Chapter 8 Talon
EIGHT
TALON
OCK Purge Night
We do it a couple times a year as our way of beating loyalty into each other. We get all of our aggression out in the ring so it doesn’t poison our brotherhood outside of it.
At least, that’s the idea.
One of the younger guys—a sophomore who barely kept his pledge status last year—is taking a beating from a senior member who’s built like a truck. After one good crack, the kid staggers back, blood dripping from a split eyebrow.
Around them, a loose ring of onlookers holler and cheer quietly. A few brothers exchange bets out of habit, but there’s no pot tonight. These fights aren’t for profit or bragging rights.
They’re for respect, for catharsis.
For reminding us that pain is temporary and brotherhood is forever.
I weave through a couple of guys leaning against a stack of crates, making my way closer to the action.
Smoke curls from my lips as I take another drag, the orange tip of my cigarette briefly illuminates my face.
Jasper catches my eye from the shadows against the far wall.
He stands with his arms crossed, back against the concrete.
He never looks particularly interested in these fights, but he’s always here. He lifts two fingers in a subtle greeting as I approach. I nod back.
Dredyn is here too, of course. Hard to miss him as he’s perched atop a keg in the corner like it’s a throne, one boot propped on a low crate, surveying the carnage.
A king on his makeshift throne. Usually his eyes would be beaming with pride at his brothers showing their loyalty.
But tonight, there’s a distance in his stare.
He looks like he’s a million miles away.
His jaw is clenched, fingers drumming impatiently on his knee.
“You spacing out, or fantasizing about your turn? Wait—never mind, could be both.”
His eyes snap into focus, narrowing on me.
There’s a low ripple of chuckles from a couple of the guys who caught my wisecrack. I see Jasper’s mouth twitch in a half smile for a split second. But Dredyn isn’t amused. He fixes me with a flat stare.
“Mind your fucking business, Talon,” he growls.
The chuckles die instantly. A few of the nearby brothers suddenly find the fight far more interesting to look at than us.
I raise my hands in surrender, the cigarette balanced between two fingers.
“All right, all right,” I mutter, then lean back against the wall next to Jasper, exchanging a glance with him as Dredyn returns to his brooding.
The tension in the room just notched up, but it hasn’t snapped.
Dredyn gave me a warning, and I’ve been around him long enough to heed it.
The younger brother in the center lets out a pained grunt as Asher slams a fist into his ribs. I wince in sympathy as the kid doubles over, gasping for breath. He’s taken a lot of hits.
He should just tap out.
The point is to bond, not cripple.
The crowd’s noise has lulled somewhat, an uneasy quiet as everyone senses something in the air. Our king is usually the one egging fighters on, maybe even jumping in to take a few swings himself. But tonight, he’s quiet, coiled.
Another brutal hook from Asher catches the kid in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the concrete. His head thumps the ground hard enough that even the spectators hiss at the impact. That’s it—the fight’s clearly over. If the kid’s conscious, he’s barely so.
Asher looms over his fallen “brother,” chest heaving.
His knuckles are smeared with blood—some his, mostly the kid’s.
On a proper fight night, he’d extend a hand to pull the kid up by now, both of them earning nods of respect.
But he hesitates, glancing toward Dredyn as if unsure whether to keep going.
No mercy is the unspoken rule tonight, and he doesn’t know if the King is satisfied yet.
Dredyn still hasn’t moved from his keg throne.
His posture is rigid, gaze locked on the scene in the ring.
Everyone is waiting for his cue. The fallen sophomore groans, trying to push himself up on his elbows, blood dripping from his lip to the floor.
Asher shifts from foot to foot, clearly debating if he should help the kid up or hit him again.
Then, without warning, Dredyn stands. He hops off the keg, shoving his way through the ring of bystanders. They part for him like the Red Sea, some clapping him on the shoulder as he passes, amped that the boss is stepping in.
Asher backs up instinctively as Dredyn approaches, holding up his hands, maybe expecting Dredyn to take over and help the kid. But one look at Dredyn’s eyes, blazing with something feral, and Asher realizes too late that helping isn’t on Dredyn’s mind.
Dredyn’s first punch flies so fast I barely track it. It connects with Asher’s cheekbone. He stumbles back, more stunned than hurt—Dredyn didn’t put full power behind that one. No, that was a statement hit. A “pay attention” hit.
The room falls silent, except for the pained wheezing of the kid on the ground. Asher, confused and angry, wipes a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Dredyn, what the—”
He doesn’t finish. Dredyn lunges and tackles him, and then it’s chaos.
Jasper and I rush forward, ready in case we need to pull Dredyn off.
Dredyn and Asher crash into the concrete wall. Dredyn pins Asher by the throat with his forearm, teeth bared in a snarl. “You like beating on your own brothers that much, huh? Too far, Blackwood! Too far,” he spits, then drives a knee up into Asher’s gut. He coughs, doubling over.
“Dredyn, hey!” I shout, taking a step closer. This is beyond the normal bounds for tonight. The fights are supposed to stop when someone yields. Right now, the only one who needs to yield is Dredyn.
He either doesn’t hear me or plain ignores me.
Asher swings desperately, landing a fist on Dredyn’s ribs.
Dredyn barely grunts. If anything, the hit seems to fuel him, like he wanted to feel that pain.
A disturbing grin grows over Dredyn’s face as he slams Asher against the wall again, harder.
I hear the crack of skull or spine against concrete.
He cries out, but Dredyn isn’t letting up.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath. My pulse kicks into overdrive as I watch Dredyn draw back and drive his fist into the guy’s face—once, twice. Blood spurts from Asher’s nose, across Dredyn’s knuckles. By now, the poor bastard’s lip is split wide open, crimson dripping down his chin onto his shirt.
Around us, nobody quite knows what to do. A few of the brothers shift uneasily, glancing at one another. Jasper edges nearer to me. His hands twitch, like he’s readying to sign or to fight, maybe both.
Dredyn cocks his arm back for another blow to the barely-conscious senior pinned to the wall.
Enough. I can’t stand by and watch him demolish one of our own like this.
I move quickly, stepping into the circle. “Dredyn!” I bark.
Dredyn’s fist hovers mid-air, knuckles smeared red. His chest heaves. Slowly, he turns his head to look at me. For a heartbeat, I see raw fury there, like a rabid dog ready to bite the first thing in reach.
Then, recognition floods his eyes. The rabid look falters. He blinks, gaze sliding around at the silent ring of faces staring at him. The basement is dead quiet. Even the kid on the floor has gone still, wide eyes fixed on our leader.
Dredyn releases Asher, who immediately slumps to the ground with a groan. Asher is still conscious—barely. Dredyn steps back, hands dripping with another brother’s blood, chest rising and falling as if he just ran a marathon. His jaw is clenched so tight I wonder if his molars might shatter.
No one speaks. All eyes are on Dredyn, waiting. In charge or not, he just crossed a big line. We all know it.
Dredyn wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood along his skin. For a second, I think I see a flicker of regret in his eyes, some dawning realization of what he’s done. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks toward the stairs. The crowd parts again, wordless. His boots pound on each step as he takes them two at a time. A door slams somewhere above us, the echo ringing out long after he’s gone.
For a long moment, nobody moves. The only sounds are the ragged breathing of the two injured guys.
I catch a glimpse of Jasper’s face; it’s unreadable, but his fists are still clenched.
Slowly, the spell breaks. Maddox hurries forward to check on the kid on the floor, helping him sit up. Rook goes to Asher, pressing a cloth to his bleeding lip. Quietly, the others start murmuring amongst themselves.
“That was fucked up,” someone mutters.
“He just snapped…”
“Did you see his face? Guy was clearly somewhere else…”
“Think something happened earlier?”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and step back, my head spinning. My heart is still jackhammering in my chest. A few brothers glance our way, unsettled, as if looking to us for what to do. We three—Dredyn, Jasper, and I—are supposed to be the steady ones. The example.
If the King loses his cool, the whole kingdom cracks.
I clear my throat, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
“All right, show’s over. Fight night’s done. Take care of them, then get the fuck out.”
There’s a shuffling as everyone starts moving. Two guys hoist the groaning sophomore under his arms and help him limp toward an old couch by the wall. Asher, with the split lip, refuses help at first, but he sways on his feet and eventually nods when Callum offers a shoulder.
Jasper and I stay behind as the others file out, quieter than I’ve ever seen them.
What usually ends in laughs, backslaps, and beers is now a silent shuffle of feet on concrete.
Jasper nudges aside a broken beer bottle with his boot, the glass scraping across the floor.
Then he lifts his hands and signs, “He’s going to break something. ”
I nod, understanding exactly who he means. Dredyn. Upstairs. Alone with whatever storm is raging in his head. If we’re lucky, he’ll break a chair or a door.
I lift my own hands and sign back, “Or someone.”
Jasper’s lips tighten, and we share a knowing look. If Dredyn finds the wrong target for his fury right now, there’ll be hell to pay.
I hoist myself up to sit on the edge of an old table, raking a hand through my sweat-damp hair. My pulse is finally slowing, but the adrenaline has left an ache in my muscles and a sour taste in my mouth.
“We’re the muscle of the Syndicate, Jas—the teeth.” I let out a dry, bitter chuckle that echoes in the now-empty room. “But even teeth rot from the inside if you grind them down long enough.”
Jasper arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t sign a reply. He understands, though. None of us are indestructible, not even Dredyn. Not even the three of us together.
He steps closer and signs, “Something’s wrong with him.”
“Or someone…” I scrub a hand over my face. Screw it. There’s no point pretending we don’t know who we mean. “You think he’s acting this way because of his new little obsession?”
Jasper’s expression hardens just a touch. He doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, his hands are precise, almost accusatory. “It’ll fade. He will find that she isn’t as alluring as he thinks. She’s just… Mara.”
I bark out a short laugh before I can stop myself. A fair hit. “Please. I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince with that,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.
He holds my gaze, saying nothing, but I catch the slightest shift in his posture.
“Anyway…” I say, letting the subject drop.
There’s an unwritten rule we just broke by even mentioning a girl down here.
We don’t bring up girls in the basement.
Not in the ring. Not in the blood. Violence and vice…
that’s what this place is for. But here we are, two hardened bastards in a blood-stained cellar, tiptoeing around the name of a girl like she’s cursed or some shit.
She’s already in our heads, creeping through the cracks. I know it, Jasper knows it, and Dredyn… Dredyn knows it most of all.
Jasper bends down to retrieve a fallen chair and sets it upright. He’s giving me an out, a chance to move on from this uncomfortable thread. I take it.
“Dredyn just needs to cool off,” I say, more to convince myself than him. I rub the back of my neck, where a bruise from last week’s bout still aches dully. “We’ll talk to him later, when he’s… himself again.”
Jasper doesn’t look fully convinced, but he lets it lie. He picks up a couple of empty beer cans, tossing them into a garbage bag we keep tucked by the stairs.
I step away from the table and start gathering a few stray boxing wraps someone left on the floor. The routine tasks feel oddly calming. “Go on up,” I say to Jasper after a moment. “I’ll finish up down here.”
He pauses, giving me a long look. “Don’t stay too long,” he signs, patting my shoulder.
I manage a small smirk. “Yes, Mom.”
Jasper snorts, a breathy sound with no voice, then he turns and heads up the stairs. The wooden steps creak under his boots. I watch until the door opens and closes behind him, leaving me alone with the aftermath.
I wander over to the far wall where a collage of photos is haphazardly pinned and taped to the concrete—our makeshift wall of fame and infamy.
My gaze drifts across familiar faces and moments captured in time.
There’s Dredyn, grinning with a black eye, holding up a championship belt from some underground fight two years ago, Jasper and I flanking him, both of us sporting matching busted lips and triumphant smiles. We looked invincible that night.
Young gods that nothing could touch.
My eyes move over other photos: group shots at parties, crew victories, even a candid one of me and Jasper laughing like idiots, mid-prank on some poor pledge.
I rest a hand against the cool wall, looking at a picture of the three of us from freshman year.
Dredyn’s arms slung over our shoulders, the three of us covered in dirt and sweat after an epic brawl with a Delta Sigma Nu.
We’re bloodied and bruised, but we’re smiling like we won the world. At that moment, we thought we did.
We don’t break. We don’t bend. That’s always the mantra.
But lately, I swear I can hear the creak before the snap.
If Mara Black’s the reason our King’s unraveling… Maybe it’s time I get a closer look at the girl who brings gods to their knees.