C45 Forty Five

He shrugged, then groaned again. “Don’t want attention from the police.”

I ripped open an alcohol wipe. “Fair enough. Hope you’re not averse to pain.”

I slid the wipe over the gash on his shoulder and he grunted. Multiple times. I slipped his leather jacket off to clean more of the wound and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. And there, emblazoned in red and black, were the words ‘Red Thorn

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