Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Get offa me! This fuckin’ bitch needs to get me my fuckin’ drink." Romeo did his best to stand straight. "I’m with my buddies over there, so don’t fuckin’ mess with me, man.”
“Time to go. Last chance to use your own legs.” Jesse’s voice was clear and flat as he crossed his massive arms over the flexing pecs under his stark white t-shirt.
I could see it coming. So fucking predictable.
“I’m not going nowhere, azz hole! Me and my buddies'll kick your azz.”
Don’t do it. Oh, please, don’t…
I mean, yes, please do. I want to see this.
Romeo turned as though he was going to walk back to his table. I don't think any of his buddies had noticed what was going on. They were still drooling over the girls on the stage, oblivious or deliberately ignoring the whole altercation.
Then, like a cartoon, he swung. Offering his best roundhouse punch that seemed to move in slow motion, the movement upset his center of gravity. As he teetered, his enormous belly weight and the copious amounts of alcohol he had ingested conspired to gyroscope him like a careening truck into the nearest table.
Jesse was a monster, but his reflexes were feline like. He was four steps in front of the punch even before the giant Weeble got started.
“Stupid motherfucker,” I heard him growl even over the pounding music.
He caught Romeo's arm before he could use it to cushion his fall. Empty glasses were swept from the tabletop to shatter into shards on the floor, before Jesse swung him around with the force of his own drunken inertia. A palm on the back of his head slammed his face onto the bar, grinding it into the beer-slick wood with such force, it bounced my boobs in my shirt as I leaned on the long wooden counter.
I knew better than to get involved. My job now was to step back and keep an eye on the girls dancing. If things got too hot, I would give them the signal to stop their dance and get their asses backstage.
Blood was trickling out of Romeo's swollen nose, and before he could center himself for any more fight, Jesse had his hand behind his back in a half Nelson.
He was pushing him through the door before his four friends even noticed what was happening.
“Night’s over, asshole. And if you ever want back in here, you'll find the words to apologize to the lady.”
"Her?” He spat my way. “She ain't no-- Fuck!"
I stifled a laugh as Jesse accidentally-on-purpose tripped Romeo in the doorway, pulling his arm up and back and throwing his forehead into the door frame.
Romeo's face hit the ground next with some help from Jesse, and I watched as Jesse straightened himself up, brushed imaginary dirt from his shoulders and flexed tattoo-covered arms, his dark crew cut glistening under the flashing strobe lights.
Finally, the table of guys he was with took notice.
Like M-80’s going off in succession, each one stood up in turn, stumbling and bumping their way toward Jesse in some kind of comic four stooges’ sketch.
“Jesse, watch out!” I shouted just as the first guy threw himself the final yard toward his target, a punch half connecting with the back of Jesse’s head.
The girls on stage glanced my way with appealing looks, but they were in no danger. Hell, I doubted these guys were much of a danger sober. Still, Renee and Vanessa gave me pissy looks for not waving them off. Every chance they got, they were backstage, filling their noses with whatever candy was their flavor of the week.
I should have felt sorry for them, but I didn't.
They all treated me like shit, so I figured they could just keep dancing, even if no one was around to throw money onto the stage or tuck it between their offered tits.
It took less than two minutes for Jesse to get the un-happy customers out the door, and nobody had to call the cops, so that was a win. It was always a rush when things got hot, but it happened so regularly we all just took it in stride.
I secretly loved watching the fights. I knew I was safe, and watching Jesse was like watching an Olympic gold medalist win their event every time. Calm authority radiated off him, and when his powerful body went into gear to do what it did best, it was a sight to see.
Every ounce of his power was focused, each muscle moving in perfect coordination with the next.
It wasn't just raw power, either. Sure, he could bench press a locomotive, but he could outwit a fox too. When most people see a giant, tattooed mountain of muscle like him, they immediately size him up as all brawn and no brains. It worked to his advantage, and he liked to have the advantage.