Page 220 of Micah

One of the men grabs her arm.

Hard.

That’s the wrong fucking move.

“Yeah, we got your bitch! What are you gonna do, motherfucker? There’s twelve of us!” Scarface sneers.

I don't yell.

I don't threaten.

I don't posture.

I simply move.

Fast.

Years of training take over before emotion ever has the chance.

The first man never sees me.

One precise strike folds him to the floor.

The second reaches inside his pocket.

I redirect his arm before whatever he's reaching for clears his jeans.

He crashes through a table instead.

Wood explodes.

Someone shouts.

Someone else runs.

I don't give a fuck.

My eyes keep finding Sloane.

Every few seconds.

Still standing.

Breath hitching, but she’s still breathing.

And that’s good.

Scarface snarls something I don't bother listening to.

He shoves Sloane toward another man.

Fucking coward.

Using her as a shield.

My heart stops.

“No.”