Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

He sped up the moment something hissed in response to Cerberus’s barking and grabbed a pipe out of the rubble.

“Cer! Come back here!”

But when he turned the corner, all the pent-up need to fight left him.

This was no possum or wolverine. Not even a raccoon.

Jag crouched in front of a tiny hut covered with sheets of metal. In one hand he held his spear, in the other, a half-eaten turkey leg. He glared at Shane, then at Cerberus.

“It’s mine!”

The dog barked and glanced Shane’s way so rapidly his ears flopped.

“No, it’s fucking not! You stole the leftovers that were meant for everyone,” Shane growled, stepping closer to the shack. “Is this where you live?” he asked, staring at the foam packed around the structure for isolation.

Quite smart, actually.

“Call off your dog!” Jag snarled, but Cerberus growled right back at him, and took two steps closer, grabbing a bone off the ground. “I took the meat when everyone was done with it, and you still come after me?”

“We weren’t done with it! Frank was literally looking for it after you stole it!” Shane hollered and tossed the remaining pie at him.

Jag didn’t hesitate and used the turkey leg as a projectile of his own. The piece of meat bounced off Shane’s head, and Cerberus was there to catch it between his jaws before it reached the ground.

“I pull my weight! I deserve it! How dare you hunt me down? My den is private!” Jag’s golden-green eyes pinned Shane with fury.

“I just followed the fucking dog! Jesus Christ, Jag! Get over yourself!” Shane said, stepping closer until the other man rose and pointed the metal spear at him. A pipe might work as a weapon, but it sure couldn’t stab like that thing.

“Stay away.” Jag squinted. “Unless you want to settle this once and for all?” He threw away his spear and squared his shoulders. A bold move considering Shane still had the pipe.

But as much as Jag annoyed him, Shane refused to break his bones with the steel, so he followed the madman’s example and charged at him the moment he threw away the makeshift weapon. He’d expected to knock Jag onto the ground and be done with it, but the wiry form, clad in worn wool, twisted away from him.

Shane stumbled forward, blinking, but before he could have spun around and faced Jag, a kick in the back of the knee threw him to the ground. He yelped and rolled away just in time to avoid a punch to the side of the head. Jag’s fist dashed in front of his face, and he grabbed it, using his opponent's momentum to drag him down.

This move had saved his skin many times, but his brain worked overtime, wondering whether they were alone. Prison taught him fights weren’t always fair—that’s how he’d gotten shanked—but the cool air blowing in his face and the barking of a dog brought him back to a reality where he climbed on top of Jag, who used his distracted state to land a punch.

Pain shot along Shane’s jaw, but this wasn’t the end, and he hit Jag in the stomach, causing the bastard to make a dull sound and twitch under him. But they were both determined to win this fight and rolled around to the rhythm of Cerberus’s yapping. They had different strengths and body types but while Jag was leaner than Shane, his form was surprisingly strong and agile, which made the brawl even.

In clouds of vapor they both breathed out from the effort, they exchanged blows at an ever-slowing rate, because how much more pain could a man take when he didn’t want to leave his opponent dead or with permanent injuries? Shane was about to rise and drag Jag by the leg when a well-timed hit with the elbow targeted his already bruised ribs, and he rolled to his back with a low moan.

Fuck. Many things could have been said about Jag, but the fucker knew how to put up a fight.

The sun was gone, obscured by a heavy, gray shroud that might drizzle them with water, but Shane didn’t have the energy to look away and roll over to punch Jag back. Fortunately, the other man lay next to him, just as spent.

Neither of them moved.

Cerberus whined and came close to lick Shane’s face.

Shane could’ve cried at how overwhelming life felt since yesterday’s argument with Ros. He wouldn’t though. He was a tough guy and would keep this weakness to himself.

Jag sighed. “Why didn’t you escort your boy to the gate yesterday? He was afraid of me when I approached.”

Shane dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath of the cool air. “I might have… done something real shitty. It’s over between me and him.”

So maybe there was no point in opening up to Jag, who to Shane’s knowledge was still a virgin and whose experience with relationships was narrowed to whatever his freaky nature-loving cult had practiced, but at least he wouldn’t be judgy like Frank. Or so Shane hoped.