Page 11 of Brood

Chapter Seven

When Roman led me into this part of the building, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. A giant octagon cage for fighting wasn’t it, nor was the mass of people. They came in from a set of doors on the far end of the gym. Some went over to a few bleachers that were pulled out, the rest crowed around the ring as two men stripped off their shirts and started fighting inside the cage. It wasn’t long after I was bumped from behind and nearly knocked over onto my face. Roman made sure to keep his arm around me after that, holding me close so I wouldn’t be knocked around again. To say the close contact of the man didn’t bother me at first would be a lie, though, after a few minutes, I found myself relaxing into his hold. He seemed so protective, sturdy. His touch wasn’t at all sexual, nor was the way he looked at me, which put me at ease around the much taller handsome man.

I was enjoying the chatter and Roman’s boasting when Brood made his presence known. For some reason coming face to face with the man– that wouldn’t look me in the eye I might add– I wanted to pull away from Roman. It was as though I wanted to make sure Brood knew that there was nothing going on between Roman and I. A ridiculous notion I still don’t understand, but now as I watch the exchange between the two, I find myself thinking it might not be as ridiculous as I thought. Brood is staring daggers at Roman, who has a smirk on his face surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard.

“You calling me out, brother?”

“I am. You up for it?”

“Let’s fucking do this.”

I have no idea what is even happening when Roman clasps my hand in his and pulls me to the side of the ring where there is space enough for me to stand without getting trampled. “Keep an eye on her, Willie.” This demand comes from Brood, who from the corner of his eye, stares me down, not meeting my face. It’s like no matter how hard I try, I can’t get the man to look directly at me. Not since we met at the café has he looked at me directly.

“You sure about this Brood? I would hate to deepen that scowl on your sorry ass face,” Roman trash talks his opponent who doesn’t respond, only pulls his cut from his shoulders and turns fully toward me.

“Hold this for me.” It isn’t really a question as he thrusts the worn leather into my hands. Hands that weren’t ready to take it at all, and I nearly drop the thing on the ground. Recovering quickly, I grip it tight in an attempt to try and stop my fingers from trembling. It doesn’t seem to help. Brood’s black t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders tightly as he takes a few things out of the pockets of his jeans and tosses them onto a small table near the ring. I wonder for a split second why he didn’t just put his cut on the same table, as Roman did. Pushing the thought away, I find myself hugging the leather closer to my chest. I tamp down the foolish feelings trying to bubble up and watch as the two men make their way into the now empty octagon.

Roman has shed his t-shirt and tied his hair back into a knot on the back of his head. While Brood has left his shirt on and forces back the small strands of hair that fall down on his forehead. It doesn’t do much, the strands just glide back into place. I want so much to smooth them away from his permanently scowling features, drag my thumb through that prominent crease between his brows.

I’m so caught up in my childish notions that I nearly miss the dinging of the bell and the match beginning. At first, the two men bounce around on their toes, bringing my attention to their bare feet. I hadn’t even noticed they took their boots off. Roman is the first to swing. My breath stalls in my chest when his fist just barely misses a dodging Brood, who in turn counters with his own strike that connects with Roman’s jaw. I gasp at the contact and bring the cut up to cover my mouth. The oil and woodsy scent fills my senses but doesn’t seem to calm me as the next blow is dealt. This time from Roman. A trickle of crimson blooms from Brood’s mouth and is swiped across his chin with his hand. “You hit like a bitch,” Brood sneers at Roman through a bloodied smile and goes for his opponent again, this time more relentless than before. Roman’s body slams against the cage right in front of me. The hits come in quick successions, one, two, three, four, five. Ribs then stomach over and over until I catch Brood pause and whisper something into Roman’s ear before he pulls back and lands one last hit to Roman’s face. He doesn’t even deflect it and goes right down to the mat with a heavy thud. Cheers erupt throughout the rowdy crowd and Brood bends down to help his brother up off the floor, slapping his back as Roman stands on his feet. The two of them are laughing now as if they weren’t just pummeling each other bloody. I will never understand the dynamic of men and why they find the need to beat each other senseless more appealing that just having a conversation.

“I think you broke my damn nose, asshole.” I hear Roman complain as the pair of them step down the three steps and onto the old gym floor.

“You’ll live. Besides, it’s an improvement to that ugly ass face of yours.” Brood’s jibe earns him the middle finger from Roman who stalks off, most likely to have someone tend to his nose.

“That was—”

“Necessary,” Brood finishes the sentence for me as he wipes away the sweat and blood from his face with a white towel, forever staining it. “Fucker shouldn’t have his arm around you.”

“His arm? That was about his arm around me? He was only trying to keep me from getting knocked over, which I nearly did, by the way,” I explain, finding myself getting mad because of the reason for this… whatever the hell it was.

“You ain’t his.”

“I’m not yours either,” I snap back at the man and shove his cut into his chest.

“No, you aren’t.” He takes the cut and places it back over his tight shoulders and looks my way with his eyes downcast, frustrating me further with the no eye contact thing. “Come on.” He nods toward another set of doors, but I pause, not wanting to follow him. “I ain’t going to hurt you. I want to talk to you about your car. Somewhere you can actually hear me.” This time he doesn’t wait for me to respond only starts walking out of the building.

Leaving me trailing behind.

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