"Preston!"
The shout rang out as several women rushed to help the fallen man, while the rest of the group—mostly men—grabbed whatever makeshift weapons they could find and turned to glare at Ethan, eyes blazing.
"You son of a bitch! You hit Preston? You got a death wish or something?!"
Ethan didn't flinch. He raised his blood-smeared steel pipe and pointed it at them, voice cold and steady. "What, you wanna try me?"
The group hesitated. His presence hit like a wall—calm, but coiled with violence. No one moved.
Preston, groaning, was hauled to his feet by a few of the women. He clutched his ribs, face twisted with rage as he glared at Ethan.
"You're fucking dead! Kill him! I want him bleeding on the floor!"
Tension snapped taut. The room was seconds from erupting—until a woman's voice cut through the air.
"Chris?!"
Everyone turned. A young woman in a flowing green dress stood beside Preston, her face frozen in surprise. Pretty, with a soft, innocent look—Lola.
Chris's ex.
