Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
The lead man stopped a few feet away, his lips curling into something that might have been a smile on a human face. On him, it looked like an animal baring its teeth. “Darby Miles,” he said, her name sounding like a curse in his mouth. “You know we’re not passin’ up on the fortune your daddy’ll pay to get you back.”
“You honestly think my daddy wanted you to smack me around? Or, you know, try to rape me?”
Red flags all around, but now wasn’t the time.
“Honey, your daddy don’t care what shape you come back in as long as he gets you home. Besides, we’ll swear we found you in whatever condition you end up.”
“Go fuck yourself, Jenkins,” Darby shot back, stepping out from behind me despite my attempt to keep her shielded.
“I mean, he ain’t officially offered a reward for you but the whole of Nashville knows he’s lookin’ for you. Maybe, just to guarantee us a reward, we hold you for ransom. He’ll pay then.”
I guess that was one taunt too many because Darby let loose, striking first. She launched herself past me with a feral snarl. Her brass-knuckled fist connected with Jenkins’ jaw with a sickening crack before anyone could draw a weapon. He staggered back, blood spraying from his mouth, and then chaos erupted.
The bar exploded into violence. Two men rushed me, one swinging a chain, the other reaching for what was definitely a gun. I caught Chain Man’s wrist mid-swing, twisting until something snapped beneath my grip. His scream was cut short when my fist crashed into his throat. I used his momentum to swing him into Gun Man, sending them both crashing into a nearby table that splintered beneath their weight.
Knight moved behind us on my blind side. I heard and recognized his grunts, having been in more than one bar fight beside the man over the weeks.
And Darby? Christ, Darby fought like nothing I’d ever seen. She was just as savage as any one of my brothers. She’d grabbed a beer bottle, smashing it against the edge of a table to create a jagged weapon that she wielded with terrifying expertise. She slashed at Jenkins’ face, opening a long cut across his cheek before dancing away from his counterattack.
I barely had time to register the shock on the man’s face before Gun Man was up again, this time with his weapon drawn. I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and forcing it upward just as he pulled the trigger. The shot blasted into the ceiling, raining plaster and dust. I drove my knee into his groin, then slammed his head against a nearby pole hard enough to cause him to crumple at my feet.
Glass shattered somewhere to my left. I turned to see Knight disarm another attacker, the man’s switchblade clattering across the floor as Knight dislocated his shoulder. The bar had emptied of regular patrons, chairs overturned in their haste to escape the violence. Only Mike remained, shotgun in hand, though he seemed content to let us handle the situation as long as no one threatened him or his bar too badly.
The third man charged me with hate in his eyes. I sidestepped, letting him barrel past, then grabbed the back of his jacket and used his momentum to slam him into the solid oak of the bar.
“Behind you!” Knight called out.
I whipped around to see a fourth man rushing Darby from behind, switchblade gleaming. She was occupied with Jenkins, unaware of the threat at her back. I moved without thinking, tackling the guy around the waist and driving him to the floor. We rolled across broken glass and spilled beer, my fists finding his face again and again until he stopped struggling.
When I looked up, Darby had Jenkins pinned against the pool table, her forearm across his throat. But the fifth man, one I’d lost track of in the chaos, blindsided her with a vicious punch to her already bruised ribs. I heard her pained gasp as she doubled over, momentarily vulnerable.
Something primal roared to life inside me. I was across the room before I realized it, grabbing the man by his collar and slamming his head repeatedly into the thick wooden support next to a booth.
I turned back to Darby just in time to see her recover from the hit to her ribs. Despite the pain evident in her tight features, she grabbed a pool cue from the rack and swung it like a baseball bat into Jenkins’ midsection. As he folded, she brought her knee up into his descending face. Blood erupted from his shattered nose, painting her jeans with crimson droplets.
Jenkins struggled to his feet, blood streaming down his face, and reached inside his jacket. I moved to intercept, but Darby was faster. She slammed her brass-knuckled fist into his temple. He didn’t get up. The last man standing took one look at his fallen comrades, then turned to run.