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Where the fuck was Mitchell? We always had a bouncer stationed at the entrance to the club to check IDs and keep an eye on the parking lot. He should be able to hear the commotion, even with the music and noise in the club.
Crack.
The impact of something hard and smooth slammed into my forehead and knocked me momentarily senseless. I was vaguely aware of the sound of shattering glass as a sharp pain tore through my head.
That was enough for the two asshats still drunkenly trying to fight me to get a few hits in while I was unaware.
The kick to the outside of my knee was sloppy, as was the punch to my stomach. But they were enough to take my feet out from under me.
My knee popped and buckled, and the flare of pain in my stomach had me doubling over as I fell.
I landed on the ground hard. Pain radiated up my arm as I caught myself. My head spun and everything went out of focus, like I was a second behind reality and nothing was tracking. Was that from the hit to the head, or because I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me?
A kick to my side and another to my arm brought my thoughts back to the fight, and the fact that I was at a disadvantage. Still gasping for breath, I put one arm in front of my face to protect it, and curled the hurt one around my stomach as I fought through the panic of not being able to breathe.
I braced for more hits, but they never came.
Voices shouted, shoes shuffled on the ground, and the dull thud of flesh on flesh filtered into my consciousness. I opened my eyes and looked around. Biggs and Mitchell were restraining my assailants. River and Zane were holding back the two others who’d come with them.
“Gray?” Kai knelt next to me.
“Huh?”
“Don’t move.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Stay down until we know what’s wrong.”
“Winded,” I grunted. Something dripped down my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“We need the medical kit!” Kai shouted.
“Call 911!” someone else yelled.
“No!”
The sudden silence was deafening.
“Nick, get the medical kit.” Corey, our manager and co-owner of the club, stood in the middle of the fray, looking panicked. “No one call 911.”
“But, boss—” Biggs, our head bouncer, started.
“No.” Corey put his cell to his ear. “The last thing we need is cops here.” He spoke into the phone. “Honey, we have a situation. I need you.”
“These assholes just assaulted one of your dancers.” Kai waved at the guys Biggs and Mitchell were still retraining. They’d stopped fighting, but neither looked all that steady or with it.
“Did they?” Corey shoved his phone into his pocket and waved his other arm around, looking half crazed. “Or did Gray stick his nose where it didn’t belong?”
“You’re seriously blaming him?” River said incredulously.
“What happened?” Biggs turned to me.
“Who’s the boss here?” Corey snapped.
Biggs set his lips in a tight line and glared at Corey.
“Miss”—Corey turned to the woman—“can you tell me what happened? Do you know Gray?”
“Who?” She blinked.
“Jesus, say his real name again,” Kai muttered.
