The First Rule
A/N: Hey guys! I'm so sorry that I took this long to update! Between school, moving, family drama and then not having access to a computer really delays updates. And in response to the last chapter, I know I cut it off weird. If I didn't, that chapter would have gone on for another 5 pages and I wouldn't have been able to have the last part of this chapter like I always imagined. Anyway, hope you forgive me and here is the chapter you guys have been waiting for!
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What happened next is still a blur to me.
Probably because Spot punched me right in the face. I quickly retaliated with a quick right hook to his face and then his gut. If you think that brought him down, you must be crazy.
After only a few minutes of us fighting, I could barely see where Spot was because of all the blood spewing out of my nose and my left eye became too swollen to even open, let alone see out of. From what I could see, Spot looked bad, cuts and bruises from where I quickly punched him decorated his face but that didn't seem to phase him. Besides, he didn't look nearly as bad as I felt.
Ignoring the cheering and jeers from the crowd of Brooklyn newsies, I sprung forward and tackled their leader, pinning him to the ground with the punches I delivered to any part of him, uncovered or not. I didn't care anymore, I was desperate for this to end. But I guess I was winning due to the Brooklyn cheering got softer and I could hear Cowboy and Race loudly cheering me on.
Who would've ever thought that the King of Brooklyn was losing in a fight...to a girl?
But the last move...I didn't even see it coming.
Spot and I ended up wrestling in the dirt, each of us punching any flesh we could see through all the dirt clouds we were creating. Spot punched me in the jaw, sending me sprawling onto the ground. He then got up, pulled out his cane and picked me up by the front of my blood-spattered shirt. Dragging me along, he raised his cane as if to beat me with it, making me involuntarily cringe. Instead of that, he held me against the wall of the warehouse, his cane positioned long-ways across my neck, trapping me there.
"I toight you woin't gonna use ya cane, Spot," I mumbled, spitting blood out of my mouth onto the ground beside us.
He smirked, despite his busted lip that I happily gave him. "I said I wasn't gonna beat ya wid it, but it dun' mattah 'cause it looks like I win."
Then it hit me. He knew he was going to win. He probably let me get a few lucky punches in there to make me feel better about myself.
I glared at Spot in resentment.
He just put his cane back in his belt loop, keeping a firm grip on my shoulders.
"'sides," he added, his icy blue eyes meeting my angry glare, his gaze practically boring into my skull, "dis teaches ya 'bout da foist rule 'round heah."
I narrowed, or tried to narrow, my eyes. "An' what's dat?"
Spot leaned in very close to my face, almost like he was telling me a secret. "Da foist rule when bein' in Brooklyn: Dun' believe ev'ryting ya heah."
I continued to hold my glare, attempting to keep my composure.
Cowboy finally spoke up. "Alright, 'e got it now can ya let 'im go?"
"In a sec, Jacky-boy," Spot replied, not breaking his eye contact with me. "Jes' wonderin' why a newsie dat can fight like 'e can be wid chyou."
Although he was speaking to me, I answered. "'Cause dey was deah foah me when I needed it."
Spot smirked in amusement and turned to look at Cowboy. "Yer lucky dat ya found 'im foist."
Cowboy nodded. "'e can be Brooklyn material if 'e wanted."
"Now dat we settled dis, can ya let me buddy go so we can get outta heah?" Race asked, interrupting the two leaders conversation.
Spot let go of my arm and walked back to his group of newsies.
"'til we meet again, fellahs," he said, picking up both of our now dirt-covered caps off the ground and throwing me mine.
I caught it, dusted off the dirt as best I could and put it back on top of my short, shaggy haired head.
"Latah, Spot," Cowboy replied, spit shaking with the Brooklyn leader.
"Ya comin' tah da pokah game tahnight, Brooklyn?" Race asked.
He shrugged. "If I's ain't too busy wid tings."
Nodding, Race motioned for me to follow him and Cowboy.
Using my shirt sleeve, I wiped the blood off my face as best I could before walking away with the two. Before we were out of Brooklyn territory, I turned around for one last look.
Spot was standing alone, his hand lingering on his cane. For a second, I swear he nodded at me but he soon turned around and walked inside the warehouse.
Shaking my head, I turned back to Cowboy and Race.
"'ey Tigah," Cowboy asked, his cowboy hat still on his head. "Wheah'd ya loin to fight like dat?"
"Me faddah was a boxah when 'e was youngah an' he toight I should loin, too," I replied, my mouth involuntarily turned up in a smile. "Figahed I needed to know how ta' cause I was awlways small foah me age."
"Really?" Race asked, obviously interested. "Did 'e win any big fights?"
"Yea, but dat was a long time ago, befoah I's was even boin," I said. "'e gave up boxin' when 'e got really hoit in dis one fight an' became a writah foah a bunch a big papahs."
"Wheah is 'e now?"
"'e died some time ago," I answered, the smile on my face gone. "Muggin' gone wrong."
The two became silent, seeing the look on my face.
"Dun' woiry 'bout me guys," I said, chuckling softly. "I'm poifectly fine."
As Cowboy and Race started congratulating me again, we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge into familiar Manhattan territory. What followed me was some amount of pride and the memory of those icy blue eyes burned into my thoughts.
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What'd you think? Review, please! -Fox
