The chuckles die instantly. A few of the nearby brothers suddenly find the fight far more interesting to look at than us.
I raise my hands in surrender, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. “All right, all right,” I mutter, then lean back against the wall next to Jasper, exchanging a glance with him as Dredyn returns to his brooding. The tension in the room just notched up, but it hasn’t snapped. Dredyn gave me a warning, and I’ve been around him long enough to heed it.
The younger brother in the center lets out a pained grunt as Asher slams a fist into his ribs. I wince in sympathy as the kid doubles over, gasping for breath. He’s taken a lot of hits.
He should just tap out.
The point is to bond, not cripple.
The crowd’s noise has lulled somewhat, an uneasy quiet aseveryone senses something in the air. Our king is usually the one egging fighters on, maybe even jumping in to take a few swings himself. But tonight, he’s quiet, coiled.
Another brutal hook from Asher catches the kid in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the concrete. His head thumps the ground hard enough that even the spectators hiss at the impact. That’s it—the fight’s clearly over. If the kid’s conscious, he’s barely so.
Asher looms over his fallen “brother,” chest heaving. His knuckles are smeared with blood—some his, mostly the kid’s. On a proper fight night, he’d extend a hand to pull the kid up by now, both of them earning nods of respect. But he hesitates, glancing toward Dredyn as if unsure whether to keep going.No mercyis the unspoken rule tonight, and he doesn’t know if the King is satisfied yet.
Dredyn still hasn’t moved from his keg throne. His posture is rigid, gaze locked on the scene in the ring. Everyone is waiting for his cue. The fallen sophomore groans, trying to push himself up on his elbows, blood dripping from his lip to the floor. Asher shifts from foot to foot, clearly debating if he should help the kid up or hit him again.
Then, without warning, Dredyn stands. He hops off the keg, shoving his way through the ring of bystanders. They part for him like the Red Sea, some clapping him on the shoulder as he passes, amped that the boss is stepping in.
Asher backs up instinctively as Dredyn approaches, holding up his hands, maybe expecting Dredyn to take over and help the kid. But one look at Dredyn’s eyes, blazing with something feral, and Asher realizes too late that helping isn’t on Dredyn’s mind.
Dredyn’s first punch flies so fast I barely track it. It connects with Asher’s cheekbone. He stumbles back, more stunned than hurt—Dredyn didn’t put full power behind that one. No, that was a statement hit. A “pay attention” hit.
The room falls silent, except for the pained wheezing of thekid on the ground. Asher, confused and angry, wipes a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Dredyn, what the?—”
He doesn’t finish. Dredyn lunges and tackles him, and then it’s chaos.
Jasper and I rush forward, ready in case we need to pull Dredyn off.
Dredyn and Asher crash into the concrete wall. Dredyn pins Asher by the throat with his forearm, teeth bared in a snarl. “You like beating on your own brothers that much, huh? Too far, Blackwood! Too far,” he spits, then drives a knee up into Asher’s gut. He coughs, doubling over.
“Dredyn, hey!” I shout, taking a step closer. This is beyond the normal bounds for tonight. The fights are supposed to stop when someone yields. Right now, the only one who needs to yield is Dredyn.
He either doesn’t hear me or plain ignores me. Asher swings desperately, landing a fist on Dredyn’s ribs. Dredyn barely grunts. If anything, the hit seems to fuel him, like he wanted to feel that pain. A disturbing grin grows over Dredyn’s face as he slams Asher against the wall again, harder. I hear the crack of skull or spine against concrete. He cries out, but Dredyn isn’t letting up.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath. My pulse kicks into overdrive as I watch Dredyn draw back and drive his fist into the guy’s face—once, twice. Blood spurts from Asher’s nose, across Dredyn’s knuckles. By now, the poor bastard’s lip is split wide open, crimson dripping down his chin onto his shirt.
Around us, nobody quite knows what to do. A few of the brothers shift uneasily, glancing at one another. Jasper edges nearer to me. His hands twitch, like he’s readying to sign or to fight, maybe both.
Dredyn cocks his arm back for another blow to the barely-conscious senior pinned to the wall.
Enough. I can’t stand by and watch him demolish one of our own like this.
I move quickly, stepping into the circle. “Dredyn!” I bark.
Dredyn’s fist hovers mid-air, knuckles smeared red. His chest heaves. Slowly, he turns his head to look at me. For a heartbeat, I see raw fury there, like a rabid dog ready to bite the first thing in reach.
Then, recognition floods his eyes. The rabid look falters. He blinks, gaze sliding around at the silent ring of faces staring at him. The basement is dead quiet. Even the kid on the floor has gone still, wide eyes fixed on our leader.
Dredyn releases Asher, who immediately slumps to the ground with a groan. Asher is still conscious—barely. Dredyn steps back, hands dripping with another brother’s blood, chest rising and falling as if he just ran a marathon. His jaw is clenched so tight I wonder if his molars might shatter.
No one speaks. All eyes are on Dredyn, waiting. In charge or not, he just crossed a big line. We all know it.
Dredyn wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood along his skin. For a second, I think I see a flicker of regret in his eyes, some dawning realization of what he’s done. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks toward the stairs. The crowd parts again, wordless. His boots pound on each step as he takes them two at a time. A door slams somewhere above us, the echo ringing out long after he’s gone.
For a long moment, nobody moves. The only sounds are the ragged breathing of the two injured guys.
