Page 60 of Bastard

“Fucking fight already!” Spades yelled from behind Knife.

Knife grinned wider. “Come on now. Show me how big and bad the Red fucking Right Hand is!” He faked a punch and winked.

The fucker. “Aw. Jealous are we?” As he bounced around I took it all in. The way he moved his balance between his feet. Wide, but not always centered. Definitely not low. He was strong though. Wide, thick shoulders with muscles that roped down his arms. My bet was he was a power guy. He was fast enough for long enough and if he was patient he could land a brutal punch that usually knocked his opponents out, or rung them hard enough they were useless after that.

I needed to avoid the stinger.

“I’m not jealous,” he winked again. “Just better.”

I preferred to be on offense, so I went first, punching him in the stomach right as the last word left his mouth, then followed it up with a fast series of blows that took his momentum away and got him reeling backward.

His foot caught at the edge of the ring and he used it to push himself back into the mix. I dodged one punch and a kick, sweeping him onto his back. It was temporary though. Knife was too amped up to stay down for more than a split second. With any luck whatever upper he was on would run its course sooner than later. This time he came at me, all his momentum in his forward motion. An attempt to take and hurt. Stun me. But I took his momentum and used it to dodge while also sending him into the ropes on the other side.

This was both good and bad because I didn’t get hurt at all, but it pissed Knife the hell off. The crowd booed the lack of punching and cheered the unusual turn of events.

Knife spun around snarling. “Come here, Bastard. Fight me!”

I punched him in the face twice and followed it up with a kick to the head. He stuttered backward, then got low and ran at me. This time I didn’t have the space to dodge away and instead took it, trying my best to roll the momentum instead of taking it head on. It only partially worked. I lost a little wind.

We brawled from there. On the ground. Dirt and rocks ripped at my skin. I got the advantage and then he did. Back and forth until I rolled away and back onto my feet. Then we traded blows—the more traditional fight our brothers wanted. Bare knuckles hitting raw flesh. It was a relatively fair fight until it wasn’t.

Knife—true to his name—pulled a knife. He licked it. “Now let’s have some fun.” And lunged at me.

I was still faster and more precise than he was, so I was able to hold my own. He got a few cuts in here and there, but I needed to find a way to end this before my luck ran out. The knife meant I had to keep my focus split more than I’d prefer. It was an extra variable. Like having two enemies in the ring instead of one.

He thrust toward my stomach. I grabbed his wrist with both hands, using all my strength to keep the blade from piercing my skin. Then I kicked him square in the chest, sending him backward. Knife rounded, coming fast. He managed to cut my bicep before I punched him in the face.

I only took a second to check the wound. Superficial, nothing more. Then Knife was back, kicking my legs and punching my stomach. I returned the favor. As he stumbled backward he cut me again, this time on the opposite forearm.

I had blood dripping down both arms now. On the bright side, it made me slippery, so it wasn’t like he could get a hold of my arms. On the downside, Knife really liked the sight of blood. It energized him.

“Fuck yeah!” He howled, head shaking as he pounded his chest.

His attention was on the blood now. The violence. Not me. This was the best shot I’d get, so I lunged forward, bending at the waist and lowering my shoulder, getting him right in the gut. I had all the momentum, Knife was just along for the ride, as I slammed him into the wooden fencepost. I felt the air leave his lungs and his body go limp from the pain of the impact. I reared back to deliver a knockout punch when he stabbed me right in the side. Somehow I didn’t even feel it. Instead it was the warmth of my own blood that jump-started my brain.

How far are you willing to go?

It was me or Knife. I knew that. I knew that. Could I do this one more time? One last time? End this and get my life with Sam?

All the way, baby. I came back, landing punch after punch. His face twisted one way and then the other. Blood splattered through the air. His nose was broken, his lips split. At least two teeth went flying. He stabbed me again and I took him to the ground, banging his arm against the dirt and sending the knife flying away. I punched and kept punching. His body went limp and I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

This had to end.

With guys like this there was no in between. No compromise. No walking away. Either he lived or I did. Those are the only two options when you deal with the devil.

And I would be the one that lived, no matter the cost.

The violence coursed through my veins in a way it never had before. In the past I killed because I had to. I did it because I was ordered to—because it's what we do as outlaws. A simple fact of life, not something I believed in. But now? This was for me. I wanted this man dead. Wanted Todd dead. All the Chubbies. I wanted it with every fiber of my being, every ounce of my soul…if I still had one somewhere.

My head started buzzing, then ringing like a siren. The crowd’s cheers turned to shouts. The loss of blood was starting to get to me probably. That and the hits to the head. I was vaguely aware of a change in activity around the ring but it didn’t matter. I had to finish this first.

“Stop! Hands in the air! Hands in the air!”

The loud authoritative voice cut through the buzz in my head and I looked up at men in vests and body armor holding up guns. I looked down at Knife’s lifeless body.

Was he dead yet? Maybe. Maybe not. Didn’t look good though. Especially for me…Of course Agent Fucking Steel finally showed up when I had blood all over my hands. Asshole had impeccable fucking timing.

I put my hands up and stumbled backwards. The world spun sideways.

---