Page 85 of Micah
The entire building seems to shake.
He roars.
Still standing.
Stubborn son of a bitch.
I like stubborn.
Means they remember the lesson longer.
He lunges again.
This time I catch his wrist.
Twist.
Hard.
The elbow bends in the wrong direction.
He screams.
I don't let go.
Instead, I pivot behind him, lock his shoulder, and drive him face-first onto the hardwood floor.
The impact rattles every bottle behind the bar.
He tries to rise.
A forearm across the back of his neck ends that idea.
I lean down close enough for only him to hear.
“If you ever come here again, if you look at her, try to breathe the same fucking air as her again...”
I tighten the hold just enough to make him gasp.
“...they'll never find enough pieces of you to bury.”
He stops fighting.
Smart.
Very smart.
The room falls silent.
My own breathing is the only sound.
“Now, get the fuck out.”
Two of the guys able to stand grab their buddies and start to limp outside.
Scarface isn’t done yet.
Cocky.
