Trent
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard scuffling from the bar. I never should have left her alone with them.
They were a pack of wild, drunken animals, and she was a young, sexy, defenseless girl.
There was no argument.
No questioning in my head.
I knew what I had to do and I acted.
The group had her pinned against the bar top. Judging by the muffled noises, a hand was clamped tightly over her lips. They were hungrily pulling at her miniskirt when the last one spotted me just a moment too late.
With a sickly crack, my fist connected with his face, sending the man stumbling backwards against the others.
Two of the assholes kept holding the poor girl down while the big one – probably their leader, by the looks of it – reeled forward with a roaring fist.
I sidestepped, tripping him into a table and sending the remnants of a beer splashing at my feet. Things were rapidly getting out of control. The bikers recovered quickly, lunging for me in unison.
Thinking fast, I stepped backwards but slipped on the wet floor. My head connected with a barstool, making me vulnerable just at the wrong time.
Someone grabbed me by the shirt as I tried to orient myself. A powerful fist smashed into my face, but I detached myself and head-butted the offender.
“Fuck!” The voice called out.
It sounded like the leader.
Good.
The other guy tried to lash at me as I clambered to my feet, but I ducked his strike. Using his weight to my advantage, I grabbed at his arm and knocked him off balance. Before he could regain footing, I drove his head straight down into the bar.
His skull connected with a resounding WHAM!
The leader was on top of me again, as he tried to get in a solid gut punch. I took one in the ribs before managing to push him back.
My hand brushed against a dirty glass. It was a stray tumbler, fostering the last few, forgotten sips of dark liquor.
Perfect, I thought to myself.
I smashed it hard against the side of his face.
“Goddammit!” He cried out as glass flew everywhere. “You fucking SHIT!”
I could hear a commotion from behind him. Lunging forward, I dove like a feral animal towards the two bikers still holding down the bartender.
She was kicking and fighting and had managed to bite the hand covering her face.
I aimed my weakened but effective punch at the distracted biker with the bitten hand, catching him just off-center. Stunned, he stumbled backwards against a low wall.
The bartender broke free from the other asshole, dodging around the rising leader and behind the counter.
Whoever this girl was, she was a quick and nimble little minx. She dove behind the bar.
The leader got in a few good licks at me before I grappled him down to the floorboards. He got the upper hand briefly, but I managed to force him onto his back, straddling him and delivering a few solid wallops to either side of his head.
I was just climbing up when I heard the scraping behind me.
Before I knew what was happening, the bar stool connected with my head. Falling, my eyes cast back to the bar. A beautiful yet frightening face was rising from behind the dark wooden counter with a beastly looking 12-gauge shotgun in her hands. An explosion rang out, the gun punching a large hole in the ceiling. My loudly ringing ears couldn’t mask the unmistakable sound of the pretty girl racking another shell.
…And then everything went black.