"You bitch!"
Lucas cursed up at me from the ground, his eyes bulging at the streams of crimson flowing down the left side of his face, but for a brief moment I'm amused that he's so dramatic, because he doesn't know most of the blood on him is mine.
My sadistic amusement is short-lived as my face explodes in pain when my cheek collides with the metallic corner of the moons table; one of that bastard's "bodyguards" slammed me into it. As I crumpled to the floor, I tensed up for the kick that was surely to come next, but I was showered in glass and beer instead. My vision is blurred, but I think Raydee just smashed his glass into my attacker's head.
My head is killing me, but I know there is no turning back now. This will end one way or another, but frankly, for the three of us, it looks bleak. Whatever upperhand Raydee may have gained with his attack is soon to be lost when Lucas's friend starts throwing punches, and I'm already dazed on the ground. That sadistic humor from a few seconds ago is back when I see Sinjin punching the other guy into submisson. Apparently she decided to strike first while his attention was on me and Lucas. I'm just glad I'm not him: on the recieving end of her fists.
The blue eyed, blond bastard grabs my hair and hooks me square in the jaw. I'm not gonna lie. It hurts like hell, but I'm not a defenseless jodie and so I jab him in the mouth.
Bad idea.
Fire lances up my arm as glass embeds deeper in my hand. Immobilized by pain, I braced for another hit, but he flies back. Dark fists pummel his face and I exhale my relief as Ryan finishes what I couldn't. There's four of us now, and three of them; an even fight. Perhaps we could win this, but really, all we'd win would be four shiny court-martials.
Speak of the devil, four blue-uniformed Shore Patrol officers scramble to us, peeling Sinjin and Ryan off of their punching bags. This time, I laugh out loud as I see that most of the blood now on Lucas's face (and Ryan's fists) is his.
Semi-conscious on the ground underneath the moons table, my head is swimming, like all the faces that have gathered around us, and my eyes lock onto the ignored vidmoniter, displaying the last plays of the HellJumper/Galaxies game. No one but me notices that Dad's team wins 4-0.
I laugh to myself, letting my body relax on the glass covered floor.
The traditional message he sends me about their seasonal progress would not come once he gets wind of this. No, something much worse.