Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,56
If you get him angry, it’s only worse for Skirt!” I hit the hand that holds the knife, and it falls to the ground.
“Good,” Tongue sneers, his lifeless eyes darting between mine. “Skirt thrives off danger. Don’t ever fuck with me and my blade again.”
I’m scared, terrified actually, but I throw my shoulders back. “Don’t fuck with Skirt again and maybe I won’t.”
“May the blood be in your favor, gentleman,” Maximo sings and lets go of the dangling microphone.
The giant is holding something that looks like a bat with small metal spikes circling the body. I hold my stomach, squeezing the skin violently until it hurts when I realize there are no rules here. One swing of that bat and Skirt is a dead man.
“This just got interesting.” Maximo stands beside me, and Bullseye’s fingers tighten on my shoulder a bit harder to protect me. “I believe in Rohan. This giant is dumb.”
The giant swings the bat, and Skirt ducks, barely missing the sharp metal teeth protruding from the bat.
I hold my breath and wait for the longest night of my life to come to an end.
Chapter Fourteen
SKIRT
What big blokes don’t realize about big weapons is the amount of time it takes to use it, gives me enough time to react. I duck and slam my fist against his side, right where his kidney is. The brass knuckles do their job, and the giant doubles over and drops his meat grinder of a bat. I send an uppercut to his face, knocking him out in less than a minute.
He falls in slow motion as I dance on my toes and his teeth snap together as he hits the ground, and the cage floor shakes. I guess it’s true what they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
There are no breaks in this cage. Just as soon as they drag the big bloke away, another one returns, and this one has a sword. What is it with big weapons? Don’t they know that’s how they lose about a second or two in time, giving me the opportunity I need?
I’m swearing as I dance around the sharp blade, and I glance over at Tongue to see him staring through the fence in awe, watching the silver blade slice through the air. Then my eyes land on Dawn. Her eyes are wide, and she’s holding Bullseye’s hand, clenching it every time I dive and dodge.
It’s a distraction.
She’s a distraction.
And it costs me.
The blade slices through the skin on my back when I don’t dodge in time. I bite down the pain, but the burning is unimaginable. The trickle of blood pools down my back, and Dawn’s cries are loud, nearly piercing over the roar of the crowd.
“Now I’m mad.” I flex my shoulder, welcoming the burn, and act quick on my feet, letting the dust from the ground make its way into my lungs as I inhale, reminding me of when me and my brother would fight as kids outside in the field.
I slide to my leg and trip the bastard, step on his wrist with my boot until an orchestra of snaps play up his arm, and he releases the sword. I bring my fist up and slam it against his cheek over and over again until I see bone through the split flesh.
“Fuck ye and ye damn sword. Even I know not to carry mine to a fight.” I gather a wad of spit and spew it on his chest.
Maximo gives me two thumbs up, and Reaper stands there with a smoke in his mouth, staring at me with concern.
Not pride.
Not joy.
And I get pissed off because he set all this up. If he’s worried about me taking it too far, he’s probably right. I spread my arms out and toss my head back, releasing a feral roar that builds up my throat.
I want more.
I want Cohen.
I feel it. The electricity burning through my body, blazing, blistering under my skin to let the animal out, to kill, to feast, and to bury. I need it. I’m almost hard from the madness taking hold of my brain. The line isn’t blurred. It’s gone.
Another victim enters the ring, a man with a hatchet.
He has no idea what he’s entered and who he’s facing.
I’m in bloodlust. He doesn’t understand the visceral need in my veins to break every bone in his body with my fists. The man throws the hatchet over his head, and I dodge left, staring at him in disbelief