Back at Siobhan's house, Ethan took a couple of bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. He twisted the cap off one of them and handed it to her. Then he sat comfortably on the sofa with the other bottle.
—You're not very polite,— Siobhan commented as she removed her duty belt, hung it heavily on the hook on the wall, lifted the bottle, and took a sip. —You don't need to stay. I can defend myself.—
—You're their number one target now. You have to be careful.—
—I know. I just can't stop being angry. You know? The hospital report came out. Bessie Denton, the woman who was dragged across the pavement, suffered three fractures, and her jaw was shattered.—
—Don't worry, we'll definitely catch that gang,— Ethan said, trying to redirect Siobhan's attention.
He looked up and noticed several photos hanging on the wall. Curious, he stood and walked over to them. In one of the photos, a younger Siobhan smiled happily at the camera while holding a Minnie Mouse balloon.
—I didn't expect you to have freckles as a kid, but you were still cute,— Ethan joked.
—That was when I was in elementary school. After I begged them for a long time, my parents finally took me to Disneyland. It was the happiest moment of my life,— Siobhan said with a soft sigh. —But now, only a few photos remain.—
She added the last part with melancholy.
—It's time for you to go.—
Ethan looked at the photo, hesitated for a moment, and said:
—You saw what happened today. They're here for revenge. Until this is over, it's too dangerous for you to stay here alone. Come stay at my place for a couple of nights, at least until things settle down.—
Siobhan refused without thinking.
—This is my house, the place where I was born. I'm not leaving. I have a gun. I can protect myself.—
—Then I can't let you stay here alone. Fine, I'm not leaving either. Your couch is pretty comfortable. Mind if I crash here tonight?— Ethan changed his approach.
—Even if I ever let you stay the night, it won't be for your protection,— Siobhan replied sharply.
She realized what she had said and awkwardly took a sip from her bottle.
—Go. I think you need some rest.—
Ethan couldn't say anything else.
—Alright, I'll head out. I'll see you again later.—
—You don't need to come by, but you can call me after your shift ends. I should still be awake,— Siobhan said, though her voice still carried a trace of nervousness.
She flicked her braid, turned her head, and looked out the window with wide eyes. She knew they might come after her, and it was impossible not to feel anxious.
—Alright, no problem. I'll go.—
After leaving Siobhan's house, Ethan decided not to return to the station. Instead, he went home, took a quick shower, checked his gear, climbed into his Ford F-150, and drove to a spot less than fifty meters from Siobhan's home. He parked behind some bushes, rolled down the windows, and turned off the engine.
That path was the only way to reach her house. If the biker gang came looking for revenge, he would see them immediately.
After making sure everything was in order, Ethan pulled out his M4A1 rifle and placed it within easy reach on the passenger seat. The weapons he had bought last time had been reported and registered at the station, so there would be no issue using them while on duty.
Siobhan had always been kind to him since he joined the department. He had decided not only to protect her, but also her house full of memories—because she wasn't willing to leave, likely out of fear that they would take everything from her.
After finishing his preparations, Ethan lit a cigarette and gently tapped the M4A1 with his fingers. Night fell quickly. Occasionally, he stepped out of the truck to stretch; the rest of the time, he waited quietly inside.
Siobhan's house glowed with warm light, and from a distance, he could see her moving around in the kitchen. Before long, the smell of steak frying drifted through the air. Ethan inhaled it eagerly, then unwrapped a cold sandwich and took a big bite.
He yawned and checked his watch. It was nearly eleven. The road remained quiet, with only the occasional truck passing by.
Inside Siobhan's home, only a few lights were still on, and the faint sound of a TV could be heard. Ethan smiled when he noticed the fast-paced music playing. He hadn't expected her to enjoy that kind of music.
He opened the car door and stepped out to relieve himself. Looking around absentmindedly, he noticed headlights approaching in the distance. At first, he ignored them, but the lights quickly went dark, leaving only the muffled roar of motorcycles.
Sensing that something was wrong, Ethan zipped up, rushed back, and grabbed the M4A1.
Under the cold moonlight, several Harley-Davidsons rolled in like ghosts. All the riders wore leather jackets and colored bandanas. The leader was the man with glasses who had caused trouble at the celebration earlier.
—This is Ethan. The bikers are here for revenge against Siobhan. Requesting backup,— he said into the radio.
It was standard procedure for officers to call for support when facing gang members. Even if he was confident he could handle it, he needed to avoid looking reckless.
By the time he switched off the radio, the gang was already close. Ethan didn't bother with a warning. He raised the M4A1 and opened fire.
Flames burst from the barrel. The leader groaned as a mist of blood exploded from his chest. Then he and his bike crashed to the ground.
The sudden attack sent the others scattering in panic. Bullets rained down, striking another man in the head. They hadn't expected an ambush. They had underestimated these small-town cops.
The three remaining men dropped to the ground, rolled, and tried to return fire, but under Ethan's overwhelming firepower, their aim was worthless. Their bullets flew wildly.
Once the magazine was empty, Ethan ducked behind the F-150. The truck wasn't armored, but it offered some cover. He reloaded quickly and noticed that the lights inside the house had gone dark.
He whistled loudly.
—Siobhan! I'm by the truck! Watch out for crossfire! Three armed men out front!—
Once he was sure she was safe, Ethan moved stealthily, weaving around the truck toward a thick tree trunk. He crouched behind it and waited.
The bikers, realizing the attack wasn't as large as they had thought, began to search for him. Bullets pinged off the truck. Ethan frowned. Insurance definitely wouldn't cover this.
He peeked out. Two men were crouched down, firing at the F-150. A third man, bearded, was hiding behind an overturned bike, preparing something.
A Molotov.
Ethan raised the rifle, aimed, and fired. The bottle exploded in midair, engulfing the man in flames. He screamed and flailed wildly.
Ethan looked away. He couldn't watch someone burn, not even an enemy.
The last two bikers panicked. One ran into the darkness, while the other tried to lift his bike—but Ethan fired again. The man fell, exhaling his last breath.
Silence returned.
Ethan slung the M4A1 over his shoulder, drew his Beretta, and walked among the wreckage. The smell of burned flesh and gasoline made him gag.
Then he heard a groan.
The man with glasses was still alive, barely. Through cracked lenses, he glared at Ethan.
—You committed murder without warning or identifying yourself. I'm going to sue you,— he gasped.
—Sorry. I got too excited and forgot to announce myself,— Ethan replied coldly. —But I doubt that matters now.—
The man fell silent. He knew that face. He knew he was going to die.
Siobhan appeared, barefoot and limping slightly, her hair still damp from the shower. She wore plaid pajama pants and a tank top, holding a Glock.
—Are you okay?— she asked, nodding toward the man.
—I'm fine,— Ethan said.
—Thanks. If you hadn't been here...—
—It's nothing. You would have done the same for me.—
He stepped aside and saw a Colt M1911 near the wounded man. He kicked it closer.
—What are you doing?— the man whispered in fear.
—Pick it up,— Ethan said, his voice cold.
—No. What are you doing? Aren't you a cop?—
—Do you see a badge anywhere?— Ethan raised the Beretta. —This is your one shot. Are you sure you don't want it?—
The man cursed and reached for the gun.
A shot rang out.
Sirens followed.
Ethan holstered the Beretta. This man would never hurt anyone again. People like him always came back—and took innocent people with them.
Siobhan lowered the Glock, her hands shaking.
—This is wrong. That was an execution,— she murmured.
Ethan had wanted to finish him before she arrived. Now it was too late.
But she looked at him with quiet resolve.
—Ethan, you don't have to explain. I made the decision. I didn't stop you. That bastard came here to kill me. He set my house on fire.—
Ethan nodded, lit a cigarette, and pinned his badge to his chest. Then he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
At that moment, a police Chevy truck roared in, lights flashing, tires screeching.
The chaos wasn't over—but with reinforcements arriving, the night was filled with new possibilities.