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Roman tested his jaw, glowering at his friend. “You talk too much.”
“Do I? What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” Abel retorted.
Roman snapped his leg out, his foot catching Abel in the stomach before he drilled his fist into Abel’s thigh. Abel fell to the mats like a ton of bricks, his leg dead. But before Roman could celebrate, Abel kicked out with his other leg, sweeping Roman’s feet out from underneath him. Roman landed hard on his back and Abel took advantage, sitting on his chest and pinning Roman’s arms with his knees. Roman bucked but couldn’t dislodge Abel’s solid weight. But instead of delivering a knock-out blow, Abel started to clear his throat aggressively.
Roman’s eyes widened. That fucker better not... he thought. But his worst fears were realized when a long string of spit slowly fell from Abel’s mouth, dangling precariously over Roman’s head.
“You filthy prick! Don’t you fucking dare!” Roman shouted, moving his head left and right, anything to avoid the saliva slowly making its way closer to his face. He looked to his right, where Sal watched the show with a grin on his face. “Help me!”
Salvatore crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think I will.”
Roman glared, silently vowing to punch his childhood friend in the nutsack as soon he was free. He didn’t want to buck in case it dislodged the gravity-defying spit string, but it was only a matter of time before Abel lost his admittedly impressive control. Roman decided to risk a big movement and brought his head up sharply, headbutting Abel in the nose. When Abel reared back, Roman rolled quickly, springing to his feet and managing to dodge the spit. Salvatore wasn’t as lucky though.
When Abel howled and flung his head back, the giant loogie flew through the air, landing on Sal’s cheek. His eyes widened in horror before he swore and began to run around in a circle dramatically. “It’s on me! It’s on me!” he yelled.
Abel was too busy trying to stem the blood flowing from his nose to notice Sal move behind him and wipe the spit into his hair. Abel stilled and panned to Sal slowly. “Did you just wipe spit in my hair?” He sounded rather nasal.
“It’s your spit!” Salvatore defended himself, already backing away.
It was a wise move, Roman thought. He, too, recognized the look on Abel’s face. The big man was about to stop playing. Abel loved to mess around... until he didn’t. And the sight of his own blood was usually a big trigger. Roman probably should have gone for the forehead instead of the nose. That way, an angry, bleeding Abel wouldn’t have been an issue.
“I don’t care if it’s the Queen’s spit!” Abel growled, wiping blood on his pants. “I don’t want it in my hair.”
Salvatore moved in fast, knocking Abel off his feet before he could stand all the way up. But Abel rolled swiftly, grabbing Sal’s calf muscle and squeezing hard. Roman moved in, gripping Abel’s shoulder and digging his fingers into the sensitive tissue just under the clavicle. Abel released Salvatore and shrugged off Roman’s hold, punching out with both fists simultaneously. He somehow managed to hit both opponents, and Roman pinwheeled his arms but managed to stay on his feet. By the time he refocused, Abel was on his feet and moving in fast.
He watched Abel and Sal trade blows for a few moments, impressed by their skills. In the end, it was the fact that he needed them fit and healthy to help handle the upcoming clusterfuck that he decided to put an end to it. But when he cleared his throat, two sets of eyes locked onto him, and his own widened. Oh, fuck!
The punch to his eye left him seeing double for a moment, and the hard kick to his kidneys had him cursing. When the two men stepped closer to deliver more pain, Roman did the only thing he could to stop the madness before things got too out of control. He reached out and grabbed a nipple with each hand. He was fast, he had to be, and before Abel or Sal could react, he twisted with all his might. Both men shrieked like banshees, falling to their knees in front of Roman. Sal’s hand gripped Roman’s hard, but he didn’t try to pull it away. They all knew from past experience what would happen, and it wasn’t pretty. Nipples could be broken.
Roman stood panting for a moment, looking at the bruised and bloody men. “Truce.” When they didn’t answer, he squeezed, twisting his wrists a little. “Truce!” he demanded again, louder this time.
Abel gritted his teeth, spitting out, “Fine. Truce.”
Roman let him go, and he fell to the floor, clutching his man-teat and whining pathetically. Roman ignored him, turning his attention to Salvatore. “Well?” he questioned.
Salvatore stared at him for a moment, giving a testing pull with his hand. When Roman didn’t budge, Sal raised his eyebrows. “Are you feeling better?”
Roman thought about it for a moment, deciding he did. The root of the problem wasn’t going anywhere, but his need for immediate violence had diminished. For now. “Yes,” he answered.
“Then I yield,” Sal said simply.
Roman let go immediately, and Sal slapped his hand over his chest, hissing. Roman’s anger diminished further. Knowing Sal had been willing to sacrifice his nip for Roman’s mental health almost brought a tear to his eye. But then, he realized he should have known better. Salvatore really didn’t like to lose. He reached out, hooking his arm behind Roman’s knees and toppling him to the ground. Roman landed hard, his lungs jarring and making it hard to pull in air for a moment.
“You suck,” Roman somehow managed to get out.
Sal flopped onto his back as well, an arm thrown over his eyes. “I win.”
“You cheated,” Abel pointed out. He was sitting on his ass and inspecting his very red nipple.
Sal snorted, not bothering to open his eyes. “You should have too.”
Roman lay where he was, listening as his friends bantered back and forth good-naturedly—if somewhat grumpily. It was familiar and did more to settle his emotions than the fighting had. “Did you find him?” he asked, blinking up at the ceiling. It was something he should have asked sooner, but he’d been too fucked in the head. But then, he knew if they’d found their target, they would have led with that.
“No. No sign of him,” Sal answered as predicted. “Luca is currently reviewing all the traffic cams and trying to track the movements of his car. We’ll find him, Roman.”
Roman didn’t respond, but he did accept the hand Abel offered him. Abel hauled him to his feet, pulling him close for a brief but hard man hug. Stepping back, Roman shook his head, looking at the sweat and blood smudging the mats. He was going to have to call the cleaners in early.
“You know, I didn’t think I could feel worse than when I discovered the truth about my mother’s death and Luca’s existence. But I was wrong.” The admission came without thought.
