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“You do not dance with my girl!”
“Your girl?” Natalie shouted. “I’m no one’s girl.”
“Oh, really? Who bought you those clothes? You think you’re special? You’re no use except for getting your tits out. Those pics will be fish and chips wrapping by next week, and you’ll be forgotten!”
By now a small crowd was gathering as people recognized the turbulence in their midst.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Morgan demanded.
“Or what, faggot?” Lloyd spat, using the most offensive American term he could think of.
Morgan said nothing publicly. Instead, he leaned close to Lloyd and spoke words into his ear that only they could hear.
It was the final straw for the bigot—he threw a punch.
It was an angry punch, sloppy, mistimed and misdirected. Morgan ducked it without even thinking, his own hands never leaving his sides. Lloyd swung a second haymaker. Morgan easily stepped out of its way.
The disgraced man never had a chance to throw a third. The two security men that Morgan had seen downstairs had been patiently watching the situation develop, hoping that it would fizzle out. Flare-ups between the stellar-sized egos at the establishment were not uncommon, and would be tolerated so long as they kept to chest-beating and insults. Once a punch was thrown, however, the security contingent would sweep in on the perpetrator within moments. During their phone call, Abbie Winchester had told Morgan as much. Now he watched as the two men expertly restrained Lloyd, one on each side of him, exerting enough pressure to hold him in place, but not to cause damage.
“I’ll have your face cut off!” Lloyd raged at Morgan as he thrashed to break free, his rage escalating higher as Natalie threw a drink in his face and the watching room cheered.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” one muscular security man apologized to Morgan as he and his partner turned Lloyd to the stairs and prepared to march him out.
“I’m sorry, too,” said Morgan, the security man’s face dropping as Morgan’s hand shot up under his jacket. Morgan stepped back and clear before the bouncer had a chance to decide if he should defend against the American or keep hold of the thrashing Lloyd.
Now it seemed the answer was clear: there was only one true threat in the room, and that was Jack Morgan.
Who had a gun in his hand.
Chapter 84
WITH THE SECURITY guy’s back turned to him, Morgan had liberated the pistol from his hidden shoulder holster with ease. In one smooth motion he had pulled the weapon clear with his right hand, using his left to cock back the pistol’s top slide, chambering a round. Within two seconds of Morgan beginning his theft, the pistol was ready for use and aimed.
“Don’t kill him!” the robbed security man begged, bravely trying to put himself between Morgan and Lloyd, who was now weak-kneed with terror. “It’s not worth it!” he urged.
“Your weapon on the floor,” Morgan told the man’s partner. “Do it!” he shouted, seeing in his peripheral vision a steady flow of revelers abandoning the scene, rushing with hushed panic for the exit. “Finger and thumb on the grip,” he ordered.
Slowly, very slowly, the second bouncer reached inside his jacket. With his finger and thumb gripping the handle, he pulled out a six-shooter revolver and placed it on the floor. Behind him, the room had all but emptied. Morgan flicked his eyes quickly to assess who remained, seeing Natalie shaking uncontrollably close by his side.
“Pick it up like he did,” Morgan instructed her. “Now!”
Natalie scuttled forward and picked up the gun.
“Put it in my jacket pocket,” he instructed. “Keep holding it exactly as you are, or I’ll blow his head apart.”
“Oh God,” the woman sobbed, black mascara running down her cheeks like a polluted river.
Morgan backed away as he felt the reassuring weight of the second pistol entering his pocket. “All of you on the floor. Facedown. Do it!”
They complied. Lloyd was the slowest to do so, almost paralyzed with terror. “I’m sorry,” he begged. “Please don’t kill me.”
“On your face!”
“I have a daughter!”
“On your face!”
Dribbling with dread, Lloyd joined the others on a floor awash with panic-spilled drinks.
