s going to sting like a motherfucker.”
“Don’t care.”
With deliberate gentleness, she begins to cleanse the area around the gunshot wound, carefully removing any debris and foreign particles. I wince as the cool liquid touches the raw edges of my torn flesh, a sharp reminder of the violence that has unfolded.
Katalyst’s movements are methodical, her gloved hands skilled in navigating the contours of the injury. As the wound becomes free of dirt and contaminants, she studies it with a critical eye. Satisfied with the cleanliness, she reaches for a sterile suture kit, its contents glinting under the harsh lights.
“Now comes the part where we stitch you up,” Katalyst explains, giving me a reassuring smile. She threads a needle with precision, the thin strand of suture material gleaming in the light.
With steady hands, she meticulously sutures the wound, the needle dancing through the torn flesh, each stitch a careful show of skill and experience.
As she nears the end of the suturing process, she tightens the final knot, securing the wound.
“Take it easy for a while, Dirt,” Katalyst advises, her tone softens with genuine concern. “We’ll get you back on the road soon enough.”
“I’m sure you can tell it’s not my first rodeo.” The scars on my body are a testament to a life well lived.
“Then you know better than to do anything to damage my handiwork.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dane enters the room without knocking. “You okay?”
“No, I caught a bullet.”
Dane laughs. “You’re fine then?”
“Yes, Prez, I’m fine. Meet Katalyst… she stitched me up good.”
Dane nods at her. “Appreciate it.”
She shrugs. “Technically, you didn’t catch the bullet. It passed right through you.”
Katalyst is pulling off her gloves, not an ounce of humor on her face.
“Was that a joke?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yes and no. If you hadn’t got shot, we would never have crossed paths.”
Dane’s forehead furrows in confusion, prompting Katalyst to explain, “It’s a twisted kind of fate, Prez. A bullet brings people together in the strangest ways.” His frown deepens, but before he can respond, Katalyst continues, “Anyway, Dirt, you should take it easy for a bit. No unnecessary heroics.”
“Got it,” I respond, giving a half smile. The room settles into a momentary silence, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the clubhouse beyond.
Dane breaks the quiet, his voice carrying a note of seriousness, “We’ll need to have a club meeting. Figure out what happened.”
Katalyst interjects, “I’ll stick around for a bit. Make sure he follows orders.”
Dane nods, the weight of responsibility etched on his features.
“Wasn’t your fault, Dane,” I grunt out as I move into a more comfortable position. “It was the stupid bastard you killed. Who was it?”
“Bulldog.”
Chapter Twenty
