Chapter 2

2

Striker tightened his fists and squared his shoulders as he widened his stance. He wasn’t going to go down.

“It was him.” Her fingers shook as she pointed to a lone guy standing close to the end of the bar. “He did it.”

The man wasn’t big, not like him, and he wasn’t that good-looking either. Striker wanted to tell her she could do so much better, but it wasn’t his place.

“Step forward,” Striker demanded .

The man shrunk and held up his hands. “I don’t want any trouble.”

Striker’s anger blasted hot. He wanted to work this guy over. He didn’t move though. If this place had cameras, he wanted it to look like the guy attacked him.

“Oh, you don’t. So why did you hit her?” His voice boomed around the room.

The jerk stood and backed up. “She wouldn’t give me head. I bought her an expensive meal, and she didn’t want to suck me.”

He glanced back and caught her gaze. “Is what he’s saying true?”

She winced and shrank away. He turned back to the guy and clenched his fist.

“I’m guessing her silence is confirmation. Consent is a thing, like an important thing. You can’t just hit someone because they won’t suck your cock. Now, we can do this one of two ways. You can come over here and let me show you how it feels to be beat by someone who is bigger than you, or we can call the cops.”

Striker didn’t think the guy would come to him, and he was sure the dude didn’t want to get arrested. Then two men stepped up beside the little pipsqueak. Striker’s heart sank.

“Take it outside,” the bartender grumbled as he pulled a baseball bat from under the bar.

Three against one appeared to be the score. Striker’s lips curled as a sense of twisted pleasure ripped through him. He would beat their asses. It would take longer to get the job done, but he had time.

Striker dipped his chin, nodding once. The two bigger guys returned the motion.

“Let’s go,” Striker said.

“You don’t have to,” the woman clinging to him whispered.

He met her gaze and his heart softened. For some strange reason he reached up and brushed her hair behind her ears, she didn’t flinch away. Her gaze was dark, pleading. She’d gone pale and her lips had thinned.

“He’ll never learn to be a man if no one stands up to him.” His words were low, spoken so only she heard. Fighting for her honor wasn’t really his place, but he’d found himself in this exact location for a reason, and he guessed it was this.

Most of the bar had slithered outside to watch the fight. The woman he was defending stood next to the bartender while Striker moved to an open space in the parking lot. He prayed they didn’t pull a knife in this dim light. No way would he see it if they did. He cracked his knuckles and prepared for the first hit.

Bets were placed, and in his sick and twisted mind, he liked this. A chuckle escaped his lips. No doubt he was crazy. The biggest of the three guys threw the first punch, connecting with his jaw. It hurt, but not too bad. He’d received worse in basic training, and much worse in special forces. He just needed to know how hard this guy hit so he had an idea what he was in for.

The three guys fighting him laughed, thinking they had him. Overconfidence would be his enemy, so he didn’t say a word to them as they prepared to win.

Fighting three men at once was daunting. He couldn’t allow them to get behind him, and he couldn’t drop to the ground. No matter how hard they hit him, he had to stay upright.

The big guy came at him again, and Striker ducked under his arm, getting in a hard shot to the guy’s ribs. The man grunted out a whoosh of air and bent forward. The small guy who had hit the woman attempted to attack, but Striker popped the dude straight in the nose, dropping him to the ground with one clean hit.

Cheers went up around the circle of people in the parking lot. One less jerk to worry about, at least for a few seconds. The man who hadn’t weighed in on the fight yet stalked forward, his fists raised. The guy was fighting like he was in grade school or something. Striker felt bad for him, but not bad enough to throw out pointers. He spun, kicking the man in the face. The crowd cheered again.

Big Dude came at him and punched Striker in the cheek. Striker stumbled backward, catching himself by waving his arms so he didn’t fall. His antics probably looked comical, but he was trying to stay alive. Fighting three guys was stupid. It was at least reckless, but not undoable.

Woman Beater stood on wobbly legs and raised his fists. Striker moved to the left and advanced on the jerk.

“Next time hire someone to suck you. It’s cheaper in the long run.” Striker one-punched Woman Beater, then spun, catching the big bloke in the arm with his foot. It wasn’t a good hit, just average at best, but it would have to do for now.

If he didn’t take out the other guy, the one who wasn’t so big, Striker knew he’d end up on the ground soon. Striker backed up, assessing the situation.

“What’s the matter, baby, can’t take the heat?” Big Dude called out.

Woman Beater was down, mid-guy was shaking off the last hit Striker had thrown, and Big Dude looked ready to kill. For three against one, he was doing okay. That was until mid-guy pulled a knife. That’s when shit got real.

The noise around him turned to a buzz. Their shouts and cheers faded into the background. He focused on the two men in front of him. It seemed like the pair had fought together before.

This had gone from trying to teach a woman beater a lesson and moved to survival. On their own, he had little doubt he could beat these men. But together like this, with one of them using a knife, he wasn’t sure he could take them.

Knife Guy lunged, and Striker jumped back and then blasted the dude with a fist to the nose. The guy went down on one knee. The big guy threw a punch, knocking the wind out of Striker. The knife was dangerous, but so were the beefy punches Big Dude threw. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be down and out for the count.

The one with the knife came at him, and he didn’t move fast enough. Pain shot up his arm as the blade raked over his forearm. Gasps went up around the circle. If Striker had to guess, it was because he looked like he would lose. He had to act fast. Knife Guy along with Big Dude were too hard to beat together.

“Stop. Stop,” a woman yelled behind him.

It was probably the woman he’d tried to save, but he couldn’t risk giving her attention to find out.

Backing down wasn’t his style, but getting killed in a bar fight wasn’t his style either. He didn’t picture a way to end this gracefully .

Striker clenched his fists. The burn from the cut across his forearm ached. He needed a miracle. The buzz in his head grew. That wasn’t a good sign. He was either going to die, or he would probably be in the hospital for the rest of his leave. Either way, he was going down.