“Dom—” Roman calls out, but I shake my head. I’m good. Shit is over. Or at least it should be, but then Deacon goes and opens his fucking mouth.
“I’m not passing on her,” he shouts. “If you had your shot and missed it, that’s on you. But I’m not gonna look past a fine as fuck piece of ass for your benefit. Not until I’ve sampled her, at least. When I’m done, I might consider sharing if you still want a taste.” He laughs like he’s some arrogant frat kid.
My head turns almost as if in slow motion. Everything around me falls away, and all I see is the dipshit in front of me, the three meters between us, and the time it will take me to reach him so I can lay his punk ass out.
“Am I right, boys?” Deacon smirks as he looks around him, meeting the eyes of our teammates. No one responds to him and I watch in satisfaction as his smile slips, and then, I’m on him. I have my left hand on his throat, the right clenched into a tight fist and I draw my arm back.
Right as I move to swing, a hand wraps around my fist, barely managing to stop my momentum. I jerk my gaze to my right only to find Roman holding onto me. Emilio not two steps behind him.
“Your hands,” he bites out.
With my left hand still holding Deacon in place, I shake my best friend off. “Fuck my hands.” Whatever damage they might sustain will be worth it, only Roman doesn’t seem to agree.
“You have a fucked-up shoulder and now you wanna fuck your future just to punch this asshole in the face? Come on, Dom, be smart.”
With my eyes locked on his, I ignore Deacon’s failed attempts at escape. His hands swing out in a bid to hit me first, save face in front of the team, but my reach is longer than his and all he manages to hit is air. He realizes that he’ll never reach me and starts pounding his fist into my left arm.
I grunt, but don’t let go.
“Don’t be stupid. You’re better than this. Don’t throw away the season just to punch some punk ass kid.”
“Fuck you,” Deacon wheezes, not liking Roman’s names for him. Personally, I like punk ass more than asshole. It fits him.
My arm is numb. He tagged me on my funny bone and the nerve is spasming, but I’m not about to let up.
Without looking at him, I tighten my grip on his neck.
“My hands will be fine,” I snap. “And if they’re not, fuck it. It’ll be worth it to teach this motherfucker a lesson.”
Emilio appears on my other side and both he and Roman work together to shove me back.
I drag Deacon backward with me.
“Dude, let go,” Emilio shouts.
“No.”
“God dammit,” Roman snaps. “For once, will you fucking listen? He isn’t worth it.”
My nostrils flare. “You have no idea what—”
Emilio curses. “Dammit, Dominique. He’s turning blue. Shit. I didn’t know black could turn that shade of blue.”
I turn to Deacon, eyes narrowing. “Idiot. He’s not turning blue. He’s turning white. See, around his mouth is muted and almost ashy.”
Emilio leans in for a closer look and I use my free hand to smack him upside the head.
“Fucker,” he complains, rubbing the back of his head.
“I think you should see a doctor if you think that is blue. Are you color blind?”
Deacon is still struggling, but the strength has been leached out of him and his swings are more like pats on the arm now.
“Not fucking helping,” Roman bites out.
“Right.” Emilio gives me his best impression of a serious look. “Drop him, man.”
I quirk a brow. “That the best you got?”
