Another snap—get me more booze, bitch.
When she doesn’t hop to, he shoots to his feet, grabs her arm, hard, and shakes. Gets in her face, grabs her by the jaw, fingers digging in hard.
I see red.
Stomp through the crowd, shoving people aside. They see me, see where I’m going, and get out of the way fucking quick like.
I reach him in a matter of seconds. He doesn’t notice me at first. Then he does.
“Let her go and leave,” I growl.
“Fuck off, fatso.” His voice is phlegmy, thick, vile.
I tower over him, well over a foot taller and nearly two hundred pounds heavier. “Say…that…again.”
He sticks his chin out, attitude pouring off him, like he thinks he rules the roost. “I said,fuck off,fatso.”
I laugh. “Wrong fuckin’ answer, pissant.” I stab him in the chest with a forefinger—he windmills backward.
That’s when he realizes he’s fucked up. Too late.
I grab him by the throat and lift—he clears the ground, feet kicking. Put my face in his. “You don’t treat women like that, you pathetic little bitch.”
He can’t speak. Tries, but can’t. His feet dangle inches off the ground, twitching.
He squeaks.
I walk forward, to the railing. It’s nothing at all to hang him over the side, one-handed. His eyes are wide, face red.
“I could drop you. No one would fuckin’ blink.”
“Sahhhh…sor—sorry.”
“Yeah you’re sorry. A sorry piece of dog shit. Worse than dog shit. You’re the mold that grows on dog shit.”
“Chance, brother. He’s about to go.” Rev, at my shoulder.
I swing the little fuck back over the railing and drop him. “Get this fucking shit-worm out of my club before I snap his goddamn neck.”
Rev hauls him up by his shirt, tosses him six feet horizontally. Stomps to him, tosses him again. I hear thuds and cries as he’s tossed down the stairs. I forget him, then.
I find her.
She’s stuck in place, mouth open.
“You.” I stand in front of her, and I’ve only got four or five inches on her. “With me.”
Her head rocks back. “Excuse me?”
“I said you, with me.”
“Save me from being ordered around by that shithead, and now you want me to followyourbig ass around on your command?”
I gentle my tone. Hold her eyes—deep green, like a sea of grass waving in a summer sun. “I’d like to talk to you. Please.”
“You tossed him out, but a slimy bastard like him won’t stay gone. The moment I leave this club, I’m his again.” She tosses her hair, eyes proud and fierce. “He’s like a bad rash, that way. Thanks for stepping in, but I didn’t ask for your help, I don’t want your help, and I’ll thank you to kindly fuck off and mind your own business.” She doesn’t say this with animosity—somehow, she manages to almost sound friendly telling me to fuck off.
I laugh. “Who says you’re leaving the club?”
