Ready continued circling Rgaunt figure, easily a head taller than the cherub-faced Ron, who looked at me and caught my eye. He nodded perceptively, and I understood the meaning. He was thanking me. Randy looked back at Ron.
"Unfortunately, for you and your sick plans, you didn't count on others helping her. You sick rapist fucks never figure that in... that some people truly love these girls who you hurt."
"Look, man. I'm sorry. I didn't do anything. You can even ask h doesn't need to ask her. Do you want to know why? I can see through you. I can see your heart. I cr soul. And you know sit-ups a righteous
person. So, that is why I'm going to finish giving you the beating that sosit-upslse started."
Ron faded to a whiter shade of paleness that was so light that his freckles stood out like black on his skin. Then again, that could have just been a light play. Either way, he started walking to the garden hose. He screamed as if he had been shot, scrambled to his feet, and made a mad dash toward the front door of the house.
Ready watched him with a bemused expression on his face, and I thought
that was going to be it. Ron would run to his room, and everyone would
disperse, and I would limp my way home.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
The tall man swirled his long chain like a lasso and what he did next defied logic and reason. He chain, which whipped through the air, humming as it went. The chain wrapped around Ron's legs perfectly and the best upper pitched forward onto the house's concrete steps. My mouth had barely dropped open, when this Randy character somehow, miraculously appeared on top of Ron.
Then Randy opened his mouth, and in the ambient street and house light, I
could see that he had filed down his teeth. What the hell? A second later, he buried his teeth and face into Ron's neck. Ron screamed like a girl. Someone else screamed, too. Ron kicked once, twice. More people screamed.
Was I being Punk'd? Was this happening?
A moment later, Randy pulled his face away--a face now covered with blood.
Ron lay perfectly still, with blood pouring down his neck; his blood splashed over the concrete stairs.
This was real. The seven-foot-tall freak fucking bit into the fat boy's neck. And in front of a crowd of people. Unbelievable!
Ready casually picked Ron up by his neck, lifting him entirely off the
ground. Ron's legs dangled like a five-year-old's. And with a primeval growl, the tall freak threw Ron off the stairs and into the bushes nearby.
And that's when complete pandemonium broke out.
Most of the partygoers took off running, but some unfortunate bastards stood their ground trying to defend their frat house turf.
Like I said, unfortunate bastards.
The three guys in trench coats were moving so fast that they appeared more of a blur than anything else. I was beginning to wonder if I had been the one who had been slipped a "roofie." Anyway, time skipped a bit. One moment, the tall, freaky guys were here. And the next, they were over there. In a blur, a blink, and sometimes, even instantly. Since I no longer had a dog in this fight--not to
mention that I was seriously questioning my sanity--I decided to duck behind the jeep and see how this all played out.
And then get the hell out of here.
The redheaded woman had now joined the three trench coats. All four, as best as I could tell, were laying beatdowns with their chains and whips in a scene that could only be described as surreal, and in one movie prison riots look tame. No one here had a chance.
The redheaded woman, who had just disposed of a man twice her size by
throwing him hard against a tree trunk suddenly stopped and looked straight at me. I wanted to duck, but it was too late. Her eyes narrowed and then she did something unexpected. She nodded slightly and motioned with her head. I frowned and was momentarily overcome with the impression that she recognized me somehow, although I was damn sure that I had no clue who she was. She motioned with her head again, and my foggy, dense brain finally understood the gesture. She wanted me to run!
Well, that sounded like a hell of a good idea, and so that's what I did. Well, I bet I could pull it off. With a sharp pain ripping through my injured back--and pain that was eclipsed by a powerful surge of adrenaline--I bolted down the driveway.
And that's as far as I got.
Before I could even get to the sidewalk, one of the trench guys had
tripped up my feet. I fell to the ground. I tried to fight him off, but it was no use.
He had the strength of ten men. He was impossible to move. I was a world-class mixed martial arts fighter, and this Goth dude was keeping me down? I rolled over, and he bit down on my neck. What the hell was this crazy asshole doing?
He was freaking biting into my neck! Really?
I had been in at least two hundred fights, in my life. Not one time did my
opponent think that a smart move was to bite my neck.
I tried fighting him off, but it was no use. With everything I had--and using
every wrestling technique Danny had ever taught me-I broke his grip on me and heaved him off me. All in one motion. And as he went spinning and
stumbling, I leaped to my feet and grabbed my neck. He regained his balance and turned and faced me, eyes wide with wonder and confusion. He didn't plan on me being that strong. It was as if that would be the first time anyone ever got the best of him.
I looked at my hand. There was a small amount of blood on it. "What the fuck did you do that for?" I said to the man who just took a bite out of my flesh.
"You should have never come," he hissed and lunged toward me again, his mouth wide. This guy also had his teeth filed.
What the hell was going on? They all had some crazy vampire fetish.
I landed a punch that did him little harm, although it slowed him down some.
He shook off my blow and kept coming at me. The blow that I had landed would have laid out most people. People is the operative word here.
And in a move that would have made any MMA fighter proud, he grabbed
my hand in a blink and pulled me forward. The movement was so sudden and powerful that I lost my balance. He yanked me again and now I pitched forward onto the grass. Not the world's most graceful takedown, but it worked. Not to mention he still had me by the hand, which he had yanked awkwardly behind me. Awkwardly and painfully. Too painfully. I turned my head and saw that the son-of-bitch had bitten down on my wrist. I tried to free myself, but I was in a hell of a twisted position.
He bit down harder, tearing away some of my skin.