That incident that Ben alluded to had been at his very motel. A man had been seen beating his wife. Wyatt and Sykes had personally handled it, dragging the man from his room, stripping him naked and beating him into a coma. It had been excessive, but in the eyes of the locals, it was justice.

Street justice.

It was something Sam understood and would be hypocritical to target them for that. But they were clearly operating a drug empire. His accosting by the DEA told him that. Along with the broken wrist and third-degree burn on the back of his hand, he had more than enough to put them in his figurative crosshairs.

But he wasn’t here for that.

He was here for Alex.

Sam held the ice pack to his swollen wrist as they exited the car, and Ben kindly sat and waited in the designated room while Sam was taken through by a nurse. The woman was kind, clearly overworked, and she lazily looked through his documentation before agreeing he had the necessary cover to have his wrist treated.

Had he not, Sam would have been looking at a sizeable bill.

The very notion that someone had to pay for treatment saddened him and he realised that no matter how hard he fought back, the world would always be an unjust place.

All he could do was his best.

Help where he could.

Set the things within his power right.

With a fresh stitch across his eyebrow, a bandage around his hand and a temporary wrist support, he emerged two hours later to find Ben asleep in the waiting room. They drove back quietly, and Ben even offered him a discount on his room due to the ordeal. Sam politely declined, apologising for bringing the incident to Ben’s doorstep.

Then he returned to his room, popped a couple of painkillers, and collapsed on the bed. The pain interrupted Sam’s sleep to the point where he felt like he’d been awake all night when he was abruptly woken by the thud on his door.

Knock knock.

Sam blinked awake, his body aching all over, his stomach throbbing from the well-placed fist that Sykes had drilled into him. He grunted as pushed himself up, his wrist sending a sharp pain to his brain which screamed for medication. Sam looked around the room, his blurred vision finding clarity as it zeroed in on the painkillers.

Knock knock.

‘One sec,’ Sam called out, as he popped the cap on the painkillers, knocked two back, and swallowed a mouthful of room temperature water. Stretching out his back, he pushed himself off the bed and he meandered towards the door. As he reached for the handle with his undamaged right hand, the knocking returned, and he pulled the door open with frustration.

Alex Stone greeted him.

Sam’s eyebrows raised, putting the stitches to work.