He’s standing there, smirking, at the perfect angle when my fist connects with his face in a quick jab. He goes down so easily that, as I feel cartilage crunch under my knuckles, I start to wonder idly if he’d even survive a full-on beatdown.
“f**k!” His hand reaches up to assess the damage. “You—you broke my f*****g nose!”
“Trust me: it’s an improvement.”
Blood runs down his hand and he keeps touching his nose, the bridge of which is pointing in a different direction than it was a moment ago.
“f**k,” he groans nasally. “My nose. My f*****g nose!”
“You’re lucky I broke only your nose,” I snarl, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hauling him toward me. “Stay the f**k away from her. You hear me?”
His eyes widen and he nods hard. I shove him back just as Kirill rounds the corne
