I rose, looked at Brock, did and said nothing, and then followed Mason. He walked like a man on a mission; I could have offered him Diamond again and he wouldn’t have paid a lick of attention to me. He was hellbent on avenging something that hadn’t even happened.
But what, was I going to take a fucking fall for a damn Bandit? I’d sooner castrate myself than do something that fucking stupid.
We got on our bikes, revved the engines to life, and pulled out of the lot. Mason actually went so fast that he got a horn blared at him by a truck that didn’t see him coming. Mason ignored him and sped off. I, having seen the truck, fell behind by a few seconds, and no matter how fast I sped, I could not keep up with him. Only a red light allowed me to get closer—and even then, when Mason saw it was all clear, he sped through it anyway.
Are you trying to get pulled over by Sheriff Davis? Just because he let Steele go a couple months ago doesn’t mean…whatever, just make sure Jason doesn’t get killed.
We pulled up to Buckhead Saloon just a few minutes later. There were two cars in the parking lot, which made me a little nervous. We didn’t need any witnesses for the hit job we were about to execute, and if the second car happened to be a Bandit, our two-on-one beatdown would suddenly become a fair fight.
Trying to tell this to Mason, though, was like trying to tell a rabies-infested animal to calm down. I literally had to block him at the entrance to stop him.
“Let’s make sure we clear the bar before we take care of Jason, shall we?” I said. “Also, let’s leave our cuts off. Better not to be identified.”
“Fuck that,” Mason said.
“You want it to be obvious we did it?” I growled, though I didn’t like the idea of removing the cuts either. “Think, Mason. We’re outnumbered. We act this boldly, the Bandits will be on us in a heartbeat.”
Mason looked like he wanted to strangle me for such a suggestion. If we had Butch there, I’d say we should announce it before we walked in. With us as we were, we needed to play it safe.
Mason grimly nodded.
“Five minutes,” he said, and with that, we stuffed our cuts into our bikes and walked in.
There was only the guy I presumed to be “Jason” near the back of the bar. He was indeed tall, not quite as tall as Butch, but probably as tall as Brock, and, yes, he did have a man bun like me, but it was a shitty man bun. I was almost insulted to be compared to this guy!
And then, coming out from the bathroom, was a guy with a trucker hat and a beer gut. He was no threat.
“You wanna take him?” Mason said.
“Always,” I said. I walked over to the trucker, who was approaching the bar. “Hey, hey, bud. Yeah, sorry, hey. This here is my buddy and we’re the owners here. We’re actually closing early for renovation.”
“The hell?” Jason said. “You guys got a problem—”
“Yeah, we do, with your attitude,” Mason said. I couldn’t tell if he was playing along with what I said or not. It didn’t make much difference.
“We need you to leave now, sorry.”
“But my tab—”
“On the house for us not warning you earlier.”
The man in the trucker hat looked at the three of us, and I knew full well he knew I was full of shit. The look of disbelief was barely masked on his face.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize that shit was about to go down. He could think of me as the worst liar over the age of six if he so wanted as long as he got the fuck out. And sure enough, after glancing at me, Mason, and Jason a few other times, he grumbled to himself about needing to move somewhere safer before he left.
“What the fuck is this?” Jason said, glaring at us. “You two assholes trying to scare my custom—”
He didn’t get to finish his words. Mason grabbed an empty glass on the table and chucked it at Jason. He missed, causing the glass to shatter against the back wall, but the distraction worked. Mason followed up quickly by grabbing Jason, yanking him over the bar, and slamming him to the ground.
In moments like these, when a fight broke out and one of my friends—yes, even Mason—was in danger, I no longer gave a shit about the fairness of the fight or why it was happening or any other bullshit. Fighting and fucking were my two favorite pastimes, and both gave me the same sort of visceral thrill of conquest. Tonight was no different.
“What the fuck?” Jason yelled as I pinned his arm with my knees and delivered a blow to his jaw.
“You know full fucking well what!” Mason yelled, delivering another punch.
Jason was bloody in a matter of seconds. One on one, perhaps he would have stood a chance, though Mason was a hell of a fighter in his own right. But two on one, he was fucked.
I stood up and delivered a swift kick to his ribs. Jason gasped for air. Convinced that he was incapacitated for the moment, Mason let up, stood over him, and spat in his face.
