Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Turns out it's not the bartender we have to contend with first. An Outlaw Son with his long, dark hair tied back and built like a fucking mountain pushes his way to the front. He’s got an officer patch too. “I gotta admit, I'm impressed. It takes balls to come into our territory—into our fucking home—and think you can threaten us? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but this is bullshit. What are we supposed to do? Roll over and beg?” His voice is deep and he speaks like he's used to people listening.
“If it walks like a dog, talks like a dog, and sticks its tail between its legs like a dog…” Phoenix trails off, but he's said enough.
One of the Sons roars and charges, his fist already swinging.
Wild Child lets out a war hoot like a fucking madman, and Shrapnel swipes a bottle by the neck from the bar. The party's begun.
I get the guy lunging for Phoenix just a moment before Sledge gets there. Not that Sledge is slow, I'm just closer. My fist connects with the guy’s core, right underneath his ribs. He collapses into a wheezing pile on the floor. I give him a good kick to roll him the fuck away.
Phoenix launches past me, catching a Son in the face with the full weight of his momentum. The guy's knocked back so hard his feet come up above his head when he crashes backwards into a table. Him, the table, and all the half empty beer glasses on it smash into the floor like a fucking explosion.
Shrapnel and Reaper form a front line, charging right into the mass of Outlaw Sons as if there aren't twice as many of them as there are of us. They box a guy between them, a one, two, three, four combo before he drops to the floor, but they don’t have time to celebrate before they’re back to back, defending themselves from the next wave.
With a bloodcurdling roar, Wraith spins a guy around and slams him into the bar before being punched in the face. Wild Child jumps clear over a table and throws himself straight onto the asshole who swung. The whole place is fucking chaos.
Reflexes have me dodging before I even know why, and a beer bottle sails past my ear, crashing into the wall, scattering glass shards and beer. The guy who threw it yells something, then charges, throwing himself against me while I'm still off balance. The air's knocked outta me, but I suck in a pained breath and bring him down so that when we hit the floor, I'm on top. He grunts as the back of his head bounces off the hardwood, but he’s already swinging. With only a moment to dodge, I dive in, instead of pulling away, and slam my forehead into his. This time, when his head hits the floor, he lies still and I can get back to my feet. Fuck, that’s going to hurt in the morning.
I take stock of the fight. Shadow’s got a guy bent backwards over one of the tables, slamming his fist into the guy’s arms as he tries to protect his head. Reaper staggers my way, off balance and knocking into one of the tables. I jump in to catch him. He nearly bowls both of us over, but I get him back on his feet. With a nod of thanks, he charges right back in there.
Wild Child runs by with what looks like a bottle of high end vodka, the bartender right on his heels, his ham shank fist raised and ready to pound him. I stick my leg out, tripping the bartender. He doesn't go down, but it pisses him off, and he sends his fists my way instead. Wild Child bounces off the wall, laughing, and throws himself right back into the fight, jumping onto the back of a guy that's about to drop his fists onto Shrapnel’s back.
I dodge the first swing from the bartender, but the second one sends me reeling. Holy fuck, that guy can punch, and he's still coming for me. I try to shake the cobwebs outta my head and get my brain to stop spinning. I know I'm not gonna be able to block the next one, though.
Fuck.
Sledge charges in like a fucking tank, his fists living up to his name. The first one he buries in the bartender's gut, making him bend over, and then the second one comes up from below, straightening the big guy right back out. He goes down like a sack of potatoes. “You alright?”
I wave him off. “Yeah. Fucking peachy.”
He gives a nod of acknowledgement, then jumps back into the melee. His hands are bleeding, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Fuck, I'm glad he's on our side, because he's a fucking machine in a fight. It's like his fists don't miss, and when they connect, someone's going down. But I'm not gonna let him have all the fun, so I get back in there, just as Wraith sends a guy spinning my way. I drop him to the floor with a boot to the gut and he rolls over, groaning.