Conor grabbed the heavy boxing bag between his hands, squeezing it to keep it from moving. He set his feet and rammed his head into the bag so hard that you could hear it right across the weight room. He leaned back and rammed his head back into the bag, even harder than the first time. Then he did a rapid-fire series in quick succession, his head smashing into the bag with awesome power. His face went even redder, and he stopped and let go of the bag, his arms hanging by his side. He lifted his head and gasped for air. The Irish Kiss. He gasped again. If he’s shorter than you, you aim for here. He reached over with his finger and poked the top of Looey’s head. Same height as you, you go for the nose. The same finger gave Looey a sharp rap on the bridge of his nose. Conor knew he was going to need this move and everything else he knew to win this battle. The fact that he’d become the leader of the Hands Gang pretty much by accident, to impress Stacey, the wild child, the beautiful rich girl, didn’t matter now. What mattered was the Boulton Blood Crew was coming after him with everything they had. They didn’t know that the Hands Gang only had three guys. They didn’t need to know. All they needed to know was that they were in for the fight of their lives!
