Page 14 of Venomous Throne

Angels cheered from above. Pride flushed through me in a calming breeze.

The commotion was enough for a drunk trucker to holler about a fight. All twenty patrons shot to their feet and began to fight.

Not that rolling about, tossing chairs at one another, and the few weak punches could be called a proper fight.

The bodyguard grabbed Isabella around the waist and plucked her off the floor. He nimbly sprinted for the exit despite her kicks and protests. That was more agility than I would have anticipated from someone his age and stature.

I rose with a sigh.

A welder, judging by the burns on his forearms, launched himself at me. Two quick strikes, and he lay flat on the floor. I advanced, my target in sight. The grizzly one was not escaping until I broke his wrist. Probably every bone in his damn hand.

Unfortunately, he had the advantage.

He vaulted behind the bar and drew a gun. I angled my body so he would think I was focused on the next patron.

On stage, the dancers huddled in a corner.

They weren’t in any real danger, but they quaked and shivered as if this was a full-blown warzone. The poor lambs. They’d probably never been in combat.

Neither had the blue-collar workers spending their afternoon off with cheap booze and even sleazier entertainment.

I dropped another assailant effortlessly. The third man was smart enough to take a play from Isabella’s book. He came at me with a broken bottle.

I feinted to the left and struck from the right.

He wobbled, but clearly the booze sopped his brain enough to keep him standing. He swung wide. I stepped into his reach, intending to drop him before he struck.

A shout from across the room, feminine and lovely, tipped my guard.

Isabella was looking right at me as the glass sliced through my flesh.

I grunted from annoyance, barely feeling the pain. It was hard to say if I was more annoyed at myself for being distracted or for the fucker getting a cheap shot at me.

I jabbed his windpipe, sending him choking to the ground.

The fight was over at that point.

The grizzly one was nowhere to be seen, and the bouncers were feebly attempting to restore order.

Whatever possessed me to walk up to the bar was hard to say.

“Drinks all around, and keep them coming,” I growled, slamming a wad of cash on the counter.

The bartender’s eyes lit at the sight of the pile.

He spoke into a walkie-talkie, and the DJ—a bimbo with a bad blonde job made the announcement over the speaker.

The patrons, who could walk, scrambled to the bar and began shouting their beverage orders.

The fresh scent of flowers and rain pierced the veil of the gentlemen’s club’s stench. I stiffened.

“Let me see that,” a cool, sweet voice insisted.

I jerked out of her reach.

“You’re bleeding!” Isabella danced on her tiptoes, fishing for my arm. “Let me help you, dammit.”

“I’m fine.” My voice, not something I used often enough, sounded foreign to my ears. Shit. I didn’t know the first thing about talking, let alone to a creature like her.