I had to give the other guy credit. That was a fine right hook. Every bit as good as my mom used to give me. Of course, the best right hooks were the ones I landed on the other guy rather than the ones the other guy landed on me. My dear departed mother had always taught me it was better to give than receive. It’s unlikely that her cherished advice was meant to apply to bar fights, but then, she wasn’t a big fan of bars or fights in general. I spit out the blood in my mouth.
My name is Tad Riker. I serve as a tactical weapons officer for the Wolves, but I was raised by the Stallions. The poor unfortunate reprobate, who was even now feeling the wrath of my fist, was serving as an armorer for the Stallions. That’s why I took this fight so personally . . . not that he was an armorer, but that he was a Stallion.
