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“Jordyn, get behind me,” Bama orders, not taking his eyes off Blake.
“Why should I—” But I don’t finish. Something in Bama’s gaze tells me this isn’t the time to argue.
“Stay out of it, pretty boy,” Blake sneers, trying to look tough despite the blood trickling from his split lip.
“Or what?” Bama retorts, voice low and dangerous. “You gonna cry because you picked on the wrong girl?”
“She’s mine,” Blake barks, stepping closer.
“Not anymore,” Bama snaps, and with one fluid motion, his fist connects again, harder this time.
“Enough!” I shout, but my voice is drowned out by the chaos.
Rick yells something, but it’s lost in the commotion.
“Never touch her again,” Bama says, his voice a menacing whisper. “Or I swear, next time, you’ll wish you were never born.”
Blake’s fist swings wide, and Bama ducks, his golden curls bouncing with the movement.
Rick hollers over the counter, shouting, “Knock it off!”
But it’s like yelling into a tornado—useless.
“Stay down,” Bama snarls, landing another blow to Blake’s gut.
Blake stumbles back, wheezing, but he’s stubborn, coming at Bama again with wild eyes.
“Jordyn, get away from here!” Rick yells, trying to wedge himself between them.
I don’t move; my feet are glued to the sticky floor with a mix of fear and adrenaline.
Blake roars, shoving Rick aside. “Get outta my way!”
He makes a desperate lunge for Bama, swinging but missing as Bama sidesteps smoothly.
“Big mistake,” Bama says, almost too calmly.
His fist flies forward, connecting with Blake’s jaw so hard that it echoes through the bar.
Blake’s body lifts off the ground before crashing down like a sack of bricks.
“I meant what I said. Never look in her direction again,” Bama growls, standing over Blake’s crumpled form. “Or next time, I won’t give you the opportunity to get up.”
The room is silent, save for Blake’s groans and the ragged sound of my own breathing.
Eyes follow us, whispers ripple through the crowd, but I can’t care about any of it right now.
“The two of you need to get the fuck outta here.” Rick’s face is red with fury, pointing toward the exit.
I’m still frozen when I hear the familiar click of high heels against the wooden floorboards.
“Jordyn fucking Harold,” Shelley hisses, her sharp eyes flicking between me and Bama. “Your fathers will hear about this if you don’t do what Rick said and get the hell out of here right now. God, I have enough fights in my bar. What I don’t need is more because of your damn club!”
“Come on, let’s go,” Bama mutters, grabbing my arm gently but firmly. He starts leading me toward the door, his touch warm and steady amid the chaos.
“Don’t fucking come back here for a while,” Shelley calls after us, her voice cutting through the din like a knife. “And Jordyn, you’d best tell your fathers they owe me for the damages!”
Outside, the night air hits me like a slap in the face.
