Pure adrenaline got me to Panama City the next morning. I’d barely slept a fucking wink that night, but five hours one way on a motorcycle was rough on an all-nighter.

And I still had another five hours riding straight back.

Turning to Julian’s partner in the New Orleans Black Market would have been faster, easier, and more efficient.

But I knew that it wasn’t an option. I’d have to pay my dues before I got access to the kind of weapons and ammo I’d need to take down a motorcycle club, and I couldn’t be sure that someone involved wouldn’t tip the Bayou Boys off in the process.

Luckily, I still had some friends out here.

John greeted me at the door with a big smile on his face. He gave me a bear hug while his daughter, a little two-year-old thing, ran all over the place babbling happily.

“Wife’s visiting her mother,” my old Marine friend told me. “So it’s just me and my kid right now.”

“Good,” I replied. “Less questions.”

John picked his daughter up and gave her the fireman’s carry on his good shoulder as he led me out onto the back patio. He bounced her lovingly as he walked, and she let her voice spring with laughter.

The prosthetic limbs didn’t slow John down one bit. John was part of my squad, but he was hit with an IED and ended up sent home a few months before I was captured. I tied the tourniquet on his leg myself. Probably saved his life in more ways than one, seeing what happened to the rest of the squad… John lost an arm and a leg, but years of practice with the mechanical limbs had put him just like the rest of us.

“Alright then, you,” he carefully dropped her down his flesh-and-blood leg to the ground. “Off you go. Why don’t you play here?”

“Okay!” She took a few scrambling steps before softly falling onto her butt and tugging at the grass.

This life that he had – the nice home, the happy marriage, and the energetic kid – it seemed nice. I thought about the time I’d spent shacking up with Kate over the last month, and it set the rage boiling inside me once again.

“What’s her name? I asked him.

“Arietta,” John smiled.

“Cute name.”

“It was Ashley’s idea,” my old friend told me. Both of us were watching his daughter play in the grass. “Fell in the love with the name, just like I fell in love with that kid.”

“Not hard to see why,” I nodded.

He looked at me knowingly. “Buddy, you don’t know the half of it. This kid is gonna ruin me someday.”

I was already ruined. Didn’t need a kid to do that to me.

“Guns,” I commented, meeting John’s gaze. “I came here for some guns. Do you have them ready?”

His stare darkened.

“Yeah,” he replied, throwing one last look at his daughter before leading me to the nearby tool shed. “I went ahead and pulled them this morning. Didn’t have time to properly prepare them, not with the kid around…”

He popped open the door and removed a few wood panels from inside the shed, revealing the assault weaponry.

“Are they clean?” I asked.

John handed me a disassembled rifle. “Yeah, they’re clean. Bought them at a gun show a few years back. No receipts, no background check. Filed off the serial numbers too… It’s the least I could do for you.”

“Already done plenty for me,” I said, collecting the weapons as he handed some over to me.

We brought our small armory over to the back patio table, and I began examining the selection while he played with his daughter for a moment.

The selection included some heavy-grade pistols, several assault rifles, a shotgun, and a collapsible stun baton. It would have to be enough.

“Wish I had more to give you,” John told me as he came up to my side again. “This is the best shit I’ve got, but I’m a little low on bullets."

“Fine by me,” I replied, glancing down the scope with one eye closed. “I’m flying solo anyway. Can only bring what I can carry.”

John hesitated.

I knew that he felt guilty.

Feeling like I should say something, I paused during my gun examination. “You have a family John. Don’t go even thinking about following me no matter what happens. Your wife would kill me. The kid, too, when she got old enough to load a rifle.”

While I chose my words, I picked up another gun, this time a pistol. I straightened my arm and gazed down the sights, imagining Mudflap on the other end.

“Besides, I can handle this alone.”

He scratched the back of his head. My friend didn’t look convinced.

“I just feel like, maybe I should be there with you. Like old times.”

I set the gun down with a sigh.

“Backup is already on the way,” I replied, lying through my teeth. “My brothers are riding out from El Paso as we speak.”

“Once upon a time, we were brothers,” he reminded me. “Been a long time since we did our part in the war…”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Long time since.”

“If I’d fucking been there, I’d have died to keep you out of their goddamn hands,” John slammed his fist on the table. “Not a day has gone past that I haven’t regretted being sent home…”

“They brought down the building around us,” I told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Wasn’t a goddamn thing you could have done for anybody on our squad. Nobody had a chance to fire a shot.”

“That shouldn’t have happened to you.”

“Shouldn’t happen to anyone,” I told him, fighting back the memory of all those screams every night I was a war prisoner… “But I made it out of there in one piece, so don’t feel fucking bad for me,” I added, meaningful watching his hand.

“Laugh all you want, but look at this neat little trick,” John glared as he lifted his hand. It began to spin dramatically before fast-paced circus music started playing.

We shared a good laugh.

“Arietta loves that one,” he chuckled. “No idea why they shoved a little speaker in there, but I figured why not have a little fun with it?”

I motioned to the guns. “Look, if you feel like you owe me a debt, consider it repaid. This’ll be enough for me to put things right.”

“Didn’t you say you came from out west?” John spoke up, sounding a bit skeptical. “How far are your men from New Orleans?”

I fought back a snarl. Lying to this man was against my code of honor, but my eyes fell back on the little girl who was blissfully unaware of the evils in the world. I couldn’t have this man follow me back to New Orleans. He’d only complicate things, and if anything happened to him, I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

“They’re close enough.”

He watched his daughter for a few more minutes while I finished examining the weapons. They were pretty nice. Military grade, and obviously well maintained.

“What’s this?” I asked, lifting up a large canister with a big red ring hanging from the top.

“Be careful with that shit. It’s some kind of high powered pepper spray. They use it on brown bears up north. It’s illegal in twelve states,” John replied quietly.

“Why do you have goddamned bear spray?”

“White carpets, Grizz. The wife would kill me if I shot some jackass burgular. One hit of this stuff and they’ll be running,” John laughed before clasping me on the shoulder. “Anything else you need? Anything at all?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “A duffel bag.”

John glanced over the fence at the motorcycle in his driveway, shaking his head. “How do you expect to transport a duffel bag of weaponry down five hours of interstate on that?”

I crossed my arms.

“I’ve managed worse.”

“Jesus, Grizz,” John groaned, palming his shaved scalp. “I know better than to ask who’s crossed you, but you’re out for fucking blood! I have a car. I’ll come with you.”

I smiled darkly.

“These men put my woman in danger. They’ve made their threats clear. She doesn’t have another fucking soul in the world looking out for her but me, so yeah. I’m out for fucking blood… But this is my fight, not yours.”

He stepped over my way. “If this is what you want…”

“It is.”

“In that case, I won’t stand in your way. But God help you, Grizz.”

Yes, I thought to myself.

God help me.

Less than half an hour later, I had already hit the road. The duffle bag had been an awkward fit, but I’d strapped it down to the back of the motorcycle as best I could.

John was right to be concerned.

But I was doing what I had to.

The ride was just as long and goddamn boring the second time ‘round. By the time I rolled up into New Orleans and dismounted, I had a sore back coming in.

Can’t get old yet, I thought to myself. Plenty of time for that when I’m done dying.

I unstrapped the duffle bag and brought it inside. No new debris greeted me, and a quick glance through the rooms with a raised pistol proved that I was alone.

With the safety check over, I swept an arm across the dining room table, brushed that shit to the floor, and dropped the bag onto the tabletop, pulling out the contents piece by piece.

A glance at the clock told me that I had only several hours to set up… That was plenty of time to scour the local gun shops for extra ammunition and supplies, but I knew damn well that would bring too much attention. This wasn’t some strike on a cartel south of the border fence... I was attacking a motorcycle gang on United States soil, in the outskirts of a major city.

It was going to get messy.

There were going to be questions, and I couldn’t have my face on video walking into every goddamned gun shop in the neighborhood.

I knew damn well I’d either die in a blaze of weapons, or I’d be arrested for multiple homicides. There wasn’t much room for a third option.

I fed what bullets I had into the assault rifle cartridge, and carefully loaded each handgun with a half clip apiece. It would have to be enough. I’d make sure Kate was safe, and then I could die happy.

My hand dipped back into the duffel bag, wrapping itself around something I hadn’t expected. John had left me a little surprise. I pulled it free and lay it on the table, staring silently at the small electronic device. It looked like half of a pair of binoculars, with a strange head strap attacked to it and a swing swivel that would bring it down over an eye. This thing was meant for hunters. It wasn’t exactly the kind of gear we had over in the middle east, but I knew immediately that it gave me an edge I couldn’t ignore.

Maybe there’s another way after all…