Sharp. Commanding.
Instantly—they stopped.
Frozen.
Without looking at them, he pushed himself upright.
Slowly.
Like the damage I had just done was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Blood poured from his left nostril in a steady, unbroken stream, dripping onto the crisp white collar of his shirt.
It spread across the fabric, soaking into the black silk tie, staining it deep red.
A smear of blood streaked his cheek.
Another marked the lapel of his tailored jacket where he’d instinctively wiped his mouth.
Still—he adjusted his tie.
Calm.
As though he were preparing for a meeting instead of standing in the middle of violence.
He touched the side of his nose lightly.
Winced.
Just once.
Fresh blood welled between his fingers.
And then—his voice cut through the space.
“Hold her.”
That was all it took.
Six men moved at once.
Coordinated. Brutal.
The first grabbed for my arm.
I twisted instantly, slipping inside his reach and driving my elbow into his throat.
He choked—gagging—and released me.
The second swung a baton.
I ducked just in time, the weapon slicing through the air above my head.
I came up fast, driving the heel of my palm into his nose.
The crack of impact was sharp.
Blood sprayed.
