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Shark stayed back until Flash, laughing like a damn lunatic, tried to drag him into the mess.
Beast was losing his shit.
The big Malinois was barking his damn head off, pacing back and forth like he couldn’t decide which idiot to help first. His ears flicked between the chaos, tail high, whole body tense with anticipation.
Brawler dodged a hit, blocked another. Moved through it, around it, like a street fighter dodging swings in a back-alley brawl.
But then in the chaos, someone landed a solid punch. Probably Dagger. Didn’t matter. The impact snapped something loose, sending a white-hot jolt through his system. His knuckles curled into fists before he even thought about it, and just like that, every bit of tension he’d been bottling up detonated.
Dagger came back swinging. Not out of anger. Not out of revenge. But because this was how they let go. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t sit around unpacking emotions like civilians in therapy. They fought.
Fists met ribs, elbows connected with shoulders. Boots kicked up dust as the team did what they did best, fight through it.
It was chaos, it was brutal, it was exactly what they needed.
The damn dog just kept barking.
The fight didn’t end clean. It burned out.
Fists slowed. Punches turned into halfhearted swings. Someone, maybe Bondo, got in one last solid hit before everything just collapsed into the dirt.
Now, they were a wreck.
Panting. Bleeding. Dirty as hell.
The foothills stretched out around them, dust and sweat clinging to their skin as the heat of the morning sun bore down like a judgmental bastard. The city shimmered in the distance, oblivious to the group of battle-worn brothers lying in the dirt like a bunch of pigs in mud.
Beast had finally stopped barking, standing over them with his tongue hanging out, looking thoroughly disappointed in their life choices.
Brawler wiped the back of his hand across his face, smearing blood across his cheek. His lip was split, knuckles raw from the dirt and impact. Didn’t matter. The fight had burned it all out. Nobody was mad anymore.
Dagger sat next to him, just as wrecked, blood dripping from his chin, dirt streaked across his face, shirt torn at the shoulder. His breath was steady, measured, but his posture was loose in a way it hadn’t been in weeks.
Brawler nudged him with an elbow, voice a low grumble. “Next time, don’t be a jackass.”
Dagger, still wiping blood from his chin, just smirked. “I’ll think about it.”
Flash, flat on his back, spread-eagled in the dirt like he was trying to merge with the earth, let out a satisfied sigh. “Worth it.”
Brawler shook his head, spitting blood onto the ground, then eyed Dagger again. Only he got to hit his brothers. They could throw down, break each other apart, but at the end of the day, he’d die for every one of them.
Twister, groaning as he stretched out his arm, glared at Dagger. “Are you happy with this riot?”
“How you figure?”
Twister shot him a look. “You were the one who got the ball rolling. If you’d just told everyone about your hell-on-wheels woman from the start, we wouldn’t be lying here like a bunch of idiots.” Twister grinned, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “Tell them the rest.”
Dagger exhaled, still catching his breath. But now, all eyes were on him.
Easy mumbled brushing dirt off his legs. “There’s more?”
“What the fuck?” Shark growled. “I thought I had secrets.”
Dagger’s throat worked, and he looked away, like if he didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t real. The silence stretched. The team didn’t breathe. He could still brush it off, still sidestep the truth. But Brawler saw it, that moment of hesitation, of war waging behind those pale green eyes.Brawler could feel the tension winding tighter, thick as a tripwire waiting to snap. Then, finally, Dagger exhaled. Low. Rough as sandpaper, “I’m Ezra’s and Elijah’s biological father.” The admission was soft.
Flash let out a low whistle. “Fuck! That training accident, right?”
Dagger nodded. “Yeah. He was devastated. He asked me, and I-I agreed.”