Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 130512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
The second fight wasn’t won as easily. Logan eked it out, but just barely.
After that, it was my turn.
Logan passed me as he climbed out of the ring. His hand slipped, but Nate was there to catch him. Logan patted my back. “Kick ass, Mase.”
I watched as Nate eased him to the ground. He threw an arm around Logan’s shoulders and took him over to a corner. A biker was there with a first aid kit ready to go. The two bikers Logan had fought were already there. The first one was lying back on a bed, beer in hand. He saw me looking and held his beer up. “Good luck. Hope you’re half as good as your little brother.”
I held his gaze, seeing he meant what he said. He was being good natured about it. Scanning the rest of the room, none of the bikers seemed pissed. This was what? Normal life to them? All in good fun, that sort of thing?
And Nate was back there, helping my brother out. My chest rose, but not with jealousy. With… I don’t know, but it was something good. It hit me all over again, just how much we’d evolved since we’d grown up. I wasn’t the leader anymore. I was just one corner of the square box our fearsome foursome made. I liked that, even if I couldn’t completely understand it.
I climbed the rest of the way into the ring.
I recognized the guy who climbed in across from me. Boise. I didn’t get a big motherfucker. He was my height. Slender. His long black hair was loose, but as he stood across from me, he reached back to pull his hair up. Since he was shirtless and in similar shorts, I could see some of his tattoos. They looked Native American. A buffalo. A headdress spread out over his chest. A set of wolf paws. He turned to talk to someone behind him, showing me the giant tomahawk that ran down the middle of his back, right between a set of two red demons. When he caught my gaze, I knew this guy wasn’t going to be a normal fighter.
He’d be fast, and he’d be good. I felt it in my bones.
I closed my eyes, breathing out harshly. I needed to wake up. Warm up.
“You ready?” Stripes called from the sidelines.
I looked at the other guy again. He shifted, and I saw the guy he’d been talking to. He was tall, well over six feet. Lean. Muscled. Tan and tattooed all over. That was their president. The guy Channing said was also the National VP for the entire Red Demons club.
He was here for the fight. He turned to look at me, and there was a knowing in his gaze. I had a hunch he knew the second reason we were here.
Nate was taking care of Logan. Samantha had the family. No one else was here that I needed to be responsible for. Just myself. I let out a deep breath, feeling a lot of the fucking weight come off my shoulders, and I reached up and plucked off my shirt. I kicked off my jeans, standing now in shorts like the others. I’d done my research. This is what they wore.
“Fuck,” a guy spat, lunging and climbing up into the ring. He strode over to me with a toothpick in his mouth. “He ain’t taped. WE NEED SOME TAPE OVER HERE.” He shook his head at Stripes. “What the fuck you thinking? About to ring the bell when he’s not taped and ready. You should know better, bo—”
Stripes was up on the ring in the next instant, a savage growl roaring from his throat. He grabbed the guy’s shirt and yanked him hard. “You fucking want to finish that sentence?”
The grizzled biker in front of me looked like he did, but he did not. He closed his mouth. Stripes nudged him back with his elbow as a sharp whistle sounded. He looked over and raised his hand in the air to catch the tape.
Or he would’ve. I caught it first.
He blinked, surprised. He hadn’t even seen me move for it.
I blinked too, because I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just caught it. I handed it to him. “Habit,” I explained. “Something’s thrown my way, I catch it.”
“Hell yeah, he does.” The other biker was done getting patched up and strolled over to us, grinning. Roadie. “That’s why he’s got two Super Bowl rings. You couldn’t have stayed another year? Helped the Orcas get their Lombardi?”
I chuckled. “They’re still a new team.”
He scoffed. “You got ’em to the game in the first year. You kept getting us there. If it wasn’t for the Kings, we would’ve had it. They had to go and sign fucking Broudou, man. Their team’s stacked. Or was, I guess.”