Page 97 of Until Mayhem

Most of their wounds were bleeders, but superficial. Haze had a gash above his eyebrow that looked borderline for needing stitches, but he refused to go to the hospital, and I wasn’t performing action movie surgery with some dental floss and a sewing needle.

Once they were cleaned enough to talk without the dried blood pulling, Judge—a surprisingly good assistant—asked, “What the hell happened?”

Hollywood shook his head. “We were going to a concert at Rye. Parked down the street, got off our bikes, and got jumped as soon as we took our helmets off. Four dudes at first. We put up a fight, but then a second wave came. Six total. Maybe seven, I dunno.”

“Did they take anything?” I asked, wondering if it was a random mugging.

“No, this was personal.”

“Why? And how would they know you’d be there or where you’d park?”

“Think there were multiple groups out looking,” he said, ending with a hiss as I touched his shin. “Tell your woman to stop feeling me up.”

“Shut up and stop being a baby,” Judge said. Though, truth be told, he didn’t look thrilled about me moving up to touch Hollywood’s thigh, but since it was necessary, he kept quiet.

I checked their abdomens and ribs, but neither seemed to have an issue beyond expected tenderness.

“Usually my face is the second most important part of me,” Hollywood paused, trying for a dimpled smile that fell short. “But I’ve been in enough fights to know internal organs are kinda vital, too. Protected them instead of this beautiful mug.”

I rolled my eyes, but it’d been smart since they could’ve had serious damage.

Judge paced. “Why do you think there were other groups?”

“When I climbed off my bike, I heard someone behind me say what street we were on. I turned just as one of the assholes swung a damn two-by-four like he was Hacksaw Jim Duggan. If I had ignored them talking, that sucker would’ve hit my head not my arm.”

“They brought wood?” I asked, surprised. Of all the weapons, it seemed the least effective and most conspicuous.

“No, we parked next to a broken fence. He must’ve grabbed it as they approached. I tried to get it, but it got knocked under a car.”

Shaking his head, Judge slowed his pacing. “Did they say anything?”

“Other than where we were, jack-fucking-shit.”

“How’d you get away?” I asked.

“I pulled my piece,” Haze said, his eyes closed. “Couldn’t see or aim for shit, but I was able to get it from my ankle holster.” He tilted his head. “After they got me down, they seemed more focused on him.”

“Crazy fucker pulled himself up and waved his glock around ‘til they ran like bitches. Stood in front of me ‘til they were gone.”

“I’d have shot the fuckers if I knew which one of them to aim at. Or if I had two guns—one for each of them.”

Judge’s brows lowered. “Thought there were six—”

I looked up at him. “You’ve never seen Tombstone?”

“No, what’s that have to do with this?”

“We’re having a movie night soon.” Turning my attention back to Haze, I asked, “You seeing double, Doc Holliday?”

“Not anymore,” he said.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“Makes it hard to see double that way.”

“Open.”

He did, tolerating me shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him a million questions.

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