fight. But what choice did he have? He raised his fists and advanced. Then something hammered into his leg. It came out of nowhere, catching him hard across the side of his left knee. Pain shot through him and he dropped like liquid, screaming. He rolled around on the floor, breaths short, taking the pain, holding his knee. The leg was dead, numb; he couldn’t stand up. Then a voice broke the moment.
‘Looking for me, Rookie?’
Ethan glanced up to see Jake staring down at him. Hanging from his left hand was a thin plank of wood. He was doing his best to be gangster cool, with a cigarette dangling limply from the corner of his mouth. A long black coat added to the effect, though it didn’t suit him.
‘Why are you doing this?’ spat Ethan, trying to sit up. ‘What’s the point of ruining Sam’s kit? And those gorillas of yours nearly killed Johnny! Are you mad?’
Jake strolled over, rested a foot on Ethan’s shoulder and pushed.
Ethan fell back, still dazed from the pain in his knee. Jake leaned forward, and Ethan felt his lungs being compressed; wanted to throw up. He looked at the other two men. Mr Blond was beginning to move; Mr Black was standing over Johnny, who was also stirring now. Every time Johnny tried to get up, the goon simply pushed him back to the ground.
‘I thought you might turn up if I called,’ said Jake, drawing hard on his cigarette before blowing the smoke down into Ethan’s face. ‘Thought it would add to the fun if you saw what I’d done. Didn’t expect Johnny to come too. Bit of a bonus, that. And now I get to give you a kicking as well as ruin Sam’s life. Fucking excellent.’
Ethan struggled against Jake’s foot, fighting for breath. ‘It’s not my fault Sam threw you off the team,’ he panted. ‘It’s not anyone’s fault but yours.’
Jake raised the plank, menace in his eyes. ‘Want some more of this, do you?’ But before he could bring it down, Ethan saw his chance and went for it. Grabbing Jake’s foot, he twisted hard, turning with it as he went. Jake went down, the plank and the cigarette spinning off into the dark.
Ethan saw Mr Blond watching – though luckily still too dazed to do much. Mr Black wheeled round to see what was going on – and that was enough to allow Johnny to clamber to his feet. Now the man was torn between helping Jake and stopping Johnny.
As Jake struggled up onto his knees, Ethan leaped to his feet and smashed in with a kick, hard and fast, aiming for Jake’s stomach. Jake squealed and toppled backwards, coughing in pain. Ethan didn’t give him a chance to recover. As he tried to get up, Ethan kicked him back down. Jake wasn’t really fighting any more, but Ethan was beyond caring. He was locked in the moment now. It was all that mattered: he couldn’t hear or see properly, his body was in pain, there was blood in his mouth – and all he wanted to do was keep raining in the kicks and punches, take all his anger out on Jake till there was nothing left. Nothing at all.
But somewhere at the back of his mind a warning sounded: he knew he had to back off – stop before he lost control completely. He staggered backwards, aware now of Jake’s groans. The other two men were now trying to deal with Johnny, who was just about managing to stay out of their reach.
Then Ethan spotted the plank Jake had used against him. Calmly he walked over, picked it up, came back.
Jake looked up at him. ‘No . . . don’t—’
Ethan broke the plank across his knee with a crack that signalled the end. Enough.
Only apparently Mr Blond wasn’t following the same script, because as Ethan looked down at Jake, he felt huge arms wrap around him from behind. The stink of tobacco breath caught in his nostrils and stubble rasped against the back of his neck as he was lifted bodily off the ground.
Suddenly the arms released him, but Ethan wasn’t given a chance to escape. Two fists pounded into the sides of his neck, dropping him to the ground, where he landed next to Jake.
Ethan turned to see the man spit and smile, crack his knuckles, flex his neck. Then he reached down and picked up Ethan as though he weighed no more than a child.