2. Damon
340 Words
DamonHis dark hair wasn’t so long, but it was still just long enough that it curled up over the tips of his ears. He’d have to do something about that. There was no reason for his thoughts to be on his hair right now – who the f**k cared about that anyway? It didn’t have t**s or an engine – when he could just be pummeling the dude in front of him. He was trying to keep it out of his face, though, while still keeping his fists raised. He didn’t want to hit this guy anyway. Well, that was a total f*****g lie. He wanted to pound this guy’s face into the dirt, but he didn’t want to hit the guy first.
If he didn’t have honor, what kind of club leader was he?
The i***t twisted his mouth, breathing hard and staring at him over the table standing upturned between them. Damon Saylor was used to dealing with fools like this, and, quite frankly, he was used to dealing with a hell of a lot worse than some drunk f**k who thought Damon wanted a go at him because…
Because why?
Oh yeah.
He’d allegedly taken a sip off this douche’s beer. Too bad he just got in here. He grabbed the man’s arm and twisted as soon as the dude grabbed for him, pulling it behind his back. Usually, he’d give the guy a chance to get a hit or two in. That is, if he was in a good mood. He wasn’t in the best mood tonight, at least not for a fight, so he just grabbed the dude, slammed his head against the edge of the table few times, and let him slump down to the ground.
And then he put the table back the way it belonged. It’s not that he wanted to. Wasn’t there a waitress there whose job that was or some s**t? But his friends were intent on using this table, and they’d been here before he was. He sighed, moving the table back. Then he picked up a chair in one hand and sat down in it.
- Writer
