Chapter 26 Liam #2
A couple of guys are holding back our new Russian winger, Dory, and he is fucking pissed. He’s sporting a black eye and a bloody lip, fighting hard against his captors. I don’t recognize either of them. I nod to Walker, and he makes a run toward Dory.
Irish and I push through the crowd, not sure what we’ll find, but knowing it probably won’t be good.
The scene in front of us stops us in our tracks.
They’ve stripped Camps naked, and his hands are bound behind him with duct tape.
He’s clearly passed out, probably from all the alcohol.
The kid is not a drinker. The other two rookies, Sandman, and Greggo, still have all their clothes on.
Thank God, but those assholes have bound their hands and mouth with duct tape.
Damn it, duct tape is a bitch to get off skin, and it hurts like hell.
Don’t ask how I know. This goes beyond hazing, right into cruelty.
“You boys ready? Cause you’re next!” Bells announces viciously, while holding the duct tape up like a trophy.
“Wat the fuckin’ fuck?” Irish says, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Oh, hell no!” I say. I’ve got firsthand knowledge of how vicious Bell can be. God, I hate him.
Then I see it, and I’m almost sick to my stomach. There’s duct tape around Austin’s dick and balls. And I’m just fucking done.
I’m done playing nice and setting an example. I’m done with the bullying and all of Karl’s bullshit. I’m done with what happened to me and so many other rookies.
“This ends now, motherfucker!” My rage explodes, and I lose the last bit of restraint I have as I launch myself toward Bell.
Something in my tone hits him, because he turns and, for once, he looks a little scared. Then, his face twists into ruthlessness. I’m well aware of that face, because I’ve seen it before when they came after me. Only this time I’m not a scared rookie.
“Oh, look, our pussy capt..”
I don’t let him finish. I clock him right in the jaw with everything I’ve got. He’s head flies to the side, blood spattering. My smile is dark with satisfaction. Fighting isn’t a big part of my game, but I can throw a punch. My dad made sure of that.
The blow stuns him for a moment, and I catch him again when my left fist connects with his stomach.
He’s disoriented, probably drunk, so he’s slow.
I’m sober and furious. He swings, but he’s at an awkward angle, so it’s slow and lacking force.
I’m able to duck far enough down that he misses.
I don’t pull my punch when I catch him in the kidney.
He goes down and I’m about to go in after him when Irish yells.
“Walker needs help, Cap.”
He’s holding off two guys, and Walker’s struggling with another two.
I jump in to help Walks, grabbing one guy by his collar and flinging him away from the fight.
I spin around, ready to give Irish some aid, when the music suddenly dies and an ear-splitting whistle pierces the silence.
Everyone drops their hands and looks toward the house.
Fuck my life. Damon Hawk stands on the back patio, whistle in his mouth, looking like he’s about to light everyone up.
Well, I can kiss my career goodbye, because there is no way I can talk myself out of this mess.
I notice several very large, very muscular men dressed all in black, escorting the rookies over to Damon.
I open my mouth, but one of them stops to talk with Damon.
They speak for a moment before they steer the rookies toward the front of the house.
Jesus. Did Damon bring his own private army?
Who does that? I’m not sure if I’m impressed or terrified.
Maybe both. I mean, we’re probably all going to get fired, but at least the rookies will get the medical attention they need.
“King, Ferguson, Gauthier, and Scott!” Damon shouts in a voice like ice.
I may be incredibly fucked right now, but I’m not a coward.
I step forward, and so do my boys. The four of us walk over to meet him as a group, heads high.
We’re not sorry. We’d do it again because sometimes you just have to take a stand.
Reedsy takes three cell phones out of his pocket and drops them into Damon’s waiting hands.
No one says a word. We just stand there in silence, ready to accept whatever consequences come our way.
Damon calmly hands the phones over to the guy next to him.
Evan. I’ve seen him around the arena off and on, but we’ve never spoken.
“Is that the last of them?” Damon asks us after Evan leaves.
“Yeah, all the ones we could get. I think your guys got the rest.” I tell him, trying to keep my voice even.
“Excellent.” He turns to us, looking us over critically.
“Everyone okay? Any serious injuries?” His voice is less harsh, and he doesn’t look quite as angry anymore.
“I’m good.” I assure him. My boys say the same.
“Good. I want all of you to head home. Get yourselves cleaned up and ice down those knuckles. They’re gonna hurt if you don’t. Liam, we’ll talk about this tomorrow morning. I’ve got it all handled here, but let’s get you out of here before anyone else show up.”
“What?” We’re all still flying on the adrenaline from the fight. It’s a letdown to just walk away. Being dismissed stings, but then again, no one wants to argue with Damon.
“What about the rookies? If they go to the hospital, it’s going to be a PR problem?”
“I’ve got it all under control, Liam. I’ll make sure they’re taken care of without any press involvement.”
“Okay.” I’m out of words and all kinds of confused.
The adrenaline is wearing off, and the consequences of the fight are catching up to me.
The knuckles of my right hand hurt like a son of a bitch, and my cheek feels like it’s on fire.
I need ice and Tylenol. And a hug from Maddie. That would fix everything.