the town with darkness | bughead

ch. 1 | fight club

Shoulders and elbows jostled him roughly as Jughead pushed through the sweaty, heaving throng of bikers, purposefully-lost jocks and just plain dodgy-looking barflies. Just before he made it to the center, a hand grabbed the back of his neck.

"Make me proud son," FP Jones growled.

Jughead shook off his father's heavy hand and wrinkled his nose at the bittersweet smell of whiskey on his breath. "You got it, Dad," he shot back sardonically.

"Win or don't bother coming home tonight, I've got a lot riding on this," FP warned giving Jughead a push towards the centre stopping any chance of Jughead replying to him.

Jughead rolled his eyes but loosened his shoulders up with a few rolling shrugs now that he was in the center of the crowd. It was hot in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm and Jughead had already stripped off his flannel shirt and was down to his boots, black jeans and a white singlet. He cracked his knuckles - he was ready to go. He rarely got nervous before these fights anymore. To be honest, it wasn't the fight that made him anxious, it was facing his father afterwards if he lost. That had only happened twice and the memories of those painful occasions were seared into his brain.

He could see the crowd parting across from him and stepping into the ring was a guy who looked about twice his size. What's more, he was wearing a leather jacket emblazoned with a dirty-looking scorpion - a bikie from a different motorcycle gang. Jughead was momentarily surprised that FP even let rival bikies in the Whyte Wyrm. The guy shed his jacket and passed it to another biker and walked into the makeshift ring.

"This is the best the Scorpions could do?"

Jughead spun around to see his Dad scoffing at his opponent. "You gotta be joking," he said under his breath but he knew better than to tell FP to shut up.

"We got someone bigger than Stinger but we figured we'd go easy on your son Jones," said the guy holding 'Stinger's' leather jacket. That was a most inventive name for a Scorpion bikie, Jughead thought, rolling his eyes.

"Go as hard as you want, he can take you," FP spat back.

A shiver ran down Jughead's spine at his father's words. Yeah, sure he could take Stinger. If he could survive FP getting wasted on whiskey and coming home wanting to belt something, he could survive Stinger.

"Alright gentlemen, you know the rules," said Mustang, a rangy beast of a man and FP's Second-In-Command, stepping in between Stinger and Jughead. "Keep it civil. No weapons. First one to hit the deck and not get up loses."

"Got it," Stinger smirked at Jughead. He shoved his right hand into his jeans pocket and Jughead frowned at the action.

"And...engage," Mustang said, quickly stepping back into the crowd but staying on the rim of the circle to referee.

Stinger immediately pulled his right hand out and sucker punched Jughead right in the gut. With brass knuckles. Jughead got the breath knocked out of him so hard and so painfully he immediately fell to his knees, one arm wrapped around his middle.

"Brass"- he tried to say but was cut off by a sharp cough. He searched urgently for Mustang but the Serpent was talking to someone behind him - Jughead couldn't catch his eye. Luckily for him, Stinger wasn't going to kick him while he was down, at least not right after that first punch. Instead he'd gone over to his Scorpion friend who'd slapped him on the back with a triumphant laugh. But before Jughead could get his breath back, Stinger stalked back to him.

"Can't you get up?" he asked as the crowd jeered around them.

"Screw you, you're a goddamn cheater," Jughead snarled, still on his knees in front of the huge biker.

"Watch me win this fight boy," Stinger said. "In one hit."

Then, without warning he drew his right arm back and backhanded Jughead so violently he was thrown right to the edge of the circle. Fortunately this time he hit the shins of a couple of Serpents who grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet, not wanting to incur the ire of Jughead's father. Jughead's vision swam and he staggered, the only reason he stayed on his feet was the arms of the Serpents holding him there. He shook the black spots from his eyes and stared Stinger down.

"Only my Dad's allowed to do that to me," Jughead said, his tone dropping to a murderous low. He scanned the crowd before shouting hoarsely, "Mustang! He's wearing brass knuckles!"

Mustang pushed through the crowd and grabbed Stinger's shoulder while Jughead gingerly felt his right cheek. He had a sharp cut on his cheekbone that stung - blood was already trickling from it - and from his newly split lip but nothing felt broken. Even so, he was, for once, thankful for the Serpents, for them picking him up off the ground. It'd only take a couple more hits with those brass knuckles to knock him out cold. In fact, it was a fluke that Stinger's backhand hadn't rendered him unconscious. Jughead was also thanking his lucky stars right now that he had a couple minutes to himself while Stinger was given a stern talking-to by Mustang and getting his brass knuckles confiscated.

His eyes started moving towards the crowd and the wooden staircase at the back of the basement that led upstairs. A girl started walking down them, her clean blue jeans and white shirt looking tremendously out of place for the Whyte Wyrm. As soon as her face and blonde ponytail came into view Jughead felt sick.

It was Betty Cooper.