As soon as Jax got the call on his prepay that his kid was hurt, he nearly popped his balls hopping on his motorcycle. Racing to the clubhouse left him speeding through at least three red lights.

He crashes through the front door, marching through the foyer to the bar area. His eyes nearly dilate to dinner plates, his body freezing. Bobby left out way too many details when he reporter his state.

“Oh, shit.” He whispers. When he catches the sheer amount of blood, reality kicks in. He runs to the linen closet, tugging open the rickety doors and frenziedly rummaging for the med package Tara left for the Sons.