After I flubbed up for the third time, Justin looked over at me quizzically. I was fuming, burning up to clock the biker dude, and it must have shown on my face. Justin's eyes went wide when he saw my expression, and he followed my gaze to the table across the room.
Ilsa had lifted her hand, warding off the big, greasy bastard, but he took it in his own, placing it on his chest. I could see her jerking to get it back, but he held firm. One of the other guys said something to him, and he scowled down at his friend and snarled some kind of response that had Ilsa blanching white.
Now I was beyond pissed.
The fucker had his arm creeping around Ilsa’s waist, his body crouching into hers even as she tried to shrink away. She had brought up her tray like a shield, holding it between them. I was about to lose it.
Where the fuck was Doug?
I glanced over towards the bar, but his attention was drawn by the crowd before him demanding their drinks.
Ilsa pushed a little harder at the guy, and he grabbed her arm and jerked her up against him angrily. Her face contorted with a mixture of panic and pain.
Fuck it.
I dropped my sticks and jumped up from my stool behind the drums, ripping past Denny to take a flying leap off the stage into the crowd. The music quickly died out as my band, the couples on the dance floor—everyone in the bar, really—watched me charge over to the fucker.
He was big, possibly even bigger than me. He was weathered and hardened and looked pretty fucking scary. And he was pissed.
But I was more so.
I was in full-bore protection mode, and this fucker needed to back the fuck off.
His buddies jumped up, ready to fight, as I closed in and jerked his arm off Ilsa. The air crackled with tension. Positioning myself between him and her, I nudged her violently shaking body behind me, and she melted against my back. I still hadn’t put my shirt back on, and I could feel her broken breathing against my skin.
“Oh feckin’ hell,” I heard Denny say into the still-live mic. “Let’s go, fellas.”
I shoved my hands into the dickhead’s chest, pushing him back into the crowd a bit.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” I growled.
“You gonna make me, boy?” he snarled back, posturing for a brawl. “You’re awful pretty. Do you really think you can take me?”
“Fuck yeah, I do.” I puffed out my chest, feeling the anger course through my veins. My body was pumped and ready to go. I wanted to kick his ass.
He looked over to his friends, then back at me. “I’m not here alone, you know. You might be able to put up a good fight, but my brothers will fuck you up.”
“He’s not alone either,” Justin stated from my right, and the fucker glanced over to see that Justin wasn’t shitting him.
We were local celebrities. These guys were just passing through. One thing they didn’t know that everyone else in the bar did was that you did not fuck with the Bangin’ Mofos in the Copperline Bar. This was our turf, and we had the manpower to back it up.
“Jesus, Harold,” one of the other bikers muttered, “this ain’t cool. Every guy in here wants to kick our asses right now. Plus you’re being a dick anyway.”
Harold looked around, then back to his friend who’d spoken, checking out the faces of those around us, realizing that they were a bit outnumbered. It was evident, though, that he was either too drunk or too stupid to care.
He jerked away from his friend and came towards me, giving me just a second to push Ilsa away towards Denny who stood to my left with a nervous Felicity. I barely caught a glimpse of Felicity urging her back from the fight when the guy hit me.
Fuck , he hit hard, too. His tough act was not just an act.
But he was fighting to fight. To be an asshole, pissed that his moronic behavior wasn’t appreciated.
I was fighting to protect Ilsa.
I swung back, catching him with a good, solid blow to the ribs that caused him to double over. A good shove, and he stumbled back. With
Ilsa had lifted her hand, warding off the big, greasy bastard, but he took it in his own, placing it on his chest. I could see her jerking to get it back, but he held firm. One of the other guys said something to him, and he scowled down at his friend and snarled some kind of response that had Ilsa blanching white.
Now I was beyond pissed.
The fucker had his arm creeping around Ilsa’s waist, his body crouching into hers even as she tried to shrink away. She had brought up her tray like a shield, holding it between them. I was about to lose it.
Where the fuck was Doug?
I glanced over towards the bar, but his attention was drawn by the crowd before him demanding their drinks.
Ilsa pushed a little harder at the guy, and he grabbed her arm and jerked her up against him angrily. Her face contorted with a mixture of panic and pain.
Fuck it.
I dropped my sticks and jumped up from my stool behind the drums, ripping past Denny to take a flying leap off the stage into the crowd. The music quickly died out as my band, the couples on the dance floor—everyone in the bar, really—watched me charge over to the fucker.
He was big, possibly even bigger than me. He was weathered and hardened and looked pretty fucking scary. And he was pissed.
But I was more so.
I was in full-bore protection mode, and this fucker needed to back the fuck off.
His buddies jumped up, ready to fight, as I closed in and jerked his arm off Ilsa. The air crackled with tension. Positioning myself between him and her, I nudged her violently shaking body behind me, and she melted against my back. I still hadn’t put my shirt back on, and I could feel her broken breathing against my skin.
“Oh feckin’ hell,” I heard Denny say into the still-live mic. “Let’s go, fellas.”
I shoved my hands into the dickhead’s chest, pushing him back into the crowd a bit.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” I growled.
“You gonna make me, boy?” he snarled back, posturing for a brawl. “You’re awful pretty. Do you really think you can take me?”
“Fuck yeah, I do.” I puffed out my chest, feeling the anger course through my veins. My body was pumped and ready to go. I wanted to kick his ass.
He looked over to his friends, then back at me. “I’m not here alone, you know. You might be able to put up a good fight, but my brothers will fuck you up.”
“He’s not alone either,” Justin stated from my right, and the fucker glanced over to see that Justin wasn’t shitting him.
We were local celebrities. These guys were just passing through. One thing they didn’t know that everyone else in the bar did was that you did not fuck with the Bangin’ Mofos in the Copperline Bar. This was our turf, and we had the manpower to back it up.
“Jesus, Harold,” one of the other bikers muttered, “this ain’t cool. Every guy in here wants to kick our asses right now. Plus you’re being a dick anyway.”
Harold looked around, then back to his friend who’d spoken, checking out the faces of those around us, realizing that they were a bit outnumbered. It was evident, though, that he was either too drunk or too stupid to care.
He jerked away from his friend and came towards me, giving me just a second to push Ilsa away towards Denny who stood to my left with a nervous Felicity. I barely caught a glimpse of Felicity urging her back from the fight when the guy hit me.
Fuck , he hit hard, too. His tough act was not just an act.
But he was fighting to fight. To be an asshole, pissed that his moronic behavior wasn’t appreciated.
I was fighting to protect Ilsa.
I swung back, catching him with a good, solid blow to the ribs that caused him to double over. A good shove, and he stumbled back. With
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