Contd
Ramirez Gonzales.
Echo bolts out of the car like a rocket, ignoring my shout to hold back.
Darnez, that smug bastard, senses the shift in the air, his head tilts just enough to notice us. “Well, if it isn’t the Fire Lord,” he drawls.
But Darnez hates me too much that he doesn’t see Echo coming. Not until Echo’s fist connects with his face in a punch that echoes across the lot. The crack of bone against pulse lingers for a brief second before Darnez’s head snaps to the side.
His eyes plays with fury once he recovers. And there goes his reaction wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You son of a—” he snarls, and before Echo can swing again, he counters with a fist to his jaw, sending Echo to backtrack.
The men in suits swarm in, grabbing both of them, dragging them apart.
