Chapter 20 FightFlee #2
“Yes!” Georgie shouted excitedly. “Come dance.” She dragged them off toward the dance floor. BJ had the MJ moves. Georgie and Jodie danced with wobbled side steps like they were learning to walk.
Dahlia came into the bar and perched herself on a stool. She wore the same outfit as before: black jeans, black top, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
“Scotch?” I asked.
She merely nodded in response and gazed around the bar like she was inherently bored.
I glanced at Karson; a small blonde was chatting to him. He paid Dahlia no attention—if she was an ex, he didn’t look like he wanted to reignite the flame anytime soon.
I spent the next half hour or so practically running to keep up with demand. I wasn’t sure what made me look up; maybe it was the murmur of the crowd, maybe it was the subtle shift in energy throughout the bar. But something stopped me in my tracks.
Scar-face was standing on the dance floor glaring at BJ. Despite being equal in height, BJ was only half the width of him. BJ had his palm up, and a cold look in his eyes. “Don’t touch her.”
Those words ricocheted through my head.
Jodie stood behind him, staring up wide-eyed, her hand clutching BJ’s shirt.
Scar-face shoved BJ hard and he knocked into Jodie, who shrieking and stumbling, almost lost her feet. A girl reached out and caught her, and BJ might have fallen except he landed against the back of another man.
BJ was back up in the man’s face. “I said leave her alone.” His steely determination was stupid, but impressive.
“What are you going to do about it?” Scar-face said, adding in a racial slur.
I prickled with rage as I darted out from behind the bar.
“What did you say?” BJ spoke through clenched teeth. His whole body tightened, his fists curling at his sides.
Scar-face repeated his disgusting taunt as he swung his fist. It flew through the air like a jet plane.
BJ ducked and the punch missed. As he came back up, he gave scar-face an uppercut, slamming his fist into his jaw.
His teeth clanked together, snapping through the room.
But despite its obvious force, he hardly flinched.
Instead, he clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed.
The crowd formed an arc around them. Over near the pool table, the group laughed.
“Move,” I commanded as I barged my way through, bumping my shoulder into a woman and sending her staggering.
I got through in time to see scar-face’s right fist swinging fast toward BJ.
BJ moved his head to the side and away, but the punch connected with a sickening crack on his nose. Blood sprayed as BJ’s head jerked up and backward. His body followed behind. His arms flailed wildly as he fell onto his back.
Scar-face smirked and drove his foot into BJ’s ribs. BJ grunted and curled into a ball, throwing his hands around his head to protect himself.
Jodie and Georgie screamed.
Scar-face lifted his leg to kick him again; his foot aimed for his skull.
He’s going to kill him.
He was much bigger than me, it would be foolish to step in. If I did, I could be seriously hurt.
“Amelia,” Karson roared.
As he swung his foot back, I dove and my shoulder slammed into his leg. His knee caved inward; knees didn’t like being bent that way. Grunting with a mixture of surprise and pain, he crashed to the ground.
I tumbled down behind him, landing flat on my face.
He was a big man but remarkably agile, and he sprang up like an angry bear.
I rolled to the side and scrambled to my feet.
I should have been scared, but the commonsense in my head was drowned by a more powerful force—rage.
“Take one more step, you racist prick,” I hissed. “And you will be sorry.”
He smirked, but his eyes told another story. His fists tightened into cannonballs. If he hit me, he’d break my nose, my jaw, maybe my cheekbone.
My heart skyrocketed into my throat, choking the air from my lungs.
He raised his fist—
Something black blurred in front of me. One moment scar-face was standing, and the next he was flying backward through the room. He slammed into a brick pillar, and his head snapped back, slapping into the pole. His mouth sprang open, and his eyes were dazed as he wobbled on his feet.
Startled, I looked to see who had thrown him with such force.
Karson stood with his hands by his sides, his jaw tight. His eyes were blacker than the night sky. Pure fury leaked from his pores, chilling me.
I stepped up beside him, but he didn’t look down. I didn’t think he even registered my presence. His gaze was locked on scar-face.
People had scattered out of the way. A few, including Kevin, the town sleaze, found themselves on their asses on the floor, looking bewildered.
Scar-face’s ugly mug glowed like the ass end of a baboon. A deep rumble escaped his throat, and then he came on like an avalanche. The rumble ballooned into a roar.
We were about to get flattened under a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound wild monster.
Karson stepped in front of me and toward him. Crack. Crack, crack!
Karson’s fists flew, and scar-face’s head whipped about like a pinata. Blood sprayed. He swayed. His eyes drifted involuntarily back and forth. He dropped to his knees and crashed onto his broken face.
Karson stood in front of him, fists clenched, breathing deeply, as if daring him to rise again.
He didn’t.
Thunder pounded through the room. I swung my head. Not thunder. The rest of the group charged in. Their faces twisted in anger. Jaws clenched. Eyes glistening with hatred.
They were coming like freight trains, straight for us.
“Shit,” I muttered, my breath burning down my throat.
I gasped as I was swung around, flying through the air. Ethan had me firmly in his hands, lifting me up like I was the size and weight of a small child, moving me out of the way.
“Stay there,” he growled, so deep it sounded remarkably like a dog. He put me down and strode up beside Karson to face the onslaught.
Ethan dodged and weaved with remarkable speed, landing a punch to the side of one attacker’s head, snapping it sideways.
He drove a second punch into his throat.
The man staggered backward, his hand clutching his throat, gasping for air as he fell onto a table.
It collapsed beneath his weight, and he hit the floor with a thud.
A second man charged forward. Ethan threw a short, sharp punch at his face before the other guy could even draw his fist back.
Karson was throwing punches so fast his arms seemed to blur. The blood sprayed from the man’s face like a sprinkler, soaking anyone unlucky enough to be standing nearby.
Dazed, the would-be attacker took two swaying steps and crumbled to the floor. He wouldn’t be getting back up anytime soon.
The second ass Ethan hit recovered and swung a meaty fist at him.
Ethan blocked it with his arm, and with the other hand he grabbed him by the throat.
He lifted his two-hundred-pound weight off the floor like he was fifty pounds and slammed him back into a pillar.
The ass swung a rounded punch, not quite at his full force but still powerful.
It slammed it into Ethan’s cheek. If he felt pain, he didn’t show it.
A sharp snapping noise jerked my attention, and I swung back. The man Ethan had thrown was holding a broken pool cue. Its jagged ends stuck out like serrated knife blades. If it hit any body part, the damage would be enormous. If it hit a neck or a stomach, lethal.
He lurched toward Ethan. Ethan still had the guy up by his throat, taking punches, and was oblivious to the impending danger.
A cold sweat broke out on the nape of my neck.
He came fast; the pool cue held like a spear.
I stepped to the side, twisted, and swung my foot in a roundhouse kick at his shin. It connected. A shock wave ricocheted up my leg as his arm came swinging out toward me. It hit with a thump across the side of my arm and chest, knocking me off my feet.
Shit.
BJ appeared above me, his face painted red. He reached out a hand. I grasped it, and he hauled me upright. By the time I got up, Ethan had the would-be attacker by the back of the head, slamming his face, again and again into the floor.
The pool cue lay discarded at his feet.
Thump, thump, thump.
The pounding was vicious and unnecessary.
The guy’s eyes rolled back in his head. His mouth was cracked open and drool trickled out.
He was as dim as dusk. There were no cries of protest, and no fight left in his loose limbs.
Blood poured from his nose and crawled slowly, lazily, along the floor like demonic tongues.
I was terrified he was going to kill him. “Ethan, that’s enough! He’s had enough!” I cried.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Ethan, stop!” I shouted, reaching for his shoulder.
He raised his head. What I saw was deeply disturbing, and it drew my hand to a halt.
The blue of his irises had disappeared, the eyes that looked back at me were black and as lifeless as marbles.
His skin was deathly pale. His lips were pressed into a thin line.
He didn’t look anything like the man I had thought was hot.
No, he looked lethal.
As much humanity as a corpse.
I stared at him, open-mouthed, as surprised as I was horrified.
“Ethan,” I whispered
He tore his eyes away, dropping the man’s head, and it landed in a spreading pool of his own blood.
Ethan glanced back up, and now his eyes looked like oil on the surface of the ocean.
The blue glittered, and the color had returned to his skin.
He was still angry, but he no longer looked like death.
It must’ve been the lighting, caught and reflected in pupils flared by adrenaline. Yes, I reassured myself, that must be it. It was just a trick of lighting.
Ethan got up and stepped around the bodies of two fallen men, both groaning something incomprehensible. He strode back to his usual seat at the end of the bar, then took a few large gulps of whiskey and stared out over the destruction, wreathed in rage.