The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Bronson leered at me and stalked forward, repositioning some chunky rings on three of his fingers.

Rafe's smile was sinister, and he rolled his neck on his shoulders as if preparing for a mammoth workout. He was dressed for one too, wearing a pair track pants and a black tank top. His deep brown skin glistened under the sun, his spiky black hair reflecting bits of light; it was almost as if he'd been running all over the school in search of me.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Ioney Mercer. Fancy seeing you here."

Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up.

My stomach was so queasy it was hard to breathe. I dropped my hand to my side, well aware Ray hadn't stopped yammering. It wasn't like he could do anything for me at the moment and I wanted to be as ready as possible for what was about to happen.

"I've been waiting a long time for this moment," Rafe continued with obvious glee. "And I told you, one day Montoya wouldn't be here to help you." He spread his arms to encompass the area. "Now how about that. He's nowhere in sight. Good things do come to those who wait."

Tired of the talking, Bronson cracked his knuckles, his face contorting into a fierce scowl. "It's time to take back what you owe, bitch. We'll start with a beating worth three hundred dollars."

He moved and I reacted. The phone left my hand, flying right for his head. Surprised, he wasn't quick enough in dodging it and it skimmed one of his cheeks, causing a slew of angry Spanish to pass his lips.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he growled and kept coming.

Right, not one of my best moves, but hey, it was better than standing here gawping like an idiot - which I was doing now. What I needed was a weapon, only there was nothing in my vicinity except for the buildings themselves and the chain link fence. Short of gnawing on the wire in the hopes that some of it came loose I was shit out of luck.

Adrenaline flooded me and I made a conscious effort to slow my breathing. If I kept up the fast shallow pants I was bound to hyperventilate and pass out before anything happened. Maybe not such a bad idea, my mind supplied. I ignored it. I was a fighter, and I would go down fighting.

Bronson was two feet in front of me. I tensed in anticipation, and when he swung I ducked. His bulky body lacked speed, his hammy fist catching nothing but air. He tried to kick me while I was crouched low and I flung myself sideways to avoid it. I had the sneaking suspicion he was wearing steel capped boots and I did not relish the prospect of finding out how much it would hurt if one of them made contact.

"Hijo de puta! Fuera de mi camino!" Rafe said, stalking forward to shove Bronson. "I swear to God, you're so fucking useless."

Their little spat gave me enough time to find my feet. I spread my stance, quickly running over every piece of advice Kalen had given me for the unlikely occurrence of finding myself in a fistfight with people way out of my league.

Sometimes you get show ponies who like to talk. Take advantage and hit them while they're distracted.

Kalen's words spurred me into motion; Rafe was all about the talking. He enjoyed creating a scene and taunting was his specialty. So while he was in the middle of saying, "You know what, let's be fair. I'll fight you one on one. How does -" I let fly with a left hook and punched him in the face.

Pain exploded through my hand; my knuckles felt like they were on fire. I resisted the urge to shake my fingers out and blow on them, refusing to show weakness. Rafe staggered back in blatant shock, covering his mouth and nose with both hands.