Another punch to the throat to shut him up.
Guillaume grabbed at his throat as he teetered on his feet, his face red with fury and pain. One eye closed, the other watery, his aim should have been off.
Cole ducked under the first swing.
Guillaume spun and sideswiped a closed fist over Cole’s cheek.
Cole’s head snapped back.
As he struggled to stay upright, Guillaume landed a hit to his middle.
Cole fell backward, crashing to the ground.
He quickly caught his breath, watching as Guillaume tried to reorient himself.
His jaw crunched as he gritted his teeth, pushing to stand before he took another hit. “Give up?” Cole huffed, teetering on two feet and trying to shake off the head-to-toe ache, knowing his cheekbone was going to be huge by tomorrow.
Guillaume turned quickly toward the movement, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
Perfect. Cole pushed past the pain and used what he could. He ran as if to attack, but dodged and skirted toward the concrete post.
Guillaume swung after him, too fucking close for comfort, but it worked. Unable to see clearly, desperate, Guillaume’s fist slammed into the post.
Ankle screaming before he even made the move, Cole smashed a kick into Guillaume’s flank, quickly rotating for a roundhouse kick to the back of the head.
Guillaume’s face smashed into the concrete pillar before he collapsed to the ground, covering his face, protecting his neck, grasping at his side, and staring through swollen eyes at his shattered fist.
No mercy, no hesitation, as he knew he wouldn’t receive any in return, Cole slammed a kick into Guillaume’s middle.
His enemy down, forced into complete defense, Cole knew this was his moment.
He dropped down, knee on Guillaume’s neck and thumb pushing over the other eye, pushing to where he knew the pain would be intolerable, millimeters from rupture.
His stomach rolled that he knew that. That he was capable of what he was doing. He’d fucking quit. End of story.
He was so fucking done. He growled low, “Tell your boss that I’m out. I am no longer a threat. Contact my employer if you have concerns about what’s coming next. Arrests, trial, torture, who the fuck knows. That’ll be up to whoever paid for my services to begin with. I. Don’t. Care. Leave me the fuck alone.”
Ruined his fucking day. And it had started so well. He pushed off and backed out of reach, in case Guillaume had more in the tank.
Guillaume whimpered like a wounded animal, his voice weaker than before as he hissed, “I don’t care either, but she’s not going to let you go.”
Cole shrugged and rolled his shoulder to ease the spasm as he backed away, turned on his heel, and strolled down the ramp. He smoothed his coat, checked for blood. Safe enough.
He made his way across the street and back into the coffee shop. Apparently, most of town had caught up on their caffeine needs for now, only a few sitting at tables and one person ahead of him in line.
As he neared the checkout, the barista said, “Antoine, welcome back. Need more caffeine?”
“Yeah. Not so hot this time,” he said, shrugging casually. “That was for my girlfriend. Lots of shopping ahead.”
“Oh, I see. No worries.”
From behind him, two devious assholes smacked him, one hand on each shoulder, just enough to make him recoil from his injuries.
“Antoine. We missed you,” Asher said as Cole turned around.
“A little unfinished business demanded my attention,” he said casually.
Zane folded his arms over his chest, the massive former SEAL as intimidating as Guillaume. But it would take a lot more to rile Zane. “Why didn’t you invite us along? We love a good business meeting.”
