The force of my hit throws him off.He lands on his back only to spring up to his feet at the same time as me.This time we both rush at each other.Our chests collide as we wrap our arms around one another, fighting for good arm and hip position.My chest heaves and my entire body hurts from the beating I have taken so far, but I don’t give up.I dig my heels into the ground as we both jostle for a chance to take the other down.I rear back, head butt him in the cheek.
Arpad growls as blood rains down his face.I pull back, bring up my knee to his mid-section.He grunts as the air whooshes out of him.He stumbles and I step back, only to reach down, grab one of his legs, lift it off the ground and topple him.
He hits the ground with a thud, only to scissor his legs and grab me around the waist.We grapple in that position for a few seconds.Then I lunge my upper body forward.Slide my legs apart for leverage.Grab his face between my forearms as I bracket his neck between my elbows and begin to choke him.He gasps, tries to draw in a breath, fails, and his entire body shudders.
"Give up," I growl, "I’ve won this."
He shakes his head, and I lean my entire body weight into the position.His face grows purple and the veins at his temple bulge.Then he taps my arm.I loosen my grip and he lets go of me.I straighten, shake my head, turn to the stunned audience.
I raise my arms, throw my head back and yell.And it’s like a signal to the rest.The crowd roars; men raise their fists.A few girls surge forward, only to be stopped by the rest of the Seven, who have positioned themselves at strategic positions around the perimeter of the makeshift circle that forms the fighting ring.
Sweat drips off of my face as I take in the crowd of faces.Most are screaming, hanging onto the temporary barriers that cordon off the fighting ring.I spot one guy staring at us.He’s our age, tall and skinny, with gaunt features and dark circles under his eyes.He looks familiar.Where have I seen him before?
He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie covers his hair.His gaze bores into me.He stares at me, then at Arpad on the ground.Takes in the rest of the Seven before his gaze darts back to me.
Something about his features, the way he stands...I am not sure what, but my hackles rise.I take a step toward him and he stiffens.He steps back and is swallowed up by the rest of the crowd.Huh.What was that about?
Then I see Sinner walking toward us as Arpad staggers to his feet.He grabs our wrists, glares around the crowd for a second, then raises my arm."We have a fucking winner," he shouts."Take your winnings, or forever hold your piss."
5
Baron
Twenty minutes later, I glance up from chair I am sprawled in.We are in the trailer that is parked at the edge of the parking lot.It’s also our unofficial green room, of sorts.And not only because it's moldy...it's here where we count our winnings.Har, har.Poor joke.You're welcome, by the way.
Weston has bandaged my wounds, which aren’t that many.Unlike Arpad, whose face is a bloody mess.A bandage covers his left cheek, where I’d sunk my fist.
"You look none the worse for the wear, ol’ chap," I smirk.
"And you look," he glares at me, "too bloody smug."
"Hey, I won fair and square."My grin widens."Admit it.I am a better fighter than you."
"You got lucky this time," he grumbles."I’ll get you in the next fight."
"Keep dreaming."I glance up as the other boys troop in.
"That was a bloody good fight."Saint bounces into the room, "Of course, if I’d been fighting, I would’ve felled Arpad in half the time."
"No, you wouldn’t’ve."Arpad scowls."I’m a better fighter than you."
"Want me to prove it to you?"Saint throws up his fists as Edward ambles in.
He brushes past Saint, to throw himself onto the hammock that’s strung up in a corner of the space."I’m hungry," he mutters."All that fighting...It’s given me a hell of an appetite."
"Me too," Damian groans from the armchair he occupies in the corner.His long hair flows about his shoulders, his eyelids at half-mast as he stares down at the woman who kneels between his legs.He looks every inch like the rockstar in training that he is.He folds his arms behind his neck, yawns.Yep, right down to that jaded act that he portrays so well, and at the tender age of nineteen."Nothing like a good fight to get the juices flowing."He smirks.
No kidding."Arpad and I are the ones who fought, you dip shit.By rights, we should be the only ones who are hungry."
"Hey, come on, we’re growing boys."Saint protests, "We need our sustenance, and not only in the form of pussy."He lowers his gaze to the girl in front of Damian, who leans in and begins to move up and down, clearly putting herself into the task on hand.
"You have ten seconds to get me off," Damian informs her."That is, if you want another chance at worshipping at the altar of future greatness."
"Worshipping at the altar of…?"I scowl."Who do you think you are?The next Led Zeppelin?"
"Better," he bares his teeth, "I’ll be the one and only Damian Savage to have graced the annals of rock history."
The girl’s shoulders snap back, her breathing audible in the room.
