Where he doesn’t look is behind him.
Amateur.
Their technique is sloppy as shit.
Totally zeroed in on their prey, they don’t notice me closing in from behind.
Unlike the sloppy threesome, I keep my head on a swivel. We’re completely alone. No one’s coming up from behind. Maria’s technically not at risk. But I’m not used to leaving things to chance.
One against three? There will be holes in my periphery.
But Maria said she could defend herself. I have to trust her word.
First things first, take out their lookout—quietly.
I move up behind him, not as stealthy as I’d like, but he’s too damn focused on the couple to notice me.
An armbar to his throat takes him to the ground. Gasping, he sucks wind. He’ll be out of it for a few minutes. I point at the watcher, snapping my fingers, and hope Maria gets the hint.
His compatriots are completely oblivious to their fallen friend. That’s the problem when you get laser-focused on a task. The rest of the world disappears.
I perform another quick scan of my surroundings. Unlike them, I’m trained. My situational awareness is spot on.
The youth on the left steps up the pace, trotting toward our drunken couple. His friend does the same.
When the man notices the thieves, he gives a shout.
The two youths put on a burst of speed and overtake their prey.
The couple doesn’t belong out here this time of night. Not when they’re drunk. Not after flashing that wad of cash. And not without a bodyguard, or some form of personal security.
They stagger drunkenly, reflexes delayed, reactions slowed, and come to a wobbly halt. The woman clutches the man. He holds up a hand, as if that’s going to stop the attack.
Idiot.
I groan inwardly when one of the youths brandishes a knife. He announces his ultimatum.
“Your money, or your life.”
The woman screams. Mr. Rolex might have peed himself. Hard to tell in the dark.
The knife-wielding lunatic’s buddy holds his arms out, looking menacing, but doesn’t appear to carry a weapon. He could have a gun tucked into the back of his pants, but he doesn’t grab for it.
Eight out of ten, I give the first guy props for the knife. It’s a broad-bladed wicked-looking monstrosity, but his grip’s all wrong. Easy to disarm, he gets one out of ten for that. As for the Your money, or your life comment, I give his originality a two out of ten.
The couple look to flee. Real fear fills their expressions. The surge of adrenaline kicking along in their veins counteracts a little of their alcohol infused thoughts, speeding them up.
As for our would-be muggers, they may be old hats at relieving poor tourists of their excess cash, but Knife Guy isn’t comfortable with his weapon. For lack of a better name, his friend, Tweedle Dee, keeps the couple from running off. Tweedle Dum, the lookout, is out of action, knocked out and asleep on the ground behind me.
Maria stands over him, her stance completely changed from a moment ago. Her weight shifts to the balls of her feet, ready to launch into action. She might actually know a thing or two about fighting.
I put her out of my mind, trusting her to have my back and focus all my attention on the two men in front of me.
Finally, Tweedle Dum’s predicament registers on Knife Guy’s face. His eyes round in fear and his mouth gapes. He may have pissed himself a little bit too. Hard to say, with it being dark and all.
I know what I look like to other men. I’m a scary motherfucker. Knife Guy isn’t the first man to rethink his life choices when I turn my attention on him.
The man and woman look over their shoulders and do the exact same thing. I get it. I’m big and scary. But don’t they recognize I’m on their side?
Probably not.
It’s the alcohol flowing in their veins that makes every move deliberate and slow.
“This is when the two of you walk away.” I point at the man and woman, urging them to move off.
What do they do?
Fuckers stand exactly where they are.
Terrified. Immobile.
They’re in my way.
Since I’ve got time, I roll up my sleeves.
“And who the fuck are you?” Knife Guy juts out his chin.
After the initial shock of his friend K.O.’d on the ground behind me, a rush of ill-fated masculine bravado seals his fate.
Fucker’s going down.
“I’m the guy you don’t want to fuck with.”
“You and what army?” He lifts his chin toward Maria, which really pisses me off. “She gonna jump in?” He waves the knife at me. “I’ll cut her pretty face to ribbons.”
“Wrong fucking thing to say.” A growl escapes me as I fist my hands and flex my muscles.
“Look, we don’t want any trouble.” The victim finally wises up. He grips his date and drags her off to the side.
I ignore them and turn my attention to the young male needing serious reeducation.
“This isn’t your night.” I turn to the couple and speak to the man. “Get your woman off the street.”
He staggers back, equal parts fear and alcohol. With a wide-eyed stare, he removes himself and his woman from this confrontation.
Anticipating Knife Guy’s attack, I shift my weight to the balls of my feet. This is going to be fun.
Knife Guy rushes me.
Total idiot move.
Knife out, he exposes his wrist. I grab it, putting pressure on a nerve in his wrist until the knife slips out of his grip and clatters to the ground.
A swift kick and the knife skitters out of the way. I wrap my arm around Knife Guy’s neck and use his momentum to toss him on the ground.
He goes down hard. Wide eyes stare up at me as his sluggish mind tries to catch up with what happened. He tries to get up, but I place the heel of my boot over his throat. It’s a dick move but does what I need it to do.
I have no intention of crushing his windpipe, but he doesn’t know that.
“Liam!” Maria’s shout isn’t necessary.
Tweedle Dee barrels into me, but I anticipate his move. He wants to knock me off my feet. Ducking his head, he rams into my chest.
I tense. He’s headed for a wall of muscle. A little shift of my center of mass and I wrap an arm around his neck. He goes down in a flurry of arms and legs.
Taking a step back, I look at the men, wondering what they’ll do next. If they’re smart, they’ll run away. The drunk couple did that, didn’t stop to thank me, but that’s okay. I’m not here for the credit.
I’m here to teach a lesson.
Knife Guy rolls to his feet. He looks for his weapon, but the knife is out of reach. He comes at me, arms and fists flying as he contacts solid muscle.
I take the blows, but only because I’m an asshole. Once he’s done, I reward his pathetic attack with a string of punches that steal his breath.
Tweedle Dee comes at me. I shove him back, then slam my fist into his gut. I spin to pay attention to Knife Guy, landing a sharp uppercut to his jaw.
They stumble as one, tripping over their own feet, and fall to the ground where they lie motionless except for the rasp of their breaths. I shake my fingers out and stretch my neck, then turn toward the sounds behind me.
Holy hellfire, Maria is fucking fantastic.
The lookout, managed to get off his feet and attack her.
She lands a series of brutal blows to her attacker. A silly grin fills my face as Maria trades kicks and punches, landing four blows to every one of her opponent’s. The idiot staggers as she moves in a blur around him, keeping him busy.