Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

“Tell him it was a lovely send-off. The church was full, and everyone was there because they loved Brodie. When his turn comes, there won’t be anyone to see him off. Except me, that is. I’ll be standing there making sure they bury him as deep as they can. I’ll even spit on his grave.”

And with that, I turned and left.

“Why are we doing this? Why are we here? You know I hate these nights, Brodie. It makes me feel sick. I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

The barn we were packed into was stuffy and full of rowdy groups shouting over at the two men fighting in the middle.

Bare-knuckle boxing.

I hated it.

But my brother, Brodie, he lived for nights like these. All of his friends did, although there was only Brodie and Jensen who’d ever fought. I blamed the overload of testosterone. I didn’t see the appeal in smashing your fist into another human being, but what did I know?

“Chill out, Harper. I’m down to fight and you know I’ve got this. I’m undefeated…” He huffed, clearly annoyed with me, and he ran his hands through his hair. “Just let me have this, okay? I need to let off steam. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to watch.”

Brodie hadn’t fought the last time we went out; he’d given that honour to Jensen. But now, it was his turn, and the familiar bile rose up in my throat as we made our way towards the middle of the barn. Since splitting up with his girlfriend, Sally, he’d been more reckless. I think boxing was his way of letting some of the angst and frustration out. If Sal were here, she’d have been able to talk him out of it. She always did. But not me. He never listened to a word I said. I didn’t know why I still came to these things. It was bloody torture.

I saw Jensen nudge his brother, Chase, and turn to give Brodie a wicked stare. When I saw who stood beside Pat Murphy, the organiser of the fight, I knew why.

Brandon Mathers.

He was a few years younger than us, but that didn’t mean shit. The guy looked feral, unhinged, and his eyes were glazed over like he was on something. Even crazy people would give Mathers a wide berth if they met him.

I prayed to God he wasn’t fighting Brodie. They had history, and if they were pitched against each other, it’d be a bloody massacre.

Their feud went way back to primary school. I had no idea what had gone on, but I knew Brodie and the others hated Brandon. He was that kid. The one who looked like he needed a good wash and a decent meal growing up. The boy that looked one step away from totally flipping out. An outsider, a tear-away, and the last boy you’d ever invite to your home, because he’d probably steal from your mum’s purse while you weren’t looking and vandalise your bedroom before he left. In short, he was bad news. Always had been and always would be.

“Please tell me you’re not fighting him, Brodie. He fought Jensen a few days ago and look how that turned out.” I gestured over to where Jensen stood in front of us, sporting a still nasty bruised and swollen face. The guy was making the effort not to hobble, but I knew he was in pain. He couldn’t hide it, no matter what.

“I am, and he needs taking down a peg or two, Harp. I’ll do it for Jensen, and you.”

He kissed the top of my head and left me standing there as he sauntered over to where the others stood. I followed, reluctantly, but kept myself hidden in the crowd. I didn’t want any part of the ridiculous taunting they’d engage in to get a rise out of Brandon. Like he needed goading. He looked like he wanted to take on every man in this shithole barn.

Jensen called out Brandon’s name, and he turned to face them. I could see a slight smirk creeping out of the corner of his mouth, but he soon turned that shit off and did a really good job of looking dangerous and soulless. The guy was like a machine, primed and ready to attack. Horror movie bad guys had nothing on him. He was the real deal. The bogeyman that kept kids in Sandland awake past their bedtime. I hated him.

“No friends tonight, Mathers? They finally seen you for the loser you are?”

Jensen was playing with fire, talking to Brandon like that. The guy always did have more bravado than brains. Brandon had given him the pasting of his life, he still held the evidence of it for everyone to see on his beaten up face, but that switch in his head that was slightly off kilter didn’t register what the rest of us knew. He was making things worse for Brodie by firing Brandon up. He wasn’t doing a great job at saving his own ass either, because that switch that the rest of us had, that told us when to stop, Brandon lacked it too. Pitting those two against each other was a lose-lose situation. Nothing good could come from them verbally sparring before Brodie’s fight.

“That’s funny. I seem to remember beating your ass just a few days ago, Lockwood. I’d wait for the bruises to fade before you come at me again. You might sound more convincing,” Brandon spat back, looking like he was ready to give Jensen a reminder of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of his punches.

I knew the night wasn’t going to end well. The whole aura felt off. Knowing both Brodie and Brandon were undefeated on the bare-knuckle boxing scene meant someone was going home fucking shredded to pieces. I prayed it wouldn’t be Brodie.

I went to reach forward to grab him, maybe pull him back from the crowd and talk him out of it, but I was jostled out of the way, and all I could do was watch as they

all went toe-to-toe in their stand-off before the big fight. Jensen was snarling and getting into Brandon’s face.

“All I see is a lonely, washed-up nobody. A wannabe Tyson Fury without the charisma. You’re less gypsy king and more shitty king. You know, like the shit they found you in when your mum left you to bone every drug dealer she could get her hands on.”

We all held our breath as Jensen said that, spilling truths we’d all heard whispered around Sandland.

Brandon snapped and lurched towards Jensen, and in that split second, I saw the fear in Jensen’s eyes. He knew he’d gone too far. He’d woken the beast, and now my brother was going to step into the ring with it. I say ring, but they didn’t fight in the usual boxing ring. A tower of hay bales and a referee was all that kept them from the baying crowds that jeered and shouted as each punch was thrown. Jensen had done a great job of riling up Brandon, and now, we all had to watch as Brodie dealt with the fall-out.

Pat Murphy whispered to Brandon, probably hoping to calm him down, and Brandon nodded then pulled his shirt off.

“Hot damn, that boy is fine.”

I turned to where a group of women were standing just to the side of us, eyeing-up Mathers like he was the half-time snack. I looked back and tried to see what they saw. Okay, so he was ripped, and his abs looked like a work of art. Not to mention the tattoos that covered his body. If he wasn’t the unhinged psychopath I knew him to be, I might’ve joined in on the eye-fucking, but he was a psycho. One look at the dead eyes and fearsome snarl and I felt nothing but revulsion.