Page 33 of Bozo

I nod my thanks and make my way to the door, purposely avoiding Eamon's corner of the room. I step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease that's settled over me.

I've barely made it halfway down the block when I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy, stumbling footsteps. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.

"Hey, you little shit!" Eamon's slurred voice calls out. "Where do you think you're going?"

I keep walking, not giving him the satisfaction of turning. "Go home, Eamon. Sleep it off."

But Eamon's not backing down. I hear him getting closer, his breathing ragged and angry. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you can just waltz in and take everyone's money?"

I spin around, finally facing him. He's swaying on his feet, eyes unfocused but filled with rage. "I didn't take anything, Eamon. You lost fair and square."

He lunges forward, grabbing my shirt. His breath reeks of cheap whiskey. "Fair? Nothing's fair about you, you freak. You used that big brain of yours to cheat us all."

I try to push him off but he's got a death grip on my shirt. "I don't cheat, Eamon. You know that. Now let go before you do something you'll regret."

He laughs, and it’s a harsh, bitter sound. "Regret? The only thing I regret is not putting you in your place sooner."

His fist comes flying toward my face, but his drunken state makes him slow and clumsy. I manage to duck, feeling the whoosh of air as his fist passes over my head.

“Fucking knew he’d start somethin’,” I hear someone growl.

I spot a glint of silver as Eamon rights himself before getting ready to attack again. The fucker has a knife and there’s an angry look in his eyes.

“I’ve lost everything,” he growls, edging closer to me.

I square my shoulders and wait for him to attack. I may be a freak and a genius, but I know how to take care of myself.

“Touch him,” I hear that voice say, “and you’ll die.”

I turn to my left, shocked to see Pyro still here, not to mention Wrath and Preacher alongside him.

“We knew he was up to no good,” Pyro explains. “Fucker couldn’t keep his eyes off you all night. Bastard.”

Eamon's eyes dart between me and the bikers, his grip on the knife tightening. He doesn’t heed the warning. Instead, he lunges forward, the blade of his knife coming toward me. He’s drunk and sloppy, which means I’m able to move out of the way and grab hold of his wrist. I pull it back, loving the snap I hear as the knife in his hand drops to the ground.

“Fucking warned you,” Pryo growls as he steps forward, his fist slamming into Eamon’s face over and over again.

I watch in shock as Pyro unleashes a flurry of punches on Eamon. The drunk man crumples to the ground, his face a bloody mess. Pyro doesn't stop, his fists continuing to rain down on Eamon's now unconscious form.

"Pyro," Preacher says firmly, placing a hand on his president's shoulder. "That's enough. He's done."

Pyro stands, his breathing ragged as he stares down at the asshole on the ground. There’s no mistaking that he’s dead. His face is caved in from the beating he took.

“Fuck,” Wrath growls low. “We need to sort this shit out.” He walks away, his cell to his ear, and I hear him talking. He’ll have someone here to clean up.

Pyro turns to me, his knuckles split and covered in blood, his eyes wild with rage. "You okay, kid?"

I nod, still processing what just happened. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." I’ve never had someone step up for me before. Fuck, it feels fucking good.

Pyro spits on the ground next to Eamon's prone form. "Serves the bastard right. Nobody threatens one of ours."

His words hit me hard. One of ours. Is that what I am now?

"We should get out of here," Preacher says, glancing around. "Wrath is sorting everything."

Pyro nods then looks at me. "Meet us at the clubhouse, Connor."

I nod and watch as he and Preacher move toward their bikes. I hear their engines roar to life and know that it’s time to go.

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