None of us glance at one another, not wanting to give anyone the impression we’re weak with wonderment.
“I thought you had their president?” one of them hollers from the crowd.
“Unfortunately, he didn’t make it, the punk wasn’t strong enough to make the journey here.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd and I clamp my teeth down on my tongue. Again, trying not to give anything away.
I don’t know how yet, but every one of these motherfuckers are going to die. Who will be fucking laughing then? Me, that’s who. I’ll laugh as I slice all their throats and piss on their corpses.
“You have one chance to go up against one of our guests. Tonight only.”
He holds a bucket up in the air. “You wanna fight against the legendary Cas Jackson or one of the others, put ya name in here and we’ll see who the lucky fucker is!”
“It’s about damn time,” Mason mutters.
“Speak for yourself,” JJ whispers. “I take one knock to my shoulder, I'm on my ass.”
“Block it out. Whoever you get is gonna go for it first. You've got a good left hook on ya, and don’t forget you have other body parts to use,” I instruct.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“It’s been a long ass time since you threw a punch. You still remember how?” JJ retorts.
“Fuck you. I'm good. Protect your shoulder and don’t worry about me.”
Most of the Hogs shuffle around, dropping their names into the bucket. It looks like we’re golden entertainment and they all want their turn.
“We know how to fight and win, this is no different,” I remind them.
Hopper gets his men's attention again and makes a dramatic show of plucking a name from the bucket.
“The lucky fucker is... Dirtbag!”
The named man steps forward, his brothers slapping him on the back as he walks toward Hopper. He's adequately named. I don’t think he’s bathed in months. Greasy hair drops past his shoulders and his jeans sag with age and oil stains. He’s got a slim build but that isn’t necessarily to our advantage. I’m slim build and I’ve not lost more than a few fights in my whole life.
Hopper goes to sling his arm around him, then thinks twice, and drops it.
“Take your pick, Dirtbag. Who'd ya wanna fight?”
The dirty fucker’s eyes roam along our line-up and points to Myles. He crunches his knuckles and Mason sighs.
“Think of Grumps, he’d still kick this asshole’s ass with one arm,” Mason points out but I can hear the concern in his voice.
“I’ve got this,” Myles assures him.
Their bond could never be severed. I've watched them grow from birth to the men they’ve become. I swear, even after death, their souls will know where the other is.
With Myles injured, Mason will be overprotective and the last thing he needs is to see his brother with a weakness.
Myles is shoved forward, and he climbs up into the ring. Hopper grins and stares me down.
“I told Leo I had a better plan than death, I was right, weren’t I?”
Myles’s restraints are cut off, and he shakes his arms before wincing. He'll hate showing that but there would have been no helping it.
“Anything goes,” Hopper declares and steps back.
