Badass in Disguise Chapter 109

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, replaced by genuine fear.

Around us, the few patrons who hadn't fled were whispering among themselves, throwing nervous glances 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 glanced 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 playing at the corner of his mouth. "You really care about this kid, don't you? What about the rest of the Morgan clan? 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, accepting the drink. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm a lawyer. 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 switchblades 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-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 uncomfortably, and I felt the urge to gauge them out.

"A lawyer?" One-Ear scoffed, adjusting his leather jacket. "Been running these streets for years and never beat up a lawyer before." He leaned forward, placing both palms on our table. "Should be interesting."

His gaze slid back to me, something predatory in his expression. "Don't damage the pretty one too much, boys. I've got plans for her after."

My expression didn't change, but inwardly I was already calculating 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 glass, dull thuds of bodies hitting floors and walls, and the occasional scream of pain. I moved efficiently, disabling rather than killing. Still, I made sure the ones who'd looked at me with particular lewdness received extra attention.

After dealing with the last attacker – a burly man who'd tried to grab me from behind – I walked calmly to the bar and ordered a martini. Chris was removing his blood-spattered Armani jacket, carefully folding it over the back of a chair. I handed him the bank card I'd slipped from One-Ear's pocket during our brief encounter.

Chris examined the card before approaching the shell-shocked bar owner, who was staring at the scene of destruction with a mixture of horror and resignation.

"Whatever damage was done tonight," Chris said, handing over the card, "put it on my tab."

I sipped my martini, watching as One-Ear struggled to pull himself up from the floor, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. "You calling this in, or am I?" I asked Chris lazily, referring to the police.

"I'll handle it," Chris replied, pulling out his phone.

One-Ear spat blood onto the floor. "You don't know who you're fucking with," he growled. "I'm with The Three Pillars. My guys are bringing more people from the bar down the street right now."

I felt my muscles relax at the mention of The Three Pillars. So that's what this was about. I caught Chris's eye and gave him a small nod.

"Go ahead, make your call," One-Ear continued, mistaking our calm for fear. "By the time anyone gets here, you'll both be—"

Chris held up a finger, silencing him as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. "Rocco? It's Jensen. Princeton branch is your territory, right? I'm at The Velvet Lounge, and some of your boys decided to introduce themselves."

One-Ear's face flickered with uncertainty at the mention of Rocco's name, but he quickly masked it with bravado. "Nice try," he sneered. "You think I don't know when someone's bluffing?"

Chris ignored him, continuing his conversation while I finished my drink. We chatted about my college experience and the weather, as if we weren't surrounded by groaning bodies and broken furniture.

Twenty minutes later, the bar was packed again – not with patrons, but with even more tattooed young men. One-Ear had managed to gather an impressive number of reinforcements. He stood in front of them, chest puffed out.

"Last chance to apologize," he announced, scanning the room to make sure his audience appreciated his magnanimity. When neither Chris nor I responded, his face hardened. "Alright boys, take them both. Don't hold back."

The crowd tensed, ready to surge forward, when a voice from the back shouted: "HOLD IT!"

The effect was immediate. The sea of men parted, revealing a mountain of a man with knuckles that looked like they'd been broken and reset multiple times.

"Knuckles," someone whispered, awe and fear mingling in his voice.

One-Ear's demeanor changed instantly. His shoulders hunched, and he took a small step backward. "Hey, man, I was just—"

The newcomer strode forward and kicked One-Ear's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. "You fucking idiot," he snarled, towering over the fallen man. "You dare put your hands on Mr. Jensen? Do you have a death wish?"

Behind Knuckles appeared another man – smaller, better dressed, with calculating eyes that took in the scene with cold precision.

"Mr. Jensen," the well-dressed man said, approaching our table with deference. "I apologize for this... misunderstanding. I hope you weren't inconvenienced."

I raised an eyebrow at Chris. "When did The Three Pillars start recruiting such bottom-feeders?" I asked, nodding toward One-Ear. "They used to have standards. No trash like him in their ranks fifteen years ago."

Chris sighed, shaking his head. "This is embarrassing. Good thing Night isn't here to see this." He turned to the well-dressed man, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Rocco, what's going on here? Who are these people?"