by H. T. Night
Fair? I thought. You’re a trained fighter. There’s nothing fair about it.
Ron rubbed his soft-looking knuckles, sizing me up. He didn’t like what he saw. I saw the fear now in his eyes. Ron and I both knew he wasn’t tough. A guy like this got through life barely fighting because he was would usually bully people into thinking he was tougher than he was. He couldn’t bully me, and he knew it. Tonight, he was about to be exposed for the fraud he was.
As he continued to stare at me, I said, “Look, Ron, I’m not falling in love looking at you. If you’re going to do something, do it. Otherwise, I’d like to make it home in time for Jimmy Kimmel.” I knew this would piss him off.
Ron continued rubbing his knuckles. He also continued not doing anything.
I gripped the girl, Lena’s, hand tighter. “All right,” I said. “Let’s go, Lena. Ron’s apparently a nice guy and is going to let us leave.” I turned around knowing full well Ron would push me in the back, and Ronny boy didn’t disappoint.
Like I said, when I get into a fight, things always go in slow motion for me—and they did so now. The instant I felt Ron’s hand on my back, I turned and grabbed his hand. Ron wasn’t prepared for me to turn. I’ve been told my reflexes are off the charts, that my anticipatory skills are unrivaled. I credit it all to the slow-motion thing. How it works, I don’t know, but the world seems to slow down around me while I go at normal speed. So while Ron’s eyes widened in alarm as he saw me spin around, he was helpless to do much about it. I grabbed his right hand and pulled him forward using his own momentum. Ron stumbled forward and hit the side of an oversized SUV parked on the street near us. He bounced off the door and fell straight to his ass. I heard chuckling from the crowd.
It was just self-defense, I thought. Anyone could see that. He came at you while you weren’t looking.
Ron got up to his feet slowly, watching me. People were still laughing behind him, and I could see that it was making him madder and madder. There was a red mark on his forehead where it had bounced off the side of the SUV.
And that’s when he charged at me in a clumsy, uncoordinated motion. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to punch me or grab me. Regardless, I turned my body to the left and got into a perfect position to throw a ferocious uppercut with my right hand. And that’s exactly what I did. My punch landed directly on his chin, and Ron flew backwards onto the sidewalk, landing hard on his ass and back, his head bouncing off the concrete like a basketball. To my utter surprise, he scrambled quickly back to his feet, where he stared at me unsteadily. I think his eyes might have crossed a little. He staggered once, twice, and then fell backward.
I looked over at Lena; her eyes and mouth were wide open. I couldn’t tell if she was scared or excited. Then she pointed, and I turned quickly and saw four of Ron’s frat buddies surrounding me. I’ve been jumped before. Getting jumped isn’t a big deal if you know how to fight, and there are no weapons involved. As far as I could tell, these guys were packing nothing but their soft fists. And since the crowd was composed of a lot of women, the guys would be less inclined to fight dirty. At least, that has been my experience. Then again, these were the same scumbags who had just tried to take advantage of Lena, so all bets were off.
The crowd backed up a little and I once again marveled at my propensity to get into fights. Some guys attract money and girls. I attract fists.
The guys were all sort of looking at each other, trying to decide what to do or waiting for some sort of signal. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of them nod, and I thought: Here they come.
And they did, all four charging me at once. Except, of course, they charged at me in slow motion, my brain once again slowing things down like it always did. The first two guys tried to throw punches in the direction of my head. I easily ducked and sidestepped and gave a hard left cross to the guy on the right—and broke his nose on contact. Blood spurted down his face and over his shirt and he screamed and fell away. Nearly simultaneously, I gave the second guy coming up behind me a back kick that hit nothing but manhood. He fell to ground, holding his gooseberries. The next guy jumped on my back and I threw him over my shoulder and he landed on the guy with the bloody nose. The last guy just charged me like football player. I took a step back and gave him a high kick to the chin that made him stumble back. He came at me again and I gave him a four punch combination with my last punch breaking his nose.
My adrenalin was pumping and I felt like I could do this all night. By the looks of it, these four couldn’t. They were done. Unfortunately the Gamma Phi Beta’s brother weren’t. The entire Fraternity, or at least what was left of them had surrounded me. There must had been twenty-five guys out there. I was good, but I wasn’t that good.
I was about to say something that would call attention to how unfair the numbers were when something excruciatingly painful exploded in the middle of me back. I fell to my knees and then to the ground. I turned around, and sure enough Big Red Ron was standing there holding a baseball bat, sporting a shit-eating grin. He raised the bat again.
I hate when that happens.
Chapter Two
Ron looked like a kid ready to hit the crap out of a piñata. A deranged kid, and I was the piñata. Already, I figured he had done some serious damage to me. He either chipped a vertebrae or ruptured my kidney, or both.
And as he wheeled back to take another swing, and as I was about to dive under the nearby SUV, we both heard a commotion coming from down the street. He stopped in mid-swing, and I stopped in mid-dive, and promptly coughed up some blood.
And while I coughed, a van appeared around the corner, screeching on two tires. Three guys in black trench coats were hanging out of the open doors, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs. I had just propped myself up on a knee when the van burst over the curb. It bounced and skidded to a halt, tearing up the lawn next to me.
You have got to be kidding me. What the hell did I just get myself into?
All the doors to the van seemingly opened at once and three guys poured out, all wearing trench coats and all looking as if they had just gotten back from a Marilyn Manson concert. Oddly, they looked alike: tall, pale, with long, greasy black hair.
I coughed and more blood came up. I stood slowly. I think Ronnie boy had cracked a rib. And as I stood, I felt a gentle hand under my elbow helping me. I looked, surprised. It was Lena. She smiled at me, but the smile quickly faded. Her eyes flashed warningly over to the death rock trio.
As I steadied myself, the tallest of the van freaks—easily seven feet tall—rushed over to Lena, who was still holding my arm. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. She pulled me with her a little and I spun, too, nearly falling.
The tall weirdo said, and none too politely: “What the hell are you doing at this meathead party? I warned you to stay away.”
She stood her ground, looking up at the guy. “You think I wanted to come to this party, Atticai? One of these assholes drugged me at the club and brought me here.”
A woman got out of the driver’s side. She had dark reddish maroon hair and was paler than all the guys put together. She was stunning. She too, wore all black, but it looked like a jumpsuit and she had a bull whip in her hand. This was just getting better and better.
“They drugged you?” said the tall guy. Atticai, I assumed.
But before she could respond, one of the frat guys yelled out, “Hey, Freak Show! Get your fucking van off my lawn or I’m calling the police.”
“Who said that?” Atticai said, scanning the crowd, which was pretty easy for him to do, since he was the tallest guy I had even seen up close.
A real muscular guy came forward. “I did,” he said. “Now get your fucking van off my grass or I’m going stick my foot deep in your bony ass.”
Atticai turned away, ignoring him. He took both of Lena’s shoulders in his exceptionally big hands. “Did they hurt you?”
Lena looked away. There were tears in her eyes. Hell, there were tears in my eyes, too. I look
ed at Ron. He was standing with his back to me, holding the bat loosely, completely absorbed by the three strangers.
The tall guy said, “So which one of these young men thought it would be okay to drug a young woman and take advantage of her?”
Without hesitation, Lena pointed at Ron, who stepped back a little and gripped his bat. “Hey, man, I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Of course not,” said Atticai. “Lena, get in the van and shut the door.” He looked back at Ron. “My little ginger-haired friend is going to be taught the correct way to treat a lady.”
Lena grabbed the tall guy’s hand. “Atticai, please. Someone already took care of it. Just let it go.”
Ron, hearing this, took a step back. He also raised the bat again. Atticai continued looking at Ron. “Yes, I can see that someone did some damage to the boy.”
“Who you calling boy, punk?” Ron jutted the fat part of the bat in the direction of the tall figure.
Atticai’s face hardened. He looked back at Lena. “Get in the van. Now.”
Lena looked at me one more time, tried to smile, and then hurried over to the van. I want to say something, but I’ll admit, I was pretty caught up in the scene. Besides, Lena seemed to know these weirdos and didn’t seem afraid. Or, at least, she seemed less afraid.
I had been in enough brawls to know one was about to go down, and I was pretty fought out for the evening. Getting hit in the back with a bat has a way of doing that to you. This is none of your business, I thought again. Leave now before this gets ugly.
Easier said than done. For now, it was all I could do to suck in a deep breath, let alone walk away. Besides, there was the small matter of a little payback.
Let it go, I thought. And get the fuck out of here.
“So you play baseball, Fatty?” Atticai asked to Ron. From somewhere deep inside the tall guy’s trench coat, he removed a length of chain.
Someone in the crowd gasped. Actually, a lot of people did. Lena was watching from the front seat. She looked sick.
Ron dropped the bat. “Look, no harm no foul. You guys can just go.”
“Oh, we can?” the tall began circling Ron. The chain hung limply from his long arm. “How very generous of you.”
“Please—”
“If only life could be so simple, Red.”
“My name is Ron.”
“Thanks for clearing that up, Red. So you met a pretty young girl at a bar, got her loaded, and thought that you and your buddies would do the unthinkable to her. But, somehow, your plans didn’t quite go as planned.” Atticai smiled at his small play on words. He continued circling Ron. The gaunt figure, easily a head taller than the cherub-faced Ron, looked at me and caught my eye. He nodded imperceptively and I understood the meaning. He was thanking me. Atticai looked back at Ron. “Unfortunately for you and your sick plans, you didn’t count on others helping her. You sick rapist fucks never figure that in...that people actually love these girls you hurt.”
“Look, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything. You can even ask her.”
“I don’t need to ask her. Because I can see through you, Red. I can see your heart. I can see your soul. And you know what? You really aren’t a good person. So that is why I’m going to continue giving you the beating that someone else started.”
Ron seemed whiter than normal. Then again, that could have just been a play on light. Either way, he started walking backwards—and promptly tripped over the hose. He screamed as if he had been shot, scrambled to his feet, and made a mad dash toward the front door of the house.
Atticai watched him with a sort of bemused expression on his face, and I thought that was going to be it. Ron would run to his room and everyone would disperse, and I would limp my way home.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The tall man swirled his long chain like a lasso and what he did next defied logic and reason. He threw the chain, which whipped through the air, humming as it went. The chain wrapped around Ron’s legs perfectly and the big dope pitched forward onto the house’s concrete steps. My mouth had barely dropped open, when this Atticai character somehow, miraculously appeared on top of Ron.
Then Atticai opened his mouth, and in the ambient street and house light I could see that he had filed down his teeth. What the hell? A second later, he buried his teeth and face into Ron’s neck. Ron screamed like a girl. Someone else screamed, too. Ron kicked once, twice. More people screamed.
Was I being Punk’d? Was this really happening? Oh, sweet Jesus.
A moment later, Atticai pulled his face away—a face now covered with blood. Ron was lying perfectly still, blood pouring down his neck and splashed over the concrete stairs.
This is real. He really fucking bit his neck. Unbelievable.
Atticai casually picked Ron up by his neck, lifting him completely off the ground. Ron’s legs dangled like a five-year-old’s. And with a primeval growl, the tall freak threw Ron off the stairs and into the bushes nearby.
And that’s when complete mayhem broke out.
* * *
Most of the party goers took off running, but there were some unfortunate bastards who stood their ground trying to defending their frat house turf.
Like I said, unfortunate bastards.
The three guys in trench coats were moving so fast that they appeared more a blur than anything. I was beginning to wonder if I had been the one who had been slipped a roofie. Anyway, time just sort of skipped around. One moment the tall, freaky guys were here. And the next, they were over there. In a blur, a blink. Sometimes even instantly. And since I no longer had a dog in this fight—not to mention I was seriously questioning my sanity—I decided to duck behind the Jeep and see how this all played out.
And then get the hell out of here.
The red-headed woman had now joined the three trench coats. All four, as best as I could tell, were laying beat downs with their chains and whips in a scene that could only be described as surreal, and one that made prison riots look tame. No one here had a chance.
The red-headed woman, who had just disposed of a guy twice her size by throwing him hard against a tree trunk, suddenly stopped and looked straight at me. I wanted to duck, but too late. Her eyes narrowed and then she did something surprising. She nodded slightly and motioned with her head. I frowned and was briefly overcome with a sensation that she recognized me somehow, although I was damn certain I had no clue who she was. She motioned with her head again, and my confused, dense brain finally understood the gesture. She wanted me to get running.
Well, that sounded like a hell of a good idea, and so that’s exactly what I did. Well, as I best as I could. With a sharp pain ripping through my injured back—and pain that was eclipsed by a powerful surge of adrenalin—I bolted down the driveway.
And that’s as far as I got.
Before I could even get to the sidewalk one of the trench coats guys had tripped up my feet. I fell to the ground. I tried to fight him off, but it was no use. He had the strength of ten men. He was impossible to move. I was a world-class mixed martial arts fighter and this Goth dude was keeping me down? I rolled over and he bit down on my neck. What the hell was this crazy jerk doing?
With everything I had—and using every wrestling technique Tommy had ever taught me—I broke his grip on me and heaved him off me. All in one motion. And as he went spinning and stumbling, I leaped to my feet and grabbed my neck. He regained his balance and turned and faced me, eyes wide with wonder and confusion.
I looked at my hand. There was a small amount of blood on it. “What the fuck did you do that for?”
“You should have never come,” he hissed, and lunged towards me again, his mouth wide. This guy also had his teeth filed. Jesus, they all had some sort of vampire obsession.
I landed a punch that did him little damage, although it slowed him down some. He simply shook his head and kept coming. The punch I had landed would have laid out most people. People being the operative word here.
> And in a move that would have made any MMA fighter proud, he grabbed my hand in a blink and pulled me forward. The movement was so sudden and fierce that I lost my balance. He yanked me again and now I pitched forward onto the grass. Not the world’s most graceful take-down, but it worked. Not to mention he still had me by the hand, which he had yanked awkwardly behind me.
Awkwardly and painfully. Too painfully. I turned my head and saw that the son-of-bitch had bitten down on my wrist. I tried to free myself but I was in a hell of an awkward position.
He bit down harder, tearing away some of my skin.
This guy was now drinking the blood from my wrist. I could see him actually swallowing. I looked towards the grass and the other two guys were biting their victims, too. I began to feel faint.
“Don’t hurt him, Wyatt!” shouted a voice, although it was hard to be sure from where, exactly. Blackness had seriously started encroaching along the edges of my vision. The voice might have been coming from the van. “He’s the only one who helped me!”
And with that, the guy let go of my wrist. My hand dropped and I fell forward on my face, oddly drained of all energy or will to move, even if for a few seconds.
As I lay there, feeling as if I had been attacked by a grizzly bear, I could hear the sounds of approaching sirens. I’m no stranger to sirens or even being arrested. If you grow up a street brawler like me, you get used to both; however, I was too weak to even move.
Now I seriously felt drugged, and my neck and wrist hurt like hell.
Atticai was suddenly by my side, he knelt down, which took him a heartbeat longer than most people, since he was so damn tall. He lowered his face to mine and I was struck instantly by the strong scent of coppery blood. Indeed, blood was dripping in big globs down his chin. My stomach turned.