Badass in Disguise
<b>Chapter 121 </b>
:
<b>92 </b>
The remaining thugs had retreated to the edge of the bar, eyeing Chris warily as they waited for their boss to return. Their earlier bravado had evaporated, reced by genuine fear.
Around us, the few patrons who hadn’t fled were whispering among themselves, throwing nervous nces our way. I caught fragments of their conversations: “…local gang…” “…don’t know who they messed with…” “…gonna be
trouble…”
The bartender wiped the same spot on the counter for the fifth time, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. A couple near the door slipped out quietly, while a group of college students hurriedly paid their tab.
Chris adjusted his cuffs, seemingly unbothered by the tension in the air.
“So, where’d you pick up that watch?” he asked, nodding toward my wrist with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “It’s cute. Doesn’t really match your usual style though.”
I nced down at the Patek Philippe on my wrist. “My brother Max gave it to me.”
“Your brother?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “Kid’s got expensive taste.”
“It was a gift,” I said, a rare softness creeping into my voice when I mentioned Max. “He insisted.”
Chris studied me for a moment, a small smile ying at the corner of his mouth. “You really care about this kid, don’t you? What about the rest of the Morgan n? How are they treating you?”
I took a sip of my drink. “One’s more insufferable than the next. If it weren’t for Max, I’d have kicked them all out of
the house by now.”
The bar manager approached our table, setting down fresh drinks with shaking hands. He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.
“You two should probably leave. These guys… they run things in this part of town. They don’t take kindly to being embarrassed, and they’re not above doing something stupid.”
Chris smiled politely, epting the drink. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m awyer. I specialize in cases against criminal organizations. Upholding justice is my professional responsibility.”
The manager’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, the door to the bar banged open. A wave of noise flooded in as thirty or so young men armed with baseball bats and switchdes pushed their way inside. The remaining patrons scattered, some ducking under tables, others rushing for the exit. Within seconds, only the bartender remained, crouched behind the bar counter, visibly trembling.
The buzz<b>–</b>cut guy from earlier strode in, blood still crusted around his nostrils. Behind him walked a man with part of his left ear missing, his face twisted in a permanent sneer.
“That’s him, boss,” Buzz Cut said, pointing at Chris. “The guy who sucker punched me.”
The one–eared man approached our table, scanning Chris with contempt before his gaze shifted to me. His eyes lingered ufortably, and I felt the urge to gauge them out.
“Awyer?” One–Ear scoffed, adjusting his leather jacket. “Been running these streets for years and never beat up awyer before.” He leaned forward, cing both palms on our table. “Should be interesting.”
<b>92 </b>
His gaze slid back to me, something predatory in his expression. “Don’t damage the pretty one too much, boys. I’ve got ns for her after.”
My expression didn’t change, but inwardly I was already calcting how many ways I could kill him with just the
cocktail napkin in front of me.
One–Ear snapped his fingers, and his crew began to advance.
“Left side yours, right side mine?” I suggested to Chris, not bothering to stand up yet.
“Works for me,” Chris replied, loosening his tie.
What followed was a symphony of breaking ss, dull thuds of bodies hitting floors and walls, and the asional scream of pain. I moved efficiently, disabling rather than killing. Still, I made sure the ones who’d looked at me with particr lewdness received extra attention.
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