"Gotta make sure you know I care," he shot back, waggling his eyebrows in an out of place Groucho Marx imitation.
With anyone else, Dom would have focused on creative beatings. Use what was available, hammer his opponent with whatever he could grab. (He had a particular fondness for pool cues.) No point with Karl, who'd absorb the blow and shrug it all off. Truth was, that was why he loved duking it out with his brother.
No one could take punishment like Industrial Warfare, just like no one could hand it right back out. With that fleeting thought in mind, Dom darted back into arm's reach for a low one-two shot to Karl's ribs. A normal man would have been done for right there, bones broken and splintered under the force of the blow.
Sliding to one side, Dom offered a nasty close-mouthed smile. It wasn't the outcome of their fights which he gave a damn about. It was seeing just how long they could beat the ever-loving shit out of one another.