Bull gave a happy roar as he leaped off the stage. When he reached the dogpile, bodies went flying. Off to one side, Hawk waited politely for his opponents to be tossed to him. It was nice to see his brother laughing.

Good times.

A couple of minutes later, Gabe’d finished with his three, leaving them sprawled and groaning on the ground. As he moved away, his jaw throbbed from a fist he hadn’t dodged quickly enough, and his healing ribs ached from a stray kick.

Surprised that more PZs hadn’t come to the assistance of his three opponents, he checked the brawl.

Damned if small fights weren’t going on all over the grassy space.

Smiling cruelly, Hawk stood with his foot on the three-hundred-pounder’s thick neck. The corpulent bastard’s face was a dark red—not blue—so he was getting enough air.

Gabe grinned.

A familiar-looking man in black—the one who’d caught the girl—landed a sweet right jab to a PZ belly and followed it up with a knockout punch.

Tucker, Guzman, Uriah—hell, a large number of men had taken on the PZs. There was Knox along with several more male and female residents he didn’t recognize.

Now it was the PZs who were out-numbered.

Dogpile gone, Bull dragged two half-conscious men—by the feet—off the field of battle and toward the onlookers.

Near a picnic table, Audrey had a black cane in her hand and an unconscious Zealot in front of her. She nudged him with her foot. When he didn’t move, she gave the cane to a scrawny, old man at the picnic table.

Gabe eyed the cane, then the tattooed bastard on the ground. Uh-huh. Yeah, he was going to keep this woman.

Two brothers and one woman were accounted for. Where was Caz?

Ah, fuck.

Straddling the red-bearded man, Caz had a knife to the asshole’s neck.

Moving closer, Gabe cleared his throat. “Jesus, Caz, I’m gonna be pissed off if you kill him. Do you know how much paperwork I’ll get stuck with?”

The blade didn’t move. “No hay problema—I’ll just cut him up a bit.”

“Now, let’s think this through. Who, exactly, will be stuck stitching up the bastard?”

Caz gave Gabe a narrow-eyed stare before staring down at his victim. The knife moved an inch. A whisper whitened the asshole’s face to the color of fresh fallen snow.

Good. Threats were good. Gabe let out the breath he’d been holding.

After flipping the knife and shoving it into his boot-sheath, Caz rose. He gave Gabe an aggrieved stare and walked away. “I need a drink.”

“Hey, old man.” Bull handed Gabe a beer and looked toward Caz. “He really hates when you won’t let him draw blood.”

“Yeah, well, you’d think a health professional would be more careful about hazardous waste. It’s a park, after all.”