I drive my elbow into his ribs. He grunts and staggers back, then comes at me again, fists swinging. One connects with my cheekbone, pain exploding across my face. I stay on my feet, only staggering half a step, then answer with an uppercut that snaps his head back.
We’re trading blows like wild animals, grunting and snarling, neither willing to give an inch.
Tom lands a vicious combination to my ribs, knocking the rest of the breath out of me. I’ve already grabbed him by the collar and drove him forward, slamming his head into the wall and leaving it stained with his blood.
Plaster cracks, and he roars in fury and shoves me back. His hand scrabbles across the nearby desk ’til it closes around a beer bottle.
He smashes it against the desk edge, glass exploding everywhere, and comes at me with the jagged broken bottle.
The office door bangs open.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Mace thunders. Sydney’s right behind him, her features wide with horror.
He rushes forward, trying to get between us, but Tom slashes the broken bottle at his own son. “Get the fuck back!”
Mace jerks away just in time, the jagged glass missing his face by inches. I use the distraction to grab Tom from behind, locking my arms around him and forcing the bottle from his grip. It clatters to the floor as we both go down, crashing onto the hardwood in a tangle of limbs.
We’re tussling on the ground, each trying to get the upper hand. Tom’s fingers claw at my face and throat. I answer with a head butt that makes his nose crunch.
Then the cavalry arrives… but not the kind I want.
Bush, Johnny, and Moses come rushing in, and without knowing the context—or maybe not giving a shit—they immediately take Tom’s side. Moses grabs me by the collar and hauls me off Tom, then lands a punch to the side of my head that blurs my vision.
“Get the fuck off him!” Mace roars, and then he’s on Moses and Johnny, pulling them away from me with brute force. He takes a hit to the ribs but gives back twice as good, trading punches like the rough fighter he is.
Two against one and he’s holding his own.
More bodies pile into the room. Cash from the Chop Shop, his face twisted with confusion, then fury. Tate and Tito, fists already swinging.
The office quickly becomes a war zone—men grappling and punching and crashing into furniture. Lines are being drawn in blood and bruises.
I’m back on my feet, squaring off against Bush who’s come for me first, when Tom finally stumbles to the front of the room.
He’s a mess. Blood dripping from his nose and lip and a gash above his eye. His face is already swelling from the punches he’staken. He spits a tooth onto the floor, then raises his voice above the chaos.
“Everybody sticking with me—therealpresident—come now!” he hollers. “This club ain’t no longer a club! It’s clear we gotta take out the fucking trash! Follow me!”
The fighting gradually stutters to a halt.
Bush, Johnny, and Moses trail behind Tom as he turns and strides from the room. A couple other men follow suit too, only after sparing us angry glares.
But I’m not letting them out of my sight so long as they’re on Kings property. I stalk after them, flanked by Mace and Tito.
Sydney scurries to the bathroom, muttering something about being nauseous.
Tom has made it across the barroom as he starts for the door. It opens before he can reach it, Solana walking in accompanied by Korine and Zoe. The three women stop in place with the instant kind of horror and shock that Sydney had witnessing everything go down.
Their gazes rake over us, probably taking in the blood and sweat and wondering what could’ve possibly happened.
Tom merely grins and steps forward as if their arrival changes nothing.
“Happy birthday, girl,” he says, zeroing in on Solana. “But hope you know—your man’s going down.”
Then he storms out, his men in tow, leaving destruction in his wake.
Solana’s eyes find mine across the saloon floor, blinking as if she can’t bring herself to speak right now.
I can’t really either. All I can think is… this battle between me and Tom and the others is far from over.
