Chapter 5
Sinclair
"What fight?" I snap. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Nikolai jerks his chin toward Damian, "Ask your friend."
"Damian?" I turn on him, "Care to enlighten us?"
Damian wipes the blood off of his face, then straightens to his full height. "I met Niko… Nikolai," he glares at the man, "a few months ago at the pub. We got to talking. I told him about my band, how we were trying to break in on the circuit."
He hesitates and I scowl. "Spit it out, you asswipe."
Nikolai winces, "Why is it that insults sound much better in a non-English language?"
I glare at him.
He smirks, then raises his hands.
I turn back to Damian, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Did you make a deal with him, D?"
Damian grimaces, "Not really."
"Not really?" Saint snaps. "Either you did or you didn’t?"
"Uh," Damian rubs the back of his neck, "he said he could get me on stage at the Roundhouse."
I set my jaw, "What did he want in exchange?"
Damian’s lips firm.
"Tell me, D," I demand.
Damian blows out a breath, "My taking on his best fighter at the next street fight."
"What the—?" I straighten to my full height. "And you agreed to this?"
Damian's jaw tightens.
"You haven't fought since the incident," I remind him.
"So?" He hunches his shoulders.
"So?" I explode, "Our kidnappers—those bastards—made sure you have enough PTSD in connection to fighting rings, that the moment you enter one of them you are going to lose it, and knowing that, you still agreed?
"I...uh..." he swallows, “I'll be fine."
"You don't look fine," I growl. "In fact, you look like you are about to puke, you douche."
Damian squares his shoulders. "I'll... I'll think of something." Sweat beads his upper lip.
"What the hell, D?" I glare at him. "You're out of touch with underground fighting... In fact, with fighting of any kind, and now you want to take on the Mafia?"
"The Bratva," Nikolai interjects.
"What bloody ever."
"That’s not all, is it?" Edward remarks, his gaze fixed on Damian. "What are you not telling us?"
Damian shifts his feet, rolls his shoulders, then tips his chin up and meets my gaze, "He's got a lead."
My throat closes. "A lead." I swallow. "On what?" You know what, don’t you? That’s why your stomach is all tied up in knots like the pussy you are.
I drag my fingers through my hair. "Out with it, D, or else, seriously, I am going to hand your ass to you right now."
"On the bastards behind the incident."
There’s silence for a beat, then another.
Then Saint explodes, "The hell you talking about?" He takes a step in Nikolai’s direction. "You’re the one behind our kidnapping, aren’t you, asshole?
That’s why you approached D in the first place.
Clearly, you have a death wish. That’s why you came here today.
" He lunges forward and I grab his shoulders, try to haul him back. Fail.
Arpad and Weston grab him around his chest, and together, we manage to stop him.
Saint growls low in his throat. "Let me go," he says in a tight voice. "Release me, mofos. Right now."
"Only if you promise not to attack anyone. Get your temper in hand, pisstard."
He blows out a breath, "Shit, your vocabulary needs better variety, Sinner."
I release him. "You need better control over your anger, you wanker." I step back; so do Arpad and Weston.
Saint rights his sweatshirt, then turns and head butts Damian, who cries out, "What the hell?" Blood spurts from his nose. Damian lurches back. Arpad groans.
Weston glances around, then grabs hold of Damian’s shirt from the back of a chair. He races to Damian, presses it to his nose, while tilting his head back. "Hold this here," he commands.
"Why did you do that?" Damian sputters, head still tipped up toward the ceiling. "What’s wrong with you?"
"That,” Saint growls, "is for not coming to us in the first place."
I huff out a breath, "Much as it pains me to admit it, I agree with Saint." I glower at Damian. "You wanted to perform at the Roundhouse, you simply had to take our help. Between us, we have enough money to buy the fucking building, if that’s what was needed."
"But he had a lead—"
I raise my hand, "As for the lead he promised, you should have brought it to us first, so we could have decided as a team, whether it was worth coming to an agreement with him. Instead, you made a deal with this piece-of-shit, here."
"Watch it, now," Nikolai snaps.
"Sorry, this hot pile of turd here." I bare my teeth at him.
Nikolai reaches inside his jacket pocket and I freeze. Shit, he has a gun. Of course, he has a gun. Bloody hell. I narrow my gaze on him, watch as he pauses.
"Enough of this bullshit." He jerks his chin toward Damian, "Your friend owes us. Either he fights for us, or we kill him."
"You threaten one of us, you threaten all of the Seven," I growl.
"Hear, hear." Saint straightens, stands shoulder to shoulder with me. Arpad, Weston, Edward, and Baron line up on my other side.
Damian lowers the now bloody sweatshirt from his face. He, glances between us. "Didn’t mean to involve you guys in my mess," he mumbles. "I made a mistake. I thought I could handle this on my own."
"Later," I state, not taking my gaze off of that motherfucker who dared to threaten one of my own. "Damian won’t fight," I state.
Nikolai’s eyebrow rise, "You dare challenge the Bratva?" He lowers his hand. All of my muscles tense, then relax as he pulls out a cigarette pack and offers it to me.
I shake my head.
He raises his shoulders, offers it to the others.
Arpad steps forward, pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips. Nikolai lights Arpad’s cigarette, then his own.
"So, you were saying—" he blows out a cloud of smoke, "that your friend is not gonna fight?"
Damian steps forward, "It was my word and I intend to keep to it—"
"Shut up," I snap.
"But honest, guys. It’s my trash. I’ll clean it and—"
"Will you shut your trap?" I growl. "Do you want to die, D, is that it? You have a death wish?" I growl. "It’s not only you who’s suffering from the aftermath of the bloody incident, you twat. We’re all in the same boat. Doesn’t mean we’re trying to off ourselves willfully."
"No, of course not." His lips twist. "You guys are finding other ways to escape. Like Edward, here, who’s turning his back on life, and Baron who—"
Baron freezes. "Who?" he prompts. "What is it you’re going to say, you douchebag?"
"Hey!" I bark. "Can we get it together and stop hanging our balls out for the world and their dogs to walk all over, or what?"
Baron’s shoulders bunch. He cracks his knuckles, glares at Damian, then back at me. "So how do we resolve the mess this mofo’s created?"
I turn my gaze on Nikolai, "Damian won’t fight but one of us Seven will take his place."
"Oh?" Nikolai stares back. "Doesn’t matter to me who does it, as long as one of you turns up to pay your dues. Tomorrow night. Kings of the Alley showdown."