asconian's blog

They stayed in the cabin two more days, then decided it was time to leave. Late in the afternoon they packed what little they had and hiked down until they found a place that looked made for trouble. The bar sat alone at a crossroads — neon half-dead, gravel lot full of trucks and motorcycles, the air thick with spilled beer and engine oil. Inside it was worse: sticky floors, cracked vinyl, a jukebox that only played songs meant to start fights. Vlad pushed the door open. Pedro followed. They hadn’t taken three steps before a familiar voice cut through the noise. 

“Well, look who it is.” 

Steve stood at the far end of the bar, still marked from their last meeting. He grinned when he saw Pedro. 

“Miss me, pretty boy?” 

Pedro’s shoulders squared. He took a step forward. Vlad’s hand landed heavy on the back of his neck. 

“Enough,” Vlad said, voice low but carrying. 

“My puppy already kicked your ass once. You want to try someone harder?” 

The bar went quiet. Steve’s grin faltered as he took in the full size of the Russian. Then he recovered and called toward a corner table.

 “Jones. Your prey is here.”

 The man who stood was the same height and width as Vlad — military haircut, a viking brute badass, scarred knuckles, the build of a soldier who had never lost a fight he cared about. Another alpha. Another beast. Jones cracked his neck.

 “Been a while since I had a proper fight.” Steve jerked his chin at Pedro. 

“I’ll finish what I started with the little one.” Vlad’s mouth curved, cold and pleased. 

“Then we do this properly.”. Let´s have fun, Vlad said with a wild and dangerous look.

 No one tried to stop them. Tables and chairs were shoved aside. The jukebox was turned up louder. The two fights exploded at almost the same moment. Pedro and Steve went at each other with pure unfinished business — sharp punches, elbows, the kind of technical, mean fighting that came from knowing exactly where to hurt a man. They crashed through stools and into the bar itself. 

At the same time the two giants met in the center of the room like trucks colliding. When Vlad and Jones hit each other the floorboards shook. The first exchange of punches sounded like hammers on meat and bone. Jones drove Vlad into a support post; the post cracked. Vlad answered by slamming Jones through a heavy table that exploded into kindling. Every time one of them was driven into something, that something broke. They fought for long, brutal minutes. Blood mixed with spilled beer. 

The bar began to come apart around them. Then, almost at the same moment, both pairs broke apart. Pedro and Steve staggered back, chests heaving, blood dripping. Ten feet away Vlad and Jones did the same — two enormous bodies rising and falling like bellows, faces already marked, neither willing to yield. Silence hung for several seconds. Steve ripped his torn shirt off. Pedro did the same. 

Across the room the two giants pulled their own shirts over their heads, revealing thick, blood-streaked chests. Steve spat red and snarled, 

“I’m gonna break every fucking bone in your body this time.” 

Pedro wiped blood from his eye and grinned, breath ragged. 

“Keep talking. I’m still the one who put you down before.”

 Jones flexed his bloodied hands and looked at Vlad.

 “You’re big, Russian. But I’ve put down bigger.”

 Vlad’s bloody smile was pure challenge. 

“Come try, soldier, I will break each of your bones” 

Jones smiled.

They stared each other down for three heartbeats — then both pairs launched again. The second half was worse. Pedro and Steve’s fight spilled sideways with the force of their exchanges. A heavy collision sent them crashing through the front window in a shower of glass. They hit the muddy ground outside hard and kept going, exhausted — pure street fight now, rolling through the wet earth while a growing crowd of bikers and truckers poured out to watch. Fists, knees, elbows, no rules. One wasn´t going to get up. Too stubborn guys. 

Pedro took punishment and gave it back twice as hard, the two of them turning the parking lot into a pit of mud and blood while people shouted and circled them. Inside, Vlad and Jones never stopped. Their collision with the far wall was so violent the plaster and wood gave way completely. They smashed through into the dark storage warehouse behind the bar — crates, barrels, the smell of dust and old beer. 

In the tighter space the fight became even more savage. Two massive bodies slamming into everything that would break. They destroyed shelving, split wooden crates, drove each other into concrete pillars. Neither man stepped back. Real alphas. The right match for each other. Two bears who only knew how to keep coming forward until one of them could not. The end came in the same stretch of time for both pairs. 

Outside in the mud, Pedro finally trapped Steve against the side of a parked truck, unloaded a short, brutal combination, and dropped him with a finish that left the lumberjack almost unconscious in the wet dirt. Pedro stood over him, chest heaving, blood and mud running down his face, and made his voice carry to every man watching. 

“There won’t be a third time. You come near either of us again and I won’t stop. We clear?” 

Steve, barely able to focus, gave a weak, bloody nod. He had nothing left. Inside the warehouse, the two giants ended on their knees among the wreckage, still trading heavy, exhausted blows one after another until Jones’s arms finally gave out and a last right hand from Vlad put him down for good — conscious, but finished. Get on top and punched the viking on and one. Vlad pushed himself up, blood running freely, and walked back through the broken wall into the ruined bar, then out into the night. He found Pedro standing over Steve in the mud, the crowd quiet now. Their eyes met. 

Vlad crossed the distance, stepped through the circle of watchers, and pulled Pedro in by the back of the neck. He rested their foreheads together for a moment, both of them still breathing hard, the entire lot watching in stunned silence. 

“My tough little puppy,” 

Vlad murmured, low enough that only Pedro could hear. 

Pedro’s split lips curved into a tired, fierce smile. 

“Told you I could handle myself.” What about Jones

"Easy. Nobody mess with me. Only you my puppy"

 Vlad’s answering laugh was rough and proud.... He wrapped an arm around Pedro’s shoulders and turned them both toward the dark road. 

They didn’t look back. Behind them, Jones lay among the broken crates in the warehouse, too damaged to follow. Steve stayed in the mud, staring at the ground, with no desire left to ever test the two friends again. The road stretched ahead, open and black. 

They kept walking.