Chapter 20 FightFlee #3
On the other side of the room, the smallest of the men dragged himself up off the floor. Blood spread from the bottom of his nose across his lips and chin.
“Do yourself a favor and stay down,” Karson ordered calmly, like a man who knew he had total control.
“I don’t think so, asshole,” the guy sneered. He was either brave or immensely stupid.
Karson sighed like he was dealing with an annoying fly. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
The small guy clenched his fists and took up a boxer’s stance.
The question was answered. He was stupid.
The man hopped forward and swung his right fist with impressive speed.
Karson blocked it with his left hand, and at the same time, karate chopped him to the throat with his right.
The guy’s eyes shot out like party poppers.
He fell to his knees, hand clutched to his neck, gasping for air.
Karson lifted his foot and, with hardly any force at all, knocked him sideways.
He curled up like a threatened hedgehog, heaving for breath, making whiny, gulping sounds.
“This time stay down,” Karson said.
He did.
“Bar’s closed!” Shelley yelled out.
The room erupted into a chorus of groans. I looked around. There was blood, a lot of it, and the place was trashed.
Rude champagne girl had a look of horror on her blood splattered face.
My eyes caught Dahlia’s. She nodded at me in some strange recognition, gulped the rest of her drink down, and followed the crowd outside.
Matt filed in with a young cop, barely older than a fetus. Matt frowned as he scanned the carnage and pulled his walkie-talkie off his belt.
“Ambulance to The Hollow, one.”
The young cop slapped handcuffs on two of the men, including the little guy, and hauled them to their feet.
“Everyone else alright?” Matt asked, his eyes landing on BJ and I.
My arm felt numb and heavy, and my ribs were sore. We both nodded.
Matt and his deputy grabbed one man each and hauled them outside.
Karson removed the others, lifting them by the backs of their shirts and throwing their blood-stained, groggy bodies out the door.
Grace gave me a thumbs-up. It seemed completely inappropriate given the circumstances. But Grace had a relaxed attitude to life and not much seemed to faze her.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” Karson snarled, his accent came out stronger and I swear I heard a hint of British. “You could have gotten yourself killed!” He loomed over me, and his eyes scorched me like holy water thrown over the skin of the devil.
The hairs rose on my arms, but my temper flared, and I tilted my chin up. “You didn’t hear what he called BJ.”
“It doesn’t matter what he called him.” He raised his voice. “You put yourself in unacceptable danger!”
“It matters to me,” I snapped.
“You hardly even know him.”
“I know enough to know he’s kind and decent.” I threw out a hand, suddenly aware we’d caught the attention of everyone in the room. “And I won’t stand by and let some ignorant, ill-raised prick treat him badly.”
“Are you insane? You could have been seriously hurt. If his fist had connected with your face or head, Amelia, do you know the damage he could have done to you?”
I did. A lot. But I wasn’t going to retreat. “The behavior you ignore is the one you encourage.” I thought perhaps the line of wisdom would calm him. I was wrong.
He shouted, “Do you really think getting involved was going to somehow make that man see reason? You cannot change the minds of those devoid of emotional intelligence.”
I held my ground, even as my legs wanted to take a step back. “Take yourself for a walk, Karson, you need to calm down,” I grated out.
My mother would say that to me when I’d come home from school furious, after getting into a fight.
We’d walk or jog, and sometimes we’d go to the boxing club.
She knew I needed the distraction. I needed to pound my anger against the boxing bag or the pavement.
Places I could just be, where I didn’t need to think about how I never fitted in.
How different I felt to all the other kids. How trapped . . .
He blinked. There was a long pause. When he spoke, he didn’t shout, but it would be an exaggeration to say he was calm.
He gritted teeth. “Do not tell me to calm down. I am your boss, and if you want to keep working here, you will not engage in physical force with anyone for any reason. Do I make myself clear?”
I didn’t want to lose this job. Work was the only time aside from when I ran where my mind was kept busy enough that I could forget about the ache in my heart. The hole Tom dug.
The anger dissolved and a lump formed in my throat. Inexplicably, tears stung the backs of my eyes.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.
I looked down and ran my fingers over the smooth lines of my ring, breathing deeply. Willing the emotion away. “Do what you need to do then. Because if one of my friends is in trouble, I’m not leaving them.”
Friends felt like a massive stretch. Karson was right—I barely knew them—but something inside me could never walk past as others suffered.
His jaw twitched. He explored my eyes for a long moment. He had a way of looking at me as if he was seeing beyond the outline of my face, seeking the unspoken words that lay written inside my mind.
He didn’t know my anguish was over Tom, but he could see I was battling tears. He thrust a hand through his hair and retreated. “Are you hurt?”
I drew in a shuddering breath. “No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you aren’t injured?” Now, he seemed oddly fixed on that, like I was a delicate creature perched on the edge of crumbling.
I’d laugh if it wasn’t so close to the truth.
“I said, I’m fine,” I repeated, exasperated.
Shelley placed a box of rubber gloves on the table. “Amy, can you give me a hand cleaning up the mess, please?”
I turned away from Karson, glad for the distraction. I collected a dustpan and broom, glancing back as Karson strode out the door.
We finished cleaning up as best we could half an hour or so later, but the bar was going to need a few new tables, a pool cue, and a ton of glasses.
“Drink, Amy?” Grace asked, holding a scotch out.
I hated scotch, but it would help calm my nerves. I accepted the drink and took a sip, screwing up my face as the liquid burned down my throat.
BJ sat at the bar with Georgie and Jodie, looking much better now that his face was wiped clean of blood. I sat next to him and set my glass down; even the stress of the night couldn’t override the taste.
“Are you okay? Are you sure your nose isn’t broken?” I peered at it closely. It was swollen but appeared straight.
He grimaced and sighed. “No, I don’t think so. I’m okay. I’m really sorry about what happened.”
Jodie placed her hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault, BJ. He groped me. You were very brave.”
BJ didn’t look pleased with her compliment; he looked despondent.
I leaned across and nudged him lightheartedly with my shoulder. “Next time you pick a fight, can you choose someone more your own size?”
“Next time you pick a fight, Benjamin, I’m going to let you get your ass kicked,” Ethan’s irate voice sung out from the end of the bar. “And don’t even get me started on your actions, Amy.”
He gave me such an angry look that I had to avert my gaze. I peered back as he gulped down the rest of his drink and strode out.
I took a deep breath and collected myself. “Come on, Rocky,” I said to BJ. “Let me take you and the girls home.”
Georgie hooked her arm through mine. “I’m still picking you up on Monday, and we’re going shopping.”
After all this, she was still determined to get me in a dress. I groaned, but a smile edged my lips.