Page 31 of Tracked By Sasquatch

“Oh, shit.” It must’ve dawned on Santa the only reason Croon would call for blood. “Devin.” The rest of the room gasped, while Hook practically exploded.

“You’re fucking around with Devin? I’m gonna kick your ass when Croon’s done,” he roared while Croon swung, landing his first punch, and Squatch took it.

“No,” Croon called over his shoulder. “This is my fight.” He spoke with an authority he didn’t usually bear.

“Besides.” His tone changed to almost mocking. “He’s not fucking around, he claimed her.”

Croon then turned all his attention to Squatch. “Are you gonna fight or not?”

“You only hit me once, you wanted two.”

Hook approached the ring, gripping the rope. “Claimed her? How long have you been fucking her?” Hook’s tattooed face was red like it was taking everything in him not to jump in and swing himself.

“I didn’t… wasn’t. Last night just happened and I texted Croon first. Now back off. This is between us.”

Hook huffed incredulously, but Zombie pulled him back with a hand to the shoulder.

“So.” Croon swung again, catching Squatch on his cheek splitting it open. “You’re not claiming her, you just wanted to feel better about fucking her?” Another swing, this one slit his lip, and still, he didn’t swing on Croon. His brother deserved to draw some blood.

“I meant it. She’s mine.”

“Oh yeah?” A surprise blow to his abdomen doubled him over. “What did Miss Independent say to that?”

“Nothing.” He ducked a head shot. “She doesn’t know yet.”

The laughter that tore through the room, even from Croon, took him by surprise.

For good measure, Croon punched him again, and swept his leg, dropping him to the mat.

“It’s true, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. That registered on the Richter,” Santa quipped from his side of the room.

Looking down at him with barely veiled amusement, Croon spoke. “Oh, oh, oh. What she’s gonna do to you will be way worse than what I could do to you here.”

Croon extended a hand and helped Squatch to his feet. One more punch, apparently for good measure, then Croon was pulling him into a hug.

Squatch slapped him on the back and stepped back. “We good, brother?”

“We will be once you promise to never hurt her. Because if she sheds a single tear over you. You won’t have the advantage of this ring. You won’t see it coming, I promise you that.” His voice was deadly serious.

Croon may look like a preppy rich boy, but he was lethal and sneaky.

Squatch nodded, about to give Croon his word when he added another caveat.

“And, as soon as you hit me.”

“What? I’m not gonna hit you. You had every right to call for blood. I⁠—”

He was interrupted. “Nonnegotiable. You have to hit me, or I’ll rescind my permission.”

“Why?” It was a valid question. Squatch had killed men with just his fists.

“Because Devin will call me a brute, an asshole, or any number of her other favorite insults, if you look like that, and I look like this.”

Squatch was torn. He understood, he really did, but hitting Croon felt wrong.

When Croon saw his hesitation, he practically begged. “I’ve already lost so much with Devin. She doesn’t trust me and… I don’t want to make her hate me even more.”

“For the record, she doesn’t hate you. She just wants you to see her like you used to.” Squatch took his swing, but pulled it back as much as he could but still leaving some superficial evidence of an altercation.