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His lips split into a satisfied grin. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll make you move on,” I assure him as heat pumps through my blood. My heart speeds up because I already know I’m about to kick this dude’s ass. Dad says I live for it, and the older I get, the more certain I am that he’s dead fucking right. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
“You’ll make me?” he laughs, looking over his shoulder at his friend with the buzzcut. “You and what army?”
“Don’t start no shit up in here,” Smoky calls out in warning.
“You heard him,” I growl, nose to nose with this fucker. “Move the fuck on.”
He steps back, and I watch his every move. “Yeah, fine,” he says with his hands in the air. But just as I suspect, he leans forward on his left foot, throwing a right cross my way.
I duck out of the way and reward his effort with two body shots to the side. “Too slow, asshole.” A well-placed uppercut sends him stumbling backward into his friend.
He straightens up and charges me, knocking me back onto the pool table. “You’re a dead man,” he growls, pulling back to punch me.
I turn my head, and his fist slams into the pool table, making him cry out in pain. Never one to pass up an opportunity to kick some ass, I grab a ball and crack him on the side of the head with it. I smile as he steps back, holding his head. “Get out. Now.”
“Fuck you,” the other one spits in my direction. He’s talking a lot of shit, but Ford is standing in front of him. Ford’s big and fit as fuck, a terrifying figure if you value your life.
The sound of a switchblade sliding out brings me back to the black-haired asshole. “Well, now the fun is really getting started,” he growls.
Three loud thuds sound, and we all turn to find Smoky with his shotgun in his hand, slamming it against the bar. “Out. Now. All of you.” He grips the handle and aims. “Go on, now.”
Not wanting to fuck up Smoky’s place, I shove the man back. “You heard him. Go.” I know Smoky means all of us, but I’m having too much fun fucking with this asshole. “Sorry, Smoke.”
He waves off my apology, but I can see the hint of a smile on his face. He has a business to protect. I get that. But I also know he’s a friend of the MC and always has our backs.
When we’re close to the exit, I push the asshole out the door, leaving him scrambling not to fall over. “Careful.”
He steadies himself and turns to me with pure hatred on his face. “Your old man isn’t here to help you now,” he sneers, waving his blade.
I hear the door open again behind me, and I know it’s his friend along with Ford and Nova. Knowing they have a handle on the other guy, I loosen my limbs and smile. It’s been a while since I had a good fistfight. “You gonna talk or fight?”
He lunges forward, leading with the knife, and I grab his wrist and twist it with one hand, landing an elbow and then a fist against the side of his head. He’s down on his knees and sucker punches me in the dick.
I stumble back a step, but I still have his wrist, and I twist it until I hear a snap somewhere near the elbow. He cries out, and the sound only makes me smile wider. The switchblade falls to the ground, and I release his wrist. He hits me with a gut shot as he gets to his feet, and then we’re face to face, squaring up once again.
We need no words as we lunge forward at the exact same time. He’s trying to grapple with me, but the side of my fist lands three times on his head. When he bends over to grab his head, I push my knee up into his face, and he falls backward onto the ground.
For a split second, I have a flashback of another man lying just like that on the pavement. Bobby Lee’s still form is what I see for a split second, and it’s that mistake that gives him the edge.
When my head clears, he’s on his feet and moving closer, the blade back in his hand. He’s waving his arm wildly, the other arm hangs limp at his side. The blade slices against the outside of my bicep. It’s little more than a scratch and well worth the advantage it gives me. “Wrong move.”
He smirks. “Think again, asshole.” He draws his arm back, and the blade falls on an arc. I grab his wrist again, and his eyes go wide when he realizes what’s about to happen.
“Fuck,” he grunts, trying to reach out with his other, useless arm to stop the forward momentum of the knife hand, but it's not moving. The arm I broke earlier hangs dead at his side.
“Too late,” I assure him and continue the arc until his blade goes straight through his throat with only the handle sticking out.
His eyes are filled with shock and horror that quickly turns to fear as he realizes his fatal mistake. He drops to his knees, his good hand clutching weakly at the protruding knife handle as blood pours out. Then he keels over to the side, and all movements stop, life fading from his eyes.
“Shit!” His friend looks at me, and I step in his direction. “I’m out!” he says and takes off running across the parking lot. He jumps on his bike and takes off.
“He’ll be back with more of his boys,” Ford says. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Do I need to look at that gash?” Nova asks.
I look down at my arm, at the blood on my t-shirt, and shrug. “Nah, I’m okay. Just one thing.” I kneel down and flip the dead fucker over to get a look at his patches. “Skull Crushers. Never heard of ’em,” I say to myself, snatching the kutte from his body.
