Paddy McDougal and Monte O’Brien, two of Mitch’s henchman.
“Paddy.” Gage spoke in a calm tone. “Monte. What can I do for you guys?”
The wall of thugs formed a menacing semicircle before him. No visible weapons on any of them, which wasn’t surprising. Most of the Irish boys in Southie didn’t need guns or knives—their fists were destructive enough.
Drawing an even breath, Gage did a quick assessment of the situation. He was outnumbered eight to one. If they made a move, he could take out at least half of them, maaaaaybe all if he got lucky. But he sincerely doubted they’d allow that. He knew the way these boys fought—hell, he’d sparred with Paddy hundreds of times growing up. O’Donnell’s men would fight as a group, one lethal force working together with one goal in mind.
“Mitch has a message for you.” Paddy’s Irish brogue was soft and deadly. And total bullshit, because Gage knew for a fact that the guy’s parents didn’t have accents—they’d both been born in Boston, for chrissake.
“Yeah? What’s he got to say?” Gage readjusted his stance. He pressed his hands to his sides, letting the cigarette drop into his pocket.
“He wants you to reconsider your thoughts about the tourney.”
“I see.” He cocked his head. “’Fraid I can’t do that. Mitch knows where I stand.”
“That’s what he figured you’d say.” Paddy took an intimidating step forward. Cracked his knuckles, then smiled. “That’s where the second part of the message comes in. Mitch is hoping that a couple visits like this might help you change your mind.”
Monte, who’d walked to school with Gage every day when they were kids, offered a repentant look. “Nothing personal, man.”
Gage exhaled in resignation. “All right. Let’s get to it then.”
They attacked without warning, Paddy’s fist coming at him like a rattlesnake striking its prey. Gage blocked the punch with one hand and clipped Paddy in the jaw with the other. The man’s head snapped back, anger clouding his eyes, but Gage was too busy fending off Monte, who’d closed in on him. He got two jabs in, then a well-placed kick in his old friend’s crotch. Monte yelped in fury before retaliating, one meaty fist crashing into Gage’s left eye.
After that, he was fighting a losing battle. Someone yanked his arms behind his back, locked an iron-strong leg around his knees to keep him in place. Pain streaked through him when he felt another sharp pull on his arm.
Son of a bitch had wrenched his shoulder right out of the socket.
Fucking hell, that hurt.
No words echoed in the alley. Just a cacophony of muffled sounds. Thuds, grunts, the sharp smacks of fists against flesh. Gage blocked out the pain, same way he’d blocked it out when he was a kid and his dad was pounding on him. He wasn’t sure how long the beating lasted, but eventually he became aware of other noises. Footsteps. Shouts. Suddenly he was sagging forward, falling to his knees as his head swam and his pulse shrieked in his ears.
“Get the f**k out of here!” Reed’s voice. Coming from far, far away.
Gage blinked, trying to pinpoint where Reed was, but one eye was swollen shut and the other made out nothing but blurry shapes. He tasted copper in his mouth, felt moisture dripping down his chin, but he was too dazed to spit the blood out or wipe it away.
“Gage. Gage. You okay, man?” Reed again, concern ringing from his voice.
He cranked open his good eye, relief flooding his body when his friend’s face came into focus. “F-fine,” he croaked out. “I’m fine.”
“…ambulance,” he heard someone say. It sounded like Jerry.
“No.” Gage wheezed, struggling to catch his breath. “No hospitals.” He tried to get up, but his ribs ached like a motherfucker, shooting jolts of pain through his chest. A few were most likely broken. And yup, his shoulder was definitely dislocated, dangling uselessly as he managed to get on his feet.
“Gage. You’re f**ked up,” Reed said firmly. “You need to get looked at.”
“I’m good,” he mumbled as he battled a rush of dizziness. “Just pop my shoulder back in, will ya?”
Disbelief echoed in his friend’s voice. “Sweet Jesus. You’re nuts.”
He stumbled toward the wall. “I’ll do it myself then.”
“Oh, for chrissake.” He caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. “Jerry, get over here.”
“Shouldn’t he be lying down for this?” their security guy demanded, equally dumbfounded.
“Yeah, but do you want to try to get this stubborn idiot to follow orders?”
Gage felt himself being moved, and then his arm was being lifted and hot agony rippled through him. Reed’s strong grip slowly pulled on his biceps, shifting his arm away from his torso. He bit the inside of his cheek so violently he tasted more blood in his mouth.
“You good, bro?”
“Just…do…it,” he said through clenched teeth.
The tension was unbearable. His shoulder burned, ached, pulsed with agony, and then a sickening crack sliced the air, and pain mingled with relief as the joint popped back into place.
As his vision blurred again, he leaned into Reed with a groan. “No…hospitals.” He felt himself losing consciousness. Fought it. Kept talking. “Just…take me home.”
“God, I really hate you sometimes,” Reed mumbled.