Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

'Youngblood' is scrawled in swirling letters in an arc across his abs. There's a huge cross between his shoulder blades, a rifle on his ribs, and two diving swallows on his pecs.

There are more than a few girls in the crowd, and every one of them gets hushed and whispers with pleasure when he comes to the center.

I don't want him to know I broke his only rule about leaving the car, but I'd like him to see me, know I'm here for him. And, much as I despise that whole piss-on-your-territory vibe some girls give off, I'm feeling a bit like a dog by a hydrant when I see all the shiny hair flips and mascara-laden eyelash bats Winch is getting from every single direction.

But Winch doesn't see me or anyone else. His expression is grim and determined. He shakes off well wishers who pat him on the back as he takes his place, feet apart in a relaxed stance, fists up and loosely ready.

My heart is punching in my chest, holding onto the bars of my ribs and banging itself against them. My mouth is parched, my palms are slick with sweat, and my entire body gives little uncertain jerks and jumps based on the swirling mix of worry and anticipation that rocks through me.

The ruddy guy who fought Remy is pulled back, and an identical-looking replacement falls into the center of the ring, already snarling and lunging. Winch holds back, taking a graze on the side of the head and another weak jab on the ribs.

Seeing him get hit in any capacity make me crazed with worry, but I trust him to know how to manipulate this whole situation. This is how he's gauging the fight, how he's going to calculate his moves for an ultimate win. I have to trust that he can handle himself.

He takes a harder hit to his shoulder, ducks down and weaves back. The crowd around him starts to hiss and boo, thirsty for more blood from this show.

I don't know if I've ever hated a crowd of people more than I hate these people right now. I honestly wish the earth would open under them and suck them into the bowels of hell. How could they want the blood and pain that's going to come? I choke back a gag when the first facial punch lands.

A fountain of blood erupts from Winch's nose, crimson red and so horrifyingly alive and gruesome, pinpricks of silver spot in front of my eyes and I feel like I'm looking down a long, black tunnel. I stagger a little and bump into a guy who gives me a callous shoulder push back. I swallow hard, but my saliva tastes acrid in my mouth. I take a few deep breaths and steady myself back on my feet, ready to see this to the finish.

Winch simply wipes the blood in a long, wild, red streak across his cheek. There's still a trickle leaking from his nose, but it seems to interest his opponent more than it does him.

The blond takes one more swing, and this time we all know it's over before he follows through. With that massive an amount of force, aimed right at Winch's temple, I know full well I'm going to be in the ER with him, getting an MRI to make sure his brains still operate.

The silver pricks of light are back, and I pitch forward, hands braced on my knees, and will my legs not to give out, not yet, when two solid thunks burst through the air and bring gasps and cheers from a portion of the crowd.

I stand straight up and Winch is rolling his neck from side to side, the other guy is doubled over, and the crowd is getting louder. The blond guy attempts to stand tall, but he falls back over, and his brother/twin bursts forward, fists poised, and delivers a vicious punch to Winch's back that loosens a scream from my throat before I can hold it back.

Winch twists and punches back with quick, knuckle-heavy jabs on the guy's lower back and rib area, and he manages to take the huge hulk, writhing in pain, down to the ground, the two of them throwing hard punches as they fall.

The crowd is jostling hard now. I have no idea where the bear of a guy I thought I'd stay close to is, and I can only see snippets of the fight through the moving bodies stepping closer for a more direct view of the gore and nudging me farther back. The last thing I see is a smear of red glistening on the concrete.

Winch's blood or the other guy's? My stomach recoils, and I swallow back the urge to vomit right on the stomping boots of this crowd. I press past, getting pushed two steps backward for every step forward I manage to take, and by the time I hit the outside edges of the inner circle again, I manage to catch Winch's eye.

His head jerks up, and he glares through an already bruised, purpling socket, putting a strangle-hold on the other guy and punching him in the ear with a menacing fist. Just when I'm sure he's going to drop the guy's head onto the cement, the abbreviated warning of a police siren screams in the near distance.

The congealed crowd of raging, yelling lunatics suddenly disperses into every imaginable direction, stampeding into waiting cars, slipping down shaded alleys, ducking into suddenly opened doors which close just as quickly.

I try to run toward Winch, but he yells to me, "Remy's in the back!"

"I'll bring the car around!"

He locks eyes with me, and for one long second, I know he debates giving me the okay. I don't wait for his permission. If I want to get out of here and have a chance in hell of getting Winch and Remy away from this craziness without another arrest, we