SQUARELY
845 Words
I drop through the smoky air and land squarely on a wooden table, feeling the thick oak shatter into splinters under my heavy boots as the loud crash echoes over the music.
I do not pause to check my balance or look at the broken mess because my amber eyes are locked directly on the nomad biker who raised his fist at the woman in the red dress.
I use my downward momentum to launch my body straight at him, crashing into his chest before he even realizes someone jumped from the second floor balcony.
I reach out and grab the bastard by his dirty throat to squeeze his windpipe, forcing him backward until we both hit the concrete floor with a heavy thud.
I use my weight to pin his arms down and slam his skull hard against the ground, watching the shock replace the arrogant smirk on his ugly face.
"You touch her, you die," I growl loudly over the noise of the club, bringing my fist down hard against his cheekbone to make sure he hears my warning.
The nomad groans and spits a mouthful of blood onto the concrete, struggling to break free from my grip as the crowd around us erupts into panic.
I raise my bruised fist and hit him a second time to knock the fight right out of him, making sure he stays flat on his back so he cannot try to grab a weapon from his pocket.
The bartender reaches under the counter and kills the sound system, replacing the heavy bass of the guitars with the chaotic screams of people rushing toward the front exit.
Dante and Luca charge down the wooden staircase and step right into the middle of the mess, using their large frames to hold the screaming crowd back from the dance floor.
"Everybody back the f**k up right now!" Dante yells at the top of his lungs, shoving a drunk customer out of the way to create a safe perimeter around me.
Luca draws his gun and points it toward the pool tables, glaring at the rest of the nomad crew to ensure they do not try to jump in and defend their friend.
"If any of you take a single step forward, you are leaving this bar in a body bag!" Luca shouts, keeping his weapon steady as he stares down the rival bikers.
A tall nomad with a gray beard steps out from the group and holds his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender.
"Your boss is the one who threw the first punch, so you have no right to pull a gun on us over a stupid misunderstanding," the bearded nomad argues, spitting on the floor to show his disrespect.
"Your boy put his hands on a woman who clearly did not want to be touched, and that means he broke the rules of my house," I yell back at the bearded man, refusing to break eye contact with him.
"She is just some drunk girl looking for a good time, so do not act like you are some kind of hero for defending her," the nomad sneers, taking a step toward the door.
"If you ever disrespect a woman in my club again, I will break your jaw too," I promise him, keeping my voice cold and deadly as I point toward the exit.
"Now pick your friend up off the floor and get out of my territory before I lose my patience and let my men handle this," I demand, standing my ground until he nods his head.
The bearded man glares at me for a long moment, but he realizes he is outnumbered and outgunned by my security team.
He motions for two of his guys to walk over and drag the unconscious biker out the front doors, and the rest of his crew follows them out into the freezing rain without another word.
"Dante, lock the front doors and do not let anyone else inside until I tell you the situation is clear," I order my Vice President, wiping a smear of blood off my knuckles with my thumb.
"I will handle the door and the cops if they show up, boss, so just go take care of the girl," Dante replies, holstering his gun and walking toward the front entrance to secure the building.
I know the room is secure because my men always do their jobs perfectly, so I turn my attention back to the middle of the dance floor.
I look at the girl in the crimson dress, expecting her to be running away into the crowd, but she is still standing right where the fight started.
She is shaking violently from head to toe, and her soft brown eyes are wide with absolute terror as she stares at my bruised knuckles and my heavy boots.
I realize she thinks I am going to hurt her next, and the raw fear on her beautiful face makes my chest ache in a strange way I am not used to feeling.
- Writer
