I can see what’s going on much better from up here. Duke and Diesel both stand in a fighter’s stance. They hop around and then one of them swings, the other blocks, and then the process is repeated. Finally, Duke throws his arms down at his sides and screams at the top of his lungs and barrels forward. Just as he reaches Diesel, he reaches his arms out, grabs a hold of Diesel’s head and slams his forehead into Diesel’s nose. Instinctively, I cover my nose with my hand. Out of sympathy, my nose pounds in my face.
I hate what I’m seeing, but I can’t look away. Blood sprays from Diesel’s nose as he wipes it off and then pulls back and slams his fist into the side of Duke’s face. As Diesel out-manuevers Duke, he manages to take advantage of the situation and slams a few good blows to Duke’s face before tackling him to the ground and slamming his head into the concrete. From what I can tell, Duke started it, but this is horrible. I don’t even realize I’m screaming until the crowd stops and Chel shakes my shoulders from behind. As I come to my senses, I realize my hands are over my mouth and I’m freaking out to the point where everybody’s noticed—including Duke and Diesel. I move to the edge of the table, but Chel grabs my arms and says, “No, it’s too dangerous. They’re way too charged for you to run into that. You could have stopped this shit.”
“His head,” I say, looking down at Duke whose head is twisted, his eyes on me. “Diesel could have hurt him.”
“Christ,” Chel mutters and keeps hold of me. “You used to live for this shit.”
Grady doesn’t waste any time. He strides through the crowd and grabs Diesel by the shoulders and pulls him off of Duke, then pulls Duke off the ground. Chief holds Diesel back, and Ryan takes control of Duke. Neither man gives up much of a fight, but they do shrug off Grady’s intervention. Their shoulders heave in anger, and they walk in circles on the inside of the crowd.
“Are you two fucking idiots done yet?” Grady asks as he looks between the two men. Each gives a non-committal grunt and mutters words of discontent under his breath. “Good. Sort out whose dick is bigger, and we’ll let the winner fuck Trigger in the ass for starting this whole mess.”
My attention snaps from Grady to Duke, who’s holding the back of his head with one hand. He keeps removing it to check for blood and then putting it back. I shove Chel off of me and climb off the table, ready to push through the crowd. By the time I get there, the crowd of people has moved out of my way. I don’t even have a chance to throw up an elbow. In the center of the crowd, Duke stands with his head down. I don’t even think about it as my feet carry me over to him.
Stopping a foot away, I stand awkwardly, unsure what I should be doing. In the back of my head I think I want to tell him that we’re done, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel the words. At least, I know I should. But then he lifts his head, and the way he looks, so sullen with his mouth turned downward and his eyes empty, I can’t bring myself to hate him, even though I want to.
“Gonna pick a fight?” he snaps. I flinch, realizing what Chel meant about them being charged, then narrow my eyes. I take a deep breath and remind myself of the talk Diesel and I had last night. Not in public.
“We need to talk,” I say. He waits a moment before nodding his head and reaching out for me with his arm. I take the step forward and welcome the way he wraps his arm around my waist, holding me close. The crowd scatters now that the fun is over, and the few people who hang around seem to be primarily on-hand on case shit starts up again.
We turn to walk into the clubhouse when Duke’s eyes catch sight of something near the picnic table. I follow his gaze, and my stomach feels like a thousand butterflies are let loose at once. Directly in the line of Duke’s sight is Jeremy. He’s leaning up against that same fucking bike again, which I now recognize as Duke’s. He’s locked eyes with Duke, and his shoulders are straight. He’s always trying to prove how tough he is at school, and he’s always trying to show me how he can be the man of the house at home. And now here in front of the club he’s trying to be the man he thinks he’s already become. But he’s not, and suddenly I’m horrified for a whole new reason.
“Are you on my fucking bike?” Duke asks. He removes his arm from my waist and rolls his shoulders as he strides toward Jeremy, leaving me behind. I scurry to catch up with Duke, but it’s too late. He’s already reached my asshat brother, who has his chin stuck up in the air like he’s an O.G. or something. Idiot.
“I like the paint job,” Jeremy says, giving the gas tank a pat. The air is forcibly sucked out of my lungs, and the entire world disappears with the exception of Duke and Jeremy.
“Off,” Duke says, hitching his thumb backward. “Before I break your fucking kneecaps.”
“Chill,” Jeremy says and gives Duke an incredulous look. As he pushes off the bike, a grating, scratching sound sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t move a muscle, nor do I take in a breath. Very slowly, Duke moves toward his bike and shoves Jeremy to the side. Before I can react, Duke’s got Jeremy by the collar of his tee shirt, and he’s holding him so they stand nose to nose.