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Dallas also didn’t like the way he was eyeing her, and the tone of voice he used when speaking to Candi. It was filled with hatred, and for that, Dallas was ready to kick his ass.
“Don’t worry about who I am. Just know that I’m the man about to put you out of here,” Dallas growled. He gently took Candi’s elbow and moved her behind him.
The men with him stood from their seats.
Dallas wasn’t intimated in the least.
He was trained in the deadliest of hand-to-hand combat, and most gangsters or thugs were not true fighters. They tended to rely on their guns.
Dallas held back a snort.
Most of them couldn’t even use a knife properly.
Now that was what Dallas preferred.
Using a knife was personal.
Invading one’s space.
“You and Candi were looking mighty cozy in the diner,” the man taunted.
His men moved next to him.
The tension in the air was palpable.
Each patron sitting at the bar was openly watching the exchange.
Dallas knew without a doubt Tanner and the others were closing in on the situation.
“Just leave, Moody. I told you what I do is my business,” Candi spoke up from behind Dallas.
“The lady just asked you to leave. Now if I have to tell you, I won’t be as nice.” Dallas stepped forward. He could feel the beast inside him growing. It had been a while since his fist had plowed into someone’s face, and right now, Moody’s would be perfect.
“Back off, white boy. I haven’t done nothing. Me and Candi were having a friendly conversation until you butted in,” Moody snarled. He returned Dallas’s glare with one of his own. “So back up off me and let me talk to my man’s wife.”
Wife.
An invisible fist landed a punch to Dallas’s stomach.
What the fuck?
“Ex-wife,” Candi snapped from behind him.
He blew out the air that had been trapped in his lungs.
“Out,” Dallas snapped, no longer wanting to play this game.
“Man, fuck you.” Moody shoved Dallas back.
Candi’s startled cry rang out behind him.
A red haze came over Dallas.
A growl escaped him. Moody swung on him, but Dallas was able to swiftly move to the side.
He instantly swung a left hook that connected with Moody’s smug face.
He celebrated at the feeling of his fist meeting the gangster’s nose.
