I tipped my chin. “I want another twenty for having to handle this diseased cock.” I took out my phone and sent a second request, and he chuckled as he tapped his screen without flinching.
Meanwhile, the cock-chewed asshole was whining. “She fucking mutilated me, Winter!” He took a step toward the host, tripping over his pants, and hit the floor, panting, glaring, too loaded to notice he was bleeding all over himself.
“Jesus, Briggs!” Winter muttered, then he faced the crowd. “Show’s over!”
Everyone scattered, the room emptying until it was a closed-door space, with only me, Winter, and the shit stain with ableeding cock left. I hauled the latter up by the collar, slammed him into the pool table so he was lying down.
“He’s all yours,” Winter said. He didn’t wait for a reply. Just gave the Briggs guy a disgusted once-over, shook his head as though he couldn’t believe his guest had his bleeding cock out on the pool table. “Fucking loser.” And then it was me, the patient, and the wreck Briggs had made of his night.
He was still trying to bare his teeth through the pain, like a rabid dog that didn’t understand its injuries, and I pressed my thumb under his jaw, forcing his head up. Then I leaned in close enough that he could see I wasn’t bluffing, my scalpel out and close to his right eye. “Stop, Fucking. Moving. Or the eye goes. Understand?”
He whimpered.
Good.
I yanked up his stained T-shirt, revealing a belly that hung low, to inspect the damage—deep bruising, torn skin, blood, and swelling that was probably going to ruin his week. Then I saw more: scratches down his hips from her nails, defensive. Nothing consensual about any of it.
I disinfected him with alcohol pads and a wipe that was absolutely not meant for the groin, fixing the damage as best I could, given the circumstances—fast, rough, and efficient.
He yelped and cursed, high and desperate, but a fancy sound system playing rap drowned most of it.
“You’re being rough,” he wheezed, sounding more like a small boy with a school nurse than a hard-edged rich kid playing at being dangerous.
I pulled a small vial and syringe from my jacket. “Hold still.”
“What the hell’s that?”
“Something to keep you from hurting anyone else tonight.” I jabbed it into his thigh before he could refuse. “And before you freak out, it’s not poison. Mostly.”
His pupils went glassy, body slackening as the drug hit. Not enough to drop him, just enough to loosen his mouth.
“Man, it’s all fucked up,” he slurred, words sliding together, spit stringing from his lip. “Fuckin’ hell… bitch was askin’ for it. Thought she put teeth on me after takin’ my money? These girls, man—they want the cash, then act surprised when a guy wants what hepaidfor.” He wheezed a laugh, ugly and wet.
I felt something old and molten tighten in my spine. My jaw pulsed.
I finished patching him up with a final brutal swipe that made him squeal, buttoned him sloppily, then left him lying there.
I put my lips to his ear. “You hurt a woman like that again, I will find out, and I’ll slice your balls off, then your cock, and feed it to you. Got it?”
He patted the air. “Funny guy!” He laughed, off his head. But I freaking meant every word.
Outside, the air felt colder, sharper—the kind of cold that cut through adrenaline. The three women were huddled beside my car, where I’d told them to wait, jumpy as hell when they saw me coming. “Get in,” I said, opening the back door. “All of you. Now.”
The two uninjured ones scrambled in fast, but the hurt one lingered, breathing hard, her hand pressed to her ribs.
“Front seat.” I helped her in. “Come on.”
She was shaking, and I locked the doors the second I got behind the wheel. The property gates were still open, and I headed out and pulled over on the side of the road when we were far enough away. “Tell me what hurts.”
She lifted her ripped dress to show me her side—deep scratches, some tearing, skin raw and swollen. Defensive wounds. Someone—I assume Briggs—had thrown her hard against something.
I reached into my glove box and passed her antiseptic wipes, a sealed saline bottle, and a packet of gauze. “Clean up. Slow. Pat. Don’t rub.”
She winced as she worked. The other two kept whispering in the back, scared, but alive.
“Good,” I said quietly when she pressed the gauze to the worst of it. “Keep pressure there.” She stared at me. What should I say now? I channeled what I might have said to my sister to ease her fear. “You’re safe now.”
She nodded, eyes glassy. I put the car in gear and pulled away.
