Brazen (B-Squad 1)

Both men loomed several inches taller than her, the size advantage increased by their vein-popping bulk. One with golden surfer hair looked Bianca up and down, his leering gaze never going higher than her tits or lower than her hips. It took everything he had not to jump the prick for his audacity, but he couldn’t let his anger give them any more of an upper hand.

Laughing, surfer dude nudged his bald buddy and let out a stream of fast-clipped Hawaiian pidgin too fast for him to follow.

Whatever it was they said, it was enough to have her narrowing her eyes. Raising her fists to protect her face, she rolled her weight to the balls of her feet—just like he’d taught her—then blew the closest thug a kiss…not included in Taz’s lessons.

“Taz, you might want to start watching your own twelve o’clock instead of mine.” She shook out her shoulders and moved her head back and forth to loosen her neck muscles. “Unless you like getting your ass kicked.”

He jerked his attention to the trio of gym rats headed toward him, the kind who pumped up and then spent twenty minutes taking selfies. They weren’t pushovers, but they weren’t fighters either. Their awkward gaits and tensed bodies made plain that their muscles were more for show than street work. He wasn’t worried.

“You’re a real smartass, Kitten.”

Bianca made kiss-kiss noises. “You know you love my ass—smart or not.”

The long-haired guy in front of him tensed his right side and fisted his hand, telegraphing the upcoming punch so obviously that people in space could have seen it. Jesus, that was just poor form.

Right as the dude wound up, Taz landed an uppercut to his chin that snapped the other man’s head back like a rubber band. He stumbled back, but he wasn’t about to give the idiot a chance to get his bearings. His second punch connected with his left eye, which he followed with a hook that landed with a crunch against the man’s chin.

Wrapping his arm around the guy’s neck in a chokehold, he pivoted just enough to use him as a shield against a poorly planned haymaker from one of his compatriots, The hit landed square in the long-haired dude’s temple. The punch made Taz take a step back, so he wasn’t surprised when the guy’s knees gave way and he turned into a wet noodle in Taz’s arms.

Bracing his feet, he shoved the dead weight at Mr. Haymaker. Hard. The momentum took both men to the ground. In a welcome bit of good luck, at least for Taz, Mr. Haymaker’s head bounced off the stone path hard enough to put him out of commission.

He readied himself for the third man, who approached more cautiously than the first two, but kept watch on Bianca out of the corner of his eye. She executed a perfect roundhouse kick that leveled her opponent.

Damn. She was one brazen, badass bitch. He loved it. He loved her.

Yasmin, Walsh and Gidget stood off to the side, watching the action. None of them made a move to join the fray. Another piece of luck.

“You doing okay, Kitten?” He bounced on the balls of his feet and took stock of the approaching man.

“Fine and dandy, darling.” She sounded a little winded, but otherwise in top form. “Don’t get cocky now. You still have one to go.”

He assessed his new opponent. Taz had an easy two inches on him, giving him the wing- and leg-span advantage, but the guy’s deep tan just made the pale knife scar along his jaw stand out more. That, along with the prison tattoo of three tears near his left eye, gave the him a truly menacing vibe. Now this was someone who knew how to roll on the street.

All the lessons he’d learned from Freddie when he was still just a lanky teen with a temper came into perfect focus. Keep your guards up. Don’t stop moving. Attack first. Hit hard and hit often. Don’t stop until they don’t get up again.

The whump of a body hitting a hard object sounded off to his left, followed by a moan of agony. Mr. Street Fighter’s gaze flicked to the side for a split second. Long enough for him to get off two solid punches to his face. Blood streamed from the man’s broken nose.

Sucking in a deep breath, Taz made a quick check on Bianca’s progress. Her opponent must have landed a few blows because one side of her face was already turning purple. As bad as that was, it was better than the way the guy was trying to balance on one leg, since the other had been rendered useless.

“Hey, asshole,” the man hollered before landing a solid jab to Taz’s gut.

Pain exploded in his abdomen and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. The other guy had the gall to grin at him as he dragged the back of one meaty hand across his upper lip, smearing the blood from his busted nose across the right side of his face.

Not waiting for his opponent to make the next move, Taz landed a hard power punch to the man’s right cheekbone. Then executed a series of body blows to the guy’s solar plexus.

“Enough, we have who we need for the final test. The others were just gravy,” Yasmin said from somewhere behind him. “Finish it.”

Her voice barely registered over the blood rushing in his ears, but the sound of an electric zap close to Bianca’s position came through loud and clear.

Before he could turn to make sure she was okay, his opponent landed a right hook that had Taz seeing stars. Fighting to stay conscious, he lashed out in a flurry of punches. After that it was a straight-up brawl. Punches. Kicks. Vicious blows. Low blows. Counterattacks. Furious speed-punching assaults.

His swollen right eye could only open halfway. Agony thumped his brain against his skull with every breath. His steps had slowed. Blood covered his knuckles. His? The other guy’s?

Who the fuck knew.

It was late in the twelfth round and an imaginary ref circled him. He had to finish the fight before the brawler landed a knockout punch that had him eating stone.

Gathering ever last bit of strength, Taz crashed his fist into the other man’s jaw. Spit, blood and two teeth went flying as the man went timber, out cold before he hit the stone path.