Page 33 (1/2)
Paddy McDougal and Monte O’Brien, two of Mitch’s henche spoke in a caluys?"
The wall of thugs for semicircle before hi 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 assessht to one If they made a move, he could take out at least half of theot lucky But he sincerely doubted they’d allow that He knew the way these boys fought--hell, he’d sparred with Paddy hundreds of tiroup, one lethal force working together with one goal in ue 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 knohere I stand"
"That’s what he figured you’d say" Paddy took an inti step forward Cracked his knuckles, then se coht 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, et to it then"
They attacked without warning, Paddy’s fist coe blocked the punch with one hand and clipped Paddy in the jaith the other The e was too busy fending off Monte, who’d closed in on hiot two jabs in, then a well-placed kick in his old friend’s crotch Monte yelped in fury before retaliating, one e’s left eye
After that, he was fighting a losing battle So leg around his knees to keep hih him when he felt another sharp pull on his arht out of the socket
Fucking hell, that hurt
No words echoed in the alley Just a cacophony of ainst flesh Gage blocked out the pain, same way he’d blocked it out when he was a kid and his dad was pounding on hi 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