Bullets tore through the air, forcing both men to duck at the same time.
"Son of a bitch," the bar owner cursed under his breath.
"Je ne veux pas encore mourir," the other muttered in French, his voice laced with anxiety. (I don’t want to die yet.)
The bar owner shot him an irritated look. "Do you even speak English?"
"I can," the man replied nonchalantly.
Neither of them moved, both staying low as they listened intently to their surroundings. Soon, the sound of footsteps approached from outside. The bar owner reached down and unholstered his gun from the strap on his right leg.
"You know how to use this?" he asked, showing the weapon to his companion.
"Of course," the other man responded without hesitation.
Just as the owner was about to toss him the gun, the man held up a hand to stop him. "No need," he said before pulling open a nearby drawer. Inside, a collection of knives gleamed under the dim light. A satisfied smile appeared on his lips. "I prefer these."
He selected a set of six small to medium-sized knives with practiced ease. The bar owner was about to object when—
The door behind him suddenly burst open. His reflexes kicked in immediately, spinning around, ready to fire—
But before he could pull the trigger, the intruder collapsed to the ground, a knife embedded deep in his left chest. The bar owner turned to his companion, who merely shrugged and gestured toward the now-open doorway.
They crouched low and moved forward cautiously.
"James, get the hell out here! Like I told you, we’re not done yet!" a voice bellowed from the entrance.
At the doorway stood a man flanked by six others, all armed and ready.
The bar owner—James—let out a short laugh before shouting back, "Looks like we’re outnumbered. Two against seven? Doesn’t seem fair."
His companion shot him a sharp look. "Why am I even involved in this?" he muttered.
"You were here. They saw you. Do you really think they’ll just let you walk away?" James whispered back.
The young man exhaled in frustration. "Whatever. It’s your life. Do what you want." He began crawling away in the opposite direction.
He didn’t get far. A dark shadow loomed over him, blocking his path.
"And where do you think you're going?"
Slowly, he looked up at the towering figure above him. Before he could react, a strong hand grabbed his collar and yanked him off the ground. In the next moment, he was thrown over the counter, crashing onto a table and scattering chairs in the process.
"Son of a—" he groaned, wincing from the impact.
Before he could fully recover, his attacker was already closing in. But just as the man reached for him again—
CRASH!
A glass bottle shattered against the back of his attacker’s head. The man instantly crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
"Do you believe me now?" James asked, smirking as he extended a hand to help him up.
The young man took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. As they turned, they found the remaining men standing across the room, smirking—guns raised and aimed directly at them.
But neither James nor his companion looked the least bit afraid.
"What are you waiting for?" the leader sneered. "Shoot them."
The command barely left his lips before chaos erupted.
In a blur of motion, two men cried out in pain as bullets grazed their legs. At the same time, two others dropped their guns, small knives now embedded in the hands that had been gripping them.
James and his companion stood firm, one holding his gun steady, the other casually twirling a knife between his fingers.
"Go ahead," they said in unison, their voices dangerously calm.
The remaining men hesitated. One of them, visibly shaken, dropped his weapon. The leader, however, turned on his heel, making a desperate dash for the door—
He barely touched the doorknob before a knife whizzed past, lodging into the wood just inches from his hand.
"Going somewhere?" The young man’s voice was smooth, almost mocking.
Slowly, the leader turned back, his face pale as he took cautious steps forward.
James’ companion placed a firm hand on his shoulder, leaning in slightly. "Will you stop now?" he asked, his tone almost bored.
Then, shaking his head, he muttered, "I can’t believe you dragged me into this mess," before landing a solid punch to the man’s gut. The leader doubled over, gasping for air.
James chuckled. "Come on, you were bound to get involved. Aren’t we friends?"
"You bastard," the young man grumbled, before kicking him hard enough to send him crashing to the floor.
"I only just learned your name from this guy," he added, pointing at James.
James, who had been watching the whole exchange, suddenly tilted his head. "That reminds me… What were you doing in my kitchen?"
The young man sighed. "I was delivering some supplies one of my colleagues accidentally took when you were at the counter. He didn’t realize he had them until later, so I came to drop them off." He paused, then gestured to the men sprawled across the bar. "Didn’t expect to run into… all this."
James nodded, glancing around the wrecked bar. Broken glass littered the floor, bullet holes riddled the walls. His eyes landed on the leader, still clutching his injured hand. "What the hell was all this about, anyway?"
The man winced but managed to growl out, "He stole my girlfriend."
James let out an exasperated sigh. "I didn’t steal your girlfriend, you idiot. She came to me and said you two were already over."
The young man’s eye twitched. "You dragged me into your relationship drama?"
James grinned sheepishly. "My bad. But hey, thanks for the help."
Shaking his head, the young man turned to leave. "I’m done here."
As he reached the door, James called out, "Wait! What’s your name?"
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. A small smirk played on his lips.
"Clyde. Clyde Louie."
And with that, he walked out, disappearing into the night.