Page 64 of Kings Have No Mercy

“You’ve gotta be,” he says, coming closer. “You think we’ve never dealt with bitches like you, Sydney? Slutty barmaids auditioning to be club girls? You know club girls don’t just become club girls without getting their hands dirty, right? They’ve gotta earn their stripes…”

“Leave me alone!” I yell, projecting my voice.

It doesn’t faze him. He closes the gap between us, sweaty and feverish. “They’ve gotta make the rounds. They’ve gotta keep us men satisfied—UGH!”

I go from a ball of anxiety, preparing myself to stab a man, to a ball of shock. I slip into speechlessness as a powerful hand clamps shut on Johnny’s shoulder and wrenches him around.

Mason doesn’t even wait for him to finish spinning—he throws out left and right combos that land. That send Flanagan crashing to the sticky bar floor.

“You fucking garbage!” Mason roars, grabbing the front of his shirt and punching him again. And again. “Learn to take no for an answer! What the fuck did you think you were about to do?!”

Johnny’s got a mouth full of blood as he seeks to beg for mercy. I can’t make out every word but catch a few.

Things like, “flirting” and “just a slut.”

Mason pummels him the more he tries. Every time he opens his mouth, blood pouring out, Mason’s fist slams into it. He hits him so hard he’s bruising himself, busting open his knuckles on Johnny Flanagan’s face.

For a moment that’s probably too long, I stand back and watch. Not because I’m enjoying what I’m seeing… because I’m so taken aback.

Finally, something clicks inside me, and I rush forward. “Mason, stop—you’ll kill him!”

“I don’t give a fuck! He’d deserve it!”

He draws his fist back and smashes it into Johnny’s face in another brutal hit.

Johnny stopped responding seconds ago. His eyes have dimmed and his swollen tongue hangs outside the side of his mouth. His head can’t support itself anymore; it snaps backward like he’s in some limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Black and blue bruises have already started coloring his skin.

“He’s had enough,” I say. “Just… just toss him out.”

Mason seems to come to his senses at the suggestion. He drags Johnny, who’s now half unconscious, by the collar of his shirt toward the door. He kicks him out into the night’s dirt and dust with the promise there’ll be hell to pay tomorrow.

Something tells me it’s not over. Once Johnny’s sober, he’ll be punished.

Severely.

I’m shaken… but I’m also confused.

I didn’t even know Mason was around. Was he eavesdropping the entire time?

He admires the blood on his knuckles and then looks up at me. I fold my arms and choose violence.

Metaphorical violence.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I say.

“Do what? Get Flanagan off your back? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

“You could’ve killed him.”

“And he could’ve raped you.”

Discomfort coils inside me like a rope. Though he’s correct, I’m too damn stubborn to back down.

“I could’ve handled it.”

“Really?” he sneers. His lips that I enjoy kissing spread into a cruel smile and his eyes that often captivate me gleam. “’Cuz it sure as hell didn’t look like it. It looked like you were freezing up and he was advancing on you. It looked like he was about to knock you down and take what he wanted.”

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