Wild Like the Wind (Page 90)

Dog blew out a breath.

Arlo made a noise in his throat.

Shy got up from his chair, his mouth twitching. He clapped a hand on Tack’s shoulder and strolled from the room.

“You can change your mind, Dog,” Pete noted.

“Arlo stands for the brothers,” Dog stated immediately and turned his gaze to Hound. “I’ll stand for Black.”

Hound yet again dipped his chin, this time to Dog.

Chairs were pushed back.

Boz approached at his side.

Hound looked to him.

“It won’t happen, but they get a few good ones in, rattle me, I take a knee, you keep Brick and Rush back,” Hound ordered.

Boz nodded.

Hound started to move but stopped when Boz called his name.

He returned his gaze to his brother.

“Tack was wrong,” Boz said.

“About what?” Hound asked.

“Black wasn’t the best of us.”

Hound stood silent, now feeling his throat itch.

“You are,” Boz finished.

His brother gave him that.

And then he left the room.

Arlo, raring to go, was the first one up.

Hound had rough rope tied around his waist and also wound around his wrist, securing it to the small of his back.

Even so, for that shit Arlo spewed about Hound taking out Black’s killer to earn himself Keely’s pussy, Hound ducked the first punch then put all his power in his left fist and dealt Arlo a crushing blow to the cheekbone, quickly spun and caught him with the toe of his boot in Arlo’s kidneys.

Arlo spluttered, coughed, staggered to the side, but unfortunately this just served to piss him off even more, so he came back at Hound with everything he had.

Hound knew how to box, trained in a boxing gym, but he wasn’t a boxer. He wasn’t even a fighter.

He was a brawler and his hand tied behind his back fucked with his momentum and coordination. It wasn’t about him not being able to use that fist to throw a punch. It was that he couldn’t use it to grab hold, shove, toss, wrestle or use that entire side to stay balanced.

Arlo had opened up his left eyebrow and the right side of his bottom lip before some commotion happened among the men that circled them, catching Hound’s attention, but not Arlo’s, and when Hound heard Dutch shout, “Take your hands off me, man!” he made the mistake of looking toward his boy’s voice.

Arlo clocked him, sending him lurching, white invading his vision from the blow mingling with the red that was blood seeping into his eye, and to focus on regaining concentration, he automatically took a knee.

“Piss off, man! Stand back!” Hound heard Dutch yelling. “Fuckin’ stand back!”

“You are not in this, son,” Tack said low as Hound felt a hand land on his shoulder.

He looked up, blinked against the white that was retreating, and the blood that was not, and saw Jag there staring down at him, the muscle running up his cheek flexing.

“I’m not in this? I’m not fuckin’ in this?” Dutch asked, sounding enraged.

“This is between the brothers and you are not yet a brother,” Arlo stated.

“This is about my father and my mother and my dad. And I am my father and my mother but most of all, I’m my dad.”

Christ, that felt better than what Boz had said earlier.

By a lot.

“So I’m as Chaos as you can get, Arlo,” Dutch finished.

“Take your brother and go,” Hound whispered to Jag.

Jag leaned deep and put his face in Hound’s.

“No,” he replied.

Then he crouched and Hound felt him at the rope at the side of his waist. He knew Jag had slid in a blade and cut through because it immediately came loose, and Jag stood.

“We got problems with you bein’ a prospect, you don’t get your ass out and now,” Arlo declared.

Jagger pulled Hound to his feet and the rope fell to the floor.

When Jag got him there, he immediately moved to stand beside his brother, blocking Arlo from Hound.

“This was decided by the brothers,” Tack explained. “This is how it’s done. You need to learn this. It’s important. And you don’t interfere with it, as a recruit, or as a brother.”

“We speak for our father,” Jagger stated.

“That’s not the way it goes, son,” Tack said quietly.

“We speak for our mother,” Jagger went on.

“That’s definitely not the way it fuckin’ goes,” Arlo bit off.

“Hound understands this and he wants it,” Tack said. “He even needs it, men. So you need to stand down and let him have it.”

The boys did not stand down.

“Fair fight,” Dutch ground out.

“Dutch—” Hop entered the conversation but he didn’t get far.

“Fair fight. He’s fightin’ for our mother. He’s fighting for his place in our family. He’s fightin’ to stay solid with his brothers. If he’s fighting for shit that means that much, shit that means everything, it should be fair fight,” Dutch clipped. “You gotta make him raise fists, he feels he needs to take his beating, let him stand free and fight fair.”

“I don’t give a shit how he fights,” Arlo snapped. “What I give a shit about right now is two recruits gettin’ up in my face, in brother business, when they’re not welcome. You do as you’re told, assholes, or I’ll see to it you don’t earn your goddamned patch.”

At that, Hound pushed through Dutch and Jag, taking Arlo by surprise, so he was able to get his fingers wrapped around Arlo’s throat.

Arlo pushed back, tried to pull from Hound’s grip, but Hound just yanked him so they were nose to nose and he growled, “You’re witnessing loyalty, motherfucker, something I’m thinkin’ is foreign to you. We’ll talk about that later. Now . . .” he shoved him off and lifted his fists, “fight.”

“Back up,” Hound heard Tack order Dutch and Jag.

He felt them all retreat to the circle.

On a roar, Arlo came at him.

And with a roar, Hound met him.

It was brutal and there was a lot behind it on both sides, and none of it had to do with Black.

But all of it had to do with what Hound feared burned deep in Arlo.

Guilt.

And shame.

So when Shy called out, “Time!” they didn’t stop.

It took Dutch, Jag, Joke and Hop pulling Hound back, and High, Tack and Boz pulling Arlo back.

“We’re not done,” Arlo hissed, his focus still locked on Hound, even if now he also had blood in his eyes, covering his teeth and running down his chin.

“No we are not,” Hound agreed, spit blood from his own mouth at the floor at Arlo’s feet and turned his attention to Dog, shrugging off the men who held him. “You’re up, brother.”

“Shit,” Dutch bit off.

“Just Dog, that’s it, then it’s done,” Boz said under his breath to his boys.

Dog came at him but the fury was not there.

Hound still let Dog have him.

Because Dog was fighting for Black.

Reflex and knowing Dutch and Jag were watching made him duck, lift his arms to protect his face, twist to glance off blows to the body, but he took from Dog what Dog was willing to give, for Black, each fist that landed leading Hound to clean and clear.

And Keely.

“Goddamn it, Hound! Fight!” Jagger thundered.

Right after that came, it was Dog that had his attention turned when another commotion started outside the circle, and Hound heard Speck mutter, “Jesus, shit, you gotta be kidding me. This keeps up, for a ten-minute fight, we’ll be here all night.”