CHAPTER 12
BARAN
His brass knuckles felt like an old friend as Baran smashed them into the man’s throat. When you started fighting at a young age, taking on much bigger men, it helped to have some extra gear when you threw a punch. Especially, like in this case, when the motherfucker in front of you was a fat, two-hundred pound wall of flesh. The man was massive; Baran wouldn’t have been able to miss him if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t. All he wanted was to pound this motherfucker into the floor, spill gasoline over him, and set him on fire.
Always go for the biggest one first.
His oldest brother, Hakan, had taught him to fight from a tactical point of view. If you took out the strongest one to start with, your job got easier.
Kristoff had showed him to fight dirty. There was no hono
