I'm not here for a fucking brawl. I'm here to end it.
“Back off!” Sandra yells.
I turn to find Piston grappling with one guy, while another has his hands over his head, trying to protect himself from Sandra. She has a heavy glass in her hand, and she brings it down hard, knocking him sideways with a dull thunk. Sturdy glass.
“You okay? I call out over the noise.
She nods and gets a better grip on her improvised weapon, looking ready to throw it if anyone comes near. Her eyes are bright, and she almost looks like she’s having fun.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot suspicious movement near Beast. "Heads up!"
He spins to my voice, just in time to see the fucker behind him with the bar stool. With a quick snag and pull, he yanks it out of the guy's hands and breaks it over his head. That guy didn't know the rule of never bringing a weapon to a fight if there's any chance of it being used against you, and now he's reeling and picking splinters outta his hair.
At this point, the whole fucking bar is involved. Most of the fuckers are brawling for pure love of the game. I’m pretty sure Rat was the only one that gave a shit about us being Screaming Eagles.
A guy leers at Sandra, and starts climbing into the booth from behind. The fuck he is. I lunge for him, but before I reach, she spins and slams her glass in his face, knocking him backwards. She stares wide-eyed, like she can't believe that worked, but her excited grin is kind of scary. Is it wrong that I find it fucking hot?
And I’m so fucked.
Sandra’s too interesting to let slip by, and there’s no way I’m gonna let that happen. Sorry, Quickshot. She might be stuck with us for a while.
"Good girl!" I yell at her, as I nab the fucker who got a faceful of beer glass and throw him back into the melee.
There's a sound behind me, and I whirl to find the bartender wielding a fucking baseball bat. "Whoa, man! We didn't fucking start?—"
He swings and connects with the arm of a guy who's just pulled a fucking knife from his belt. Even over the fight, I can hear the crunch of bone, followed by a loud scream. "You don't fucking draw steel in my goddamn bar. Get the fuck out!" His voice carries over the noise like a drill sergeant in a library. "And the rest of you, sit your asses down and stop acting like fucking idiots!"
Some of the chaos winds down, but not everyone gives a fuck about his warning. He doesn't look too surprised. This isn’t his first bar fight, and probably not even his tenth or fiftieth either.
I take down a couple of guys and make sure they stay down. Beast literally carries a guy out the fucking front door and throws him into the lot, and Piston puts his fancy street fighting moves to use, dropping a guy to the floor with a quick one-two-three to the face. In the end, it's just us, some moaning fuckers at our feet, the bartender and some of the regulars who were wise enough to stay out of the fight, or at least pull out before it got serious.
The bartender turns our way, the baseball bat on his shoulder.
Piston throws his hands out. "We didn't start this. That fucker came atus."
He nods. "I know. Had my eye on you boys. Not your fault the locals got a little uppity."
Sandra appears between me and Piston. "Is it over already?"
"Already?" I give her a look. “Were you hoping for a second round?”
She shrugs.
Beast's laugh echoes off the rafters. "Ease up there, battle maiden. You okay? Guessing so." He gives her a thorough look anyway, all the way down and back up, but pretty sure he's checking her out more than checking for damage. She did a good job holding her own.
"The fuck happened here?" There’s a long-haired guy in the doorway. From what I can see on his cut, I’m pretty sure it’s Hellfire, president of the Outlaw Sons.
With him is a second man with a hint of reddish beard and short blond hair. Ghost, the patch on his cut says. One of their VPs. “Screaming Eagles giving you trouble, Hector?”
This is getting old. "For fuck sake. Is grudge holding a national sport over here or what? "
Hector, the bat wielding bartender, laughs. "Hate to say it, but it wasn’t their fault. They showed up with the lady, we gave them a friendly amount of shit, and everything was fine until Rat decided he needed to avenge his cousin. It went downhill from there when the usual assholes decided it would be a good chance to make history.”
Ghost snorts derisively. “Don’t start a dick measuring contest if you can’t measure up.”
Hellfire walks over, Ghost right behind. "Everything good? Eagle-eye doing alright?"
"The usual bullshit but Prez has it under control. I’ll let him know you care,” Piston says.
