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Trust me you don't want that, her shout still rang in his head. Did he really not want her with them? What did the jabbing pain in his stomach really mean?
He peered through the little window in the door, watching over the situation at the club when he heard a thump of feet coming from the other side of the office. His mind immediately went to Inej and the argument they had earlier.
"Inej!" he called, turning the corner, "Listen, I . . . "
Instead of Inej it was two men who approached him. Good. More trouble.
He eyed them. Each taking a side. He was outnumbered. There's no such thing as outnumbered, boss. You strike them where it hurts the most and hope they'll fall down. Tough men underestimate the weak. They don't expect to be hit in the shin. Everyone's weak on the shin. It's a low punch, but an easy blow.
So he did as his memory told him. Fighting back. Only to end with his head slammed against his own desk, arms tightly held back. Looks like you weren't right. For once.
But not the Dime Lions. They're ugly. You go for the head. If they even have one.
He wasn't going down without a fight, no matter what her voice said. He kicked and pushed the man back, only for his grip to get tighter on his arms. There was no escape. He knew it. Not when he went still and his blood began boiling at the sight of the king of the Barrel himself sniffing in his doorway.
"Evening."
He clenched his jaw, eyes widening. He was so focused on his other worries, he didn't think twice about angering the leader of the Dime Lions.
