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I pin his gun wielding hand between my arm and my ribcage when he pops off a shot, the bullet whizzes past me and crashes into the brick.
“Fuck!” I growl as the muzzle burn singes my shirt and heats my skin, hauling back I land a punch on his jaw.
Blood spurts from his mouth when I make contact, the sick fuck laughing and popping off another shot.
I don’t hear where that one lands.
So I fist his grubby shirt, my forearm across his throat, and slam his back into the brick building.
He laughs again when his head makes an audible crunch into the wall, his neck pinned beneath my rage.
Another fucking shot bursts from the gun and explodes against the building. Except this one grazes my ribs and sends white hot pain up my side and down my arm.
I pull him back and slam him again, my elbow landing on his jaw as his head makes contact.
Momentarily stunned, the bloody grin on this fucker’s face fuels me to keep slamming him. To start punching.
So I do.
Until his face is covered in blood, my knuckles are fucked, and the arm pinned against my body exposes his elbow.
I uppercut the joint, sending it bent in the wrong direction.
His howl of pain reverberates off the brick, his hand going limp enough to drop the fucking gun.
The metal clangs to the asphalt beneath my feet and I kick blindly until I hear it skitter away from me, from this psycho. My hand wraps around his throat and squeezes, pinning him in place.
“Rex!” Deep and guttural, I’ve never been so glad to hear my name coming from another man’s mouth.
Like a full-on bulldozer, Ian’s huge body slams into me and my punching bag, knocking me back a few steps and nailing the guy to the ground. He shouts shit I don’t comprehend through the ringing in my ears, his massive frame sitting on the guy’s back and warping his arms around his back to be secured with zip ties.
Once he’s secured, I turn back to the mouth of the alley and wipe my freshly busted lip on the back of my hand.
Guess he landed a punch or two after all.
The pedestrians recording the event part as I pass, cameras and lights in my face. I palm an outstretched hand or two and push them out of my face as the crowd gets thicker around me, heavier and harder to wade through.
Picking up the pace, I barrel through people and cover my face with my arm to prevent some recognition, but it doesn’t work.
The mob descends on me, stopping my forward progress just a few feet short of the door back into the club.
“MOVE!” I shout, startling the ones closest to me, making them stagger back enough for me to break through the wall of flesh and bone.
Wrenching the steel doors open, I stride inside with something trickling down my side and an absolute resolve to find my girl. I ignore the bouncer that tries to stop me, the clubgoers that think they can do it better than the mountain of a man I already blew past. Yanking out of gripping fingers and pushing aside grabbing arms, I scan the sea for my girl. I squint past strobing lights, my sight landing on her at the table Mac has taken up.
The tightness in my chest loosens at the sight of her.
Knowing she’s safe and with my brother eases my rage a fraction.
I close the distance with laser focus, the anger subsiding into hurt the closer I get to her jittery movements.
She’s nervous.
Mac’s arm goes across Aria’s shoulders, reassuringly rubbing her bicep. Their mouths move with a conversation I can’t lip read or hear over the thumping of the music.
Her hand goes through her hair, similar to what I do when I’m frustrated, her focus set on the seat across their table and not on my twin like I would expect with the type of conversation its appears that they are having.
Pushing more people out of my face on my way, brushing off hands that try and stop me, I stride up to the end of the table.
