Pretty Man

“Bron!”

“If things go South, if things get out of control, wing me. Not the head or the heart. Might take a couple shots but it should send me runnin.” He snorts. “If things go real bad there’ll be hell to pay. You’ll be okay but I’ll have to disappear for a while as things get cleaned up.”

You say under your breath. “Your trips up North.”

“Smart guy.” He says. “Now take it. Last thing I want are the others turning on me cause I accidentally killed the normie.” Looking over at your stunned expression he punches your shoulder. “Welcome to the real world Bro.”

“Have you…killed people Bron?”

A snorting humorless laugh is his only answer. “Just take the fucking gun Jake.”

Things had just escalated and they were moving fast as Bron takes the turn by the school to head back toward the practice field that was nestled in the corner of the school property at the edge of town. Taking the heavy revolver you tuck it behind your back and cover it with your shirt. You secure it as best you can and pray you don’t have to use it. Briefly you consider trying to talk Bron down but after you remember your beaten and crying baby brother and you remain quiet. The Ford is parked in the far back corner of the dusty lot. On the field the players are still out practicing though it appeared things were winding down. Turning the truck off Bron tosses the keys to you.

“Take her home when we’re done here.” He says. “I’ll find my own way back.”

“Sure.” You say as you pocket his keys. “Bron…”

“Come on.” He hops out of the truck and starts for the gathered men. You hurry to get out and catch up. He walks with long purposeful strides, his gray eyes locked on his prey. “Tell me what happened. Quick. No bullshit.”

“A bunch of them were using Lucian as a team fucktoy. Slapping him up a bit too. He told them he liked them and they acted like they didn’t even know him, called him faggot, beat him up and humiliated him.”

“Got it.” He says gruffly. “They’re gonna swarm me, let ‘em. You stay to the edges.”

“Uh, yeah.” So much for talking.

As the Devlin brothers march with speed and purpose across the grass some of the players notice you coming, a few of them pointing you out and asking questions to others. The head coach looks up and does a double take. Passing his clipboard off to an assistant he rushes to intercept us. As we get within 20 feet of him he starts talking, his hands out in front of him already in a gesture of peace.

“Bron, stop. They didn’t know who the kid was. I had no idea he was your brother. They’re young, they’re dumb…”

Your brother stops and addresses the man, they looked about the same age. “You knew?”

The coach is clearly rattled, you wonder how much he knew about your big brother. “No, not really. I thought he was just another groupie…”

Just then a group of players approach. “These guys causing you problems coach?”

“No, no problems!”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a little smile growing on your brother’s scruffy face. “Oh, we got problems boy.” He says.

More players are gathering now, attracted to hostile energy that was fast growing around these strangers. The coach continues to try play peacemaker. “Back off guys, let me talk to these two…”

You were one of the smallest men out here yet your brother and your anger gives you courage. You step forward. “Which ones of you pieces of shit beat up my brother? We have no business with the rest of you!”

You watch an uneasy ripple run through the team of uncomfortable glances and cringing expressions. The instinct to back your teammates was strong among them yet you could sense a lot of them were not cool with what happened.

The coach looks from Bron to you and back to Bron and he sees there is no peace to be made here. With a sad shake of his head he call out loudly. “Defense! Hit the showers!”

“Coach…” A few of them protest.

“You heard me!” He turns to face his players. “Anyone on D not in the locker room in two minutes will be riding pine. LET’S GOOOO!”

With that he, the coaching staff, and about half the team split off at a jog toward the school. You see some of the player look at you and your brother with fear and pity in their eyes as they were sure the pair of you were about to receive the beat down of our lives, and you weren’t confident that they weren’t wrong.

Among the remaining men you could see a split as well as a hierarchy among them. There was a group of about 8 that looked smug and unrepentant gathered around a smaller long haired blond guy that had to be quarterback based on his build and his status in the eyes of the others. Beyond these 9 the others did not look thrilled to be there, some downright ashamed.

“You all beat up my little brother? Huh? Big fucking men.” You say. “All you tough guys teaming up on a 100 pound kid, real fucking tough. He liked you assholes, don’t ask me why. Bunch of fucking pussies.”

The blond dude, with that cocky grin unique to a high school jock, scoffs. “Get out of here before you get hurt.”

There is a tense moment before a stocky black dude steps forward. “Nah, this ain’t it.” He glances toward the ringleader. “I told you bro, that wasn’t cool.”

His gesture gives the others bravery and you hear another voice. “Lucian didn’t deserve that.”

The black guy shakes his head and looks at you. “I had nothing to do with it. Luci never did me wrong. He’s a good kid.”

“You fucking pussy.” The blond jeers.

“Fuck you Brock.” The guy turns and heads for the school and thankfully most of the others join him.

The odds were still not great as that still left you and your brother standing against 9 strapping young athletes, and by the look in their eyes they wouldn’t be backing down. However you notice Brock, the blond quarterback, was starting to squirm. His confidence shaken just a bit despite the numerical advantage. Your brother, having sniffed out the pack leader, had his eyes laser focused on him. The other bigger men sense it too and start to gather around their leader defensively. The sides square up and violent intent hung thick in the air. God damn it, this was gonna get bad.

“Listen!” You say. “You, Brock, you and me. One v one. Fight me like a man you bitch. Unless you’re scared to…”

Bron reach across and pushes you back a step. “Nah Bro. I want that one. He’s reeeeal pretty.”

The tension turns up another notch and a bit of confusion is seen on their faces.

“He he he.” Bron chuckles and licks his teeth. “Mmmm, yeah. A real pretty man. You got a real pretty mouth on you boy. He he he. And I bet that fine ass is tight as fuck too, ain’t it?”

“Big talk mother fucker!”

“Nah boy, faggot! Call me a fucking faggot, like you did my brother. I don’t mind at all. Call me whatever you want. He he he. You’ll be calling me Daddy when I’m through with you.” His toothy grin widens. “You think your boys’ll stop me. Ohhhh, you are fucking MINE pretty man.”

For the first time you see real fear in the quarterback’s blue eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you bro?”

“You ain’t my fucking bro, you’re my BITCH!”

With that Bron springs forward with a huge looping overhand right. With a loud crack it connects perfectly with the jaw of biggest guy of the bunch. The massive o-lineman drops like a 350 pound sack of wet meat. It was on!

True to his prediction the group swarm him, the obvious threat, but not before he starches another with a brutal uppercut that sends three teeth arcing up through the air. The others pile in in a flailing mass of fists and kicks. You grab the nearest one by the pads and yank him off the pile. In a straight fight this muscled up guy would probably whoop your ass but with his focus on Bron you are able to cold cock with three quick shots to the face. Not wasting a moment you bring your foot up between the legs of another…only to discover he was wearing a cup. He turns to face you and the next thing you knew the pair of you were on the ground rolling, punching, kicking and gouging. Off to your left you can hear shouts, growls and the heavy crunch of somebody’s ribs cracking but you were far too busy with your own melee.

The whole brawl probably only took a couple of minutes but it felt like an eternity. Thankfully the guy you’d squared off against, while strong, was not a great street fighter and you eventually gained the upper hand. As you struggle to your feet, panting and sore, you discover that the fight was over. A few were still out cold, a few rolling and moaning in agony, but only you and your brother were on your feet.

Bronwyn stands in the middle. Fists clenched. His thick chest and shoulders rising and falling with rapid breath. His irises of his gray eyes had turned almost white. The scruff on his cheeks had thickened and darkened. The hair on his muscled arms bristling. His gleaming white teeth bared and clenched. But he was still human. He had taken his licks, no doubt, just as you had but the Devlin brothers stood triumphant. You give him some time and space to calm the beast within.

Looking around to those who could still hear you you spit some blood, wipe your lips, then say. “Don’t you ever fucking mess with Lucian again! Hear me!? If I hear of another hair being harmed on his head when he’s at school we’re gonna assume it’s you mother fuckers, whether it is not. So you better make sure nobody fucks with him.” As one tries to get to to knees you push him down with your foot. “Hear me? Nobody touches my little brother again.”

The guy puts up his hands. “Okay! Fuck! Yeah! We got it!”

Turning back to your brother you notice his shoulders relaxed and his features back to normal. “Hey, you okay?”

He looks over at you and nods. He holds up a meaty fist and you give it a fist bump. Was that respect in his eyes?

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” You say as you dig the keys from your pocket.

Tilting and cracking his neck left then right Bron wipes his face and shakes out his arms. Without a word he walks up to the **** body of the quarterback Brock, picks him up, and slings him up over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

He glances back at you with a sly smirk and a wink then walks off toward the tree line at the nearby edge of town.