The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Twenty Seven: Part of the Brawl

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Now please be advised, dear reader, that I am not an advocate for fighting.

There have been countless times where I have walked away from an altercation peaceably. The reasoning for that, is not only because I don't like fighting. But because I can't fight to save my life.

Wind-milling? That's as close to a fight as I'll go.

Still, it's obvious Sebastian is a clear supporter of throwing punches, because he's letting Skinner have it. Bad. Skinner can't even get up and defend himself at first, Sebastian is punching so hard. But eventually Skinner shoves Sebastian off and proceeds to climb on top of him and ring his hands around his neck, Skinner's blood dripping onto Sebastian's shirt.

And that's when I start to panic.

"Oh, God, oh, God he's choking him!" I yell. "What do I do? What do I do!?"

"Don't do anythin'!" Cindy yells, but I can't help but carry on the urge to want to help. But what can I do?

Actually, what can a beer bottle do?

Skinner leans down and whispers something into Sebastian's ear, and when he does, I grab the nearest beer bottle from one of the tables and smash it right onto Skinner's head. The bottle breaks into a million pieces of glass, falling onto the ground just like the man I hit. Skinner grips his bleeding neck and wails in pain underneath a table. His crew hears his screams and rushes over from their own fight with the other men, and Sebastian scrambles up onto his feet right before they arrive.

"Fucker!" Sebastian spits while kicking Skinner on his side several times. There's a raw, red anger I've never seen before set in his eyes as he continuously jams his foot into Skinner's ribs. Sweat drips off of his face with ever kick, ever jab he delivers to the biker President. And deep into his rage, he doesn't realize the biker approaching him from behind, the only biker not intercepted by the rest of the men in the bar.

"Sebastian! B-behind you!" I yell nervously, but Sebastian doesn't listen to me; his fury serves as his hearing, and the only thing he decides to hear is Skinner's grunts of pain.

The biker pulls out a pocket knife and clicks it open. It's longer, sharper and deadlier than the one sitting in my purse. He aims it high, ready to stab it into Sebastian's bruised neck. There's a sharp pain in my chest, and the room suddenly turns cold. This isn't happening.

But it is, and my instincts kick in like I've turned into an entirely different person.

"AAAAAAAAH!" I holler like a war cry, sprinting as fast as I can and jumping on top of the tall, muscular biker's back.

"Ah! What the hell!" he shouts as my legs wrap around his torso and my arms around his neck. Sebastian stops kicking an almost immobile Skinner and turns to the sound besides him. He spots the knife, and his eyes grow wide at the realization of what would have been the outcome, if I hadn't jumped in.

The biker spins around in circles over and over again around the bar with my hand over his eyes and my arm around his neck. He's like a blind giant, swinging his knife into the air at anything he can't see. His body knocks chairs and drinks over, and even a table over in the process.

At this point, I have no idea what I'm doing. Am I supposed to stay on this guy forever? There's no possible way I can take him on my own, and it's only a matter of time before he finally sticks the knife into my side. What then?

"Damn you, you son of a bitch!" one man cries, and with one swift movement, he kicks the tall biker hard in the balls. He screams in agonizing pain and falls over on the ground, taking me with him. I stand up as quickly as I can and finally take a good look at the mess around us. Bikers and townsmen are punching, kicking, and throwing each other across the bar. A biker tosses a man onto a pool table, but a cowboy grabs a cue stick and slams it into his back, making him topple over in paralyzing pain.