Myles and Dirtbag circle each other, weighing one another up. I watch closely and there’s nothing I can see that would give Myles the advantage.
Dirtbag throws the first punch, but Myles deftly dodges it. The way he moves reminds me of Ricky. He had the same fighting style. Mason has always been more like Pope. Yet the four of them all have similar fighting styles. I always taught my boys to strike fast and hard, a style that served me well all my life.
JJ is similar to Sparky. Sons and their fathers. It’s in our DNA. There's no running, no matter how fast, from our blood.
Believing that, Myles should walk out of this fight and with a grin on his face.
Myles manages to land an upper cut and bust the guy’s nose open. Blood spurts out and Myles is quick to move out of the way.
Hopper catches my eye and the asshole is staring my way. I burn to punch the smirk off his face. He swipes his finger across his throat and then points to me. I slowly shake my head and mouth, “No chance.” He laughs and turns his attention back to the fight. I need to find us an out or he’s going to get his wish. He’ll put us all in the ground.
“Come on, Myles!” Mason yells. “Take him down!”
Sparky and JJ holler their advice while everyone cheers for Lost Souls blood.
Myles strikes again and the guy stumbles back onto his ass. “Jump on him! Fuck him up!” Mason demands.
This will be killing him, he hasn’t taken his eyes off the fight since Myles stepped into the ring. While everyone is focused on the main event, I scope out the surrounding area. The main gates are closed but a side gate you walk through is open.
29
Mason
Myles takes punch after punch. He had the upper hand until the fucker dug his finger into my brother’s wound. I should be worried, but I've seen him do this before. If there’s one thing he can do, it’s take a punch and roll with it. He's biding his time, conserving his energy. While the dirty fucker is punching the shit out of his ribs, he’s not going for his arm. He laughs and it catches Hopper’s guy off guard. In the time it takes him to glance at his president, Myles jumps on him and bites the tip of his ear off. The crowd goes wild, but Myles isn’t distracted by them. While Dirtbag is cupping the side of his head and crying out like a little bitch, Myles shoves him down on the floor and drops down on top of him. Forgetting about his arm, he lands punch after punch until the guy is knocked out and Hopper sends in two men to drag him away.
He's dumped at our feet and though I can’t move my hands to help him, I kneel and look in his eyes. I need to see for myself he’s truly okay.
“I’m fine, brother,” he assures me.
“You want some more?” Hopper yells and the crowd cheers. He picks another name from the bucket and shouts, “Iron!”
That's the guy Shane fought. I pray I am chosen, JJ won’t stand a chance against him with his shoulder, and Dad and Cas are nearly double his age.
The big fucker makes his way through the crowd and Sparky tells me, “Shane done him, you’re more than capable of taking him down.”
With the rage over-fucking-boiling, the guy doesn’t stand a chance. I ache to kill him with my bare hands.
A fight breaks out in the crowd, but I focus on my brother. Cas drops down beside me, and frantically says, “Run, Mase. The side gate is open, and they’re all distracted with the fight!”
I go to question him when Myles tells me, “Run, brother! It's the only way we’ll get out of here!”
Hopper yells for the fight to be broken up but how loud the cheers are, I doubt he’ll be heard.
“This is our chance,” Cas urges. “Get out, call Zach, Luca, fuck, call everyone in and hide yourself until they get here. I’ll look out for your brother, you know I will.”
They are the last words I hear as I stand and quickly look around for the gate, as soon as it’s in my sight, I take off. I don’t stop and weave behind people, praying like fuck they don’t notice me, more interested in the fight between their own people.
I reach the gate, my heart pounding in my chest so fucking hard I feel like everyone can hear it over the music and cheers for blood.
No one mans it and I burst out onto the street. Once I'm clear, I pound the sidewalk and run, picking up speed until I can no longer hear the club, only the rush of my labored breath. I can’t remember the last time I had to sprint. It must have been over a thousand cigarettes ago.
It doesn’t feel right leaving my brothers behind, especially my blood brother, my twin, but all I need to do is get to a phone. I pass one, then two, phone-booths, but I continue to run. I need more distance between me and the Hogs in case they come looking. They must have noticed I'm not there any longer. As long as they don’t take it out on Myles, my guilt won’t grow.
After putting a couple of miles between me and the Hog’s clubhouse, I slow to a walk and collect my breath. Slipping into a side alley, I crouch down and slip my bound wrists under my legs and stand with my hands in front of me. I look around for something to cut them but there’s fuck all. Back on the street, a couple walks toward me, the guy on the phone. The woman’s eyes widen as she glances down at my hands and clings tighter to her man.
“I need to use your phone, just for a minute.” At the last minute, I add, “Please.” The woman urges the guy to do as I ask, no doubt wanting it to be over so they can be on their way.
He hands it over and I punch in Zach’s number. Grumps kept on at us to lock numbers to memory, that cell phones made us lazy storing the numbers. Between Myles and I, we know every brothers’ phone number from memory.
