Chapter 154 Bash his fucking head

Chapter 154 Bash his fucking head
Hayes

I stood up as fast as I could, about to lunge at the idiot standing at the podium.

"Nobody fucking move!" a guard barked, shoving a cold, iron barrel directly against Jax's temple near the bar. Causing me to halt on my tracks.

"Hands on the sand! Heads down, or I'll fucking shoot!"

Within seconds, the entire crowd was forced to their knees, their hands locked behind their heads as guns were held to their skulls. The atmosphere turned suffocating, a hair-trigger death trap.

I knelt in the packed, wet sand right beside Tegan, my hands slowly raising behind my head to mimic compliance. But beneath the fabric of my trousers, every single muscle in my legs was coiled like a spring, adrenaline flooded my system as I stared at the Dean. I want to make him one sorry fuker. To bash his fucking head until I see red. Series of death thoughts flooded my mind.

Everything was perfect fuck, Just twenty minutes ago, It was supposed to be our big day. Our celebration. I thought about how radiant, beautiful, and happy Tegan had looked walking down the shoreline in her white dress.

She had spent weeks planning this layout. She was supposed to find out today if the sky was going to rain pink or blue for our future. It was the milestone we had fought through all manner of shit to reach.

And now, a cowardly bastard had hijacked our airspace, ruined her pavilion, and threatened to massacre my entire family just to make a name for himself. He's fucking sick.

A dark, feral hatred completely consumed my sanity. I didn't care if there were twelve guns in the perimeter. I didn't care if the odds were suicidal. I would rather die tearing this trap apart with my bare hands than sit in the sand and watch a shadow destroy the world I was building for my girl and my child.

"Keep your eyes on the dirt, big guy," the tactical guard behind me barked, the shadow of his heavy boots closing the distance as he stepped into my personal space, the cold metal of his rifle barrel dipping toward the back of my neck.

He didn't know who he was talking to. He thought I was just a wealthy, soft heir like the rest of the crowd. The exact millisecond the metal grazed my hair, I struck.

With the explosive, terrifying speed of a freight train, I launched my 6'4" frame upward from the sand. My elbow snapped backward with absolute, brutal force, the heavy bone shattering directly into the guard’s tactical mask.

The plastic cracked with a sickening crunch, and before he could even register the hit, I violently grabbed the barrel of his submachine gun, twisting his wrist down with leverage until the joint snapped sideways.

He shrieked, dropping the weapon. I snatched the gun out of the air, spun on my heel, and drove the heavy iron butt of the rifle straight into the temple of a secondary guard who was lunging from the left boards. The man dropped like a stone into the surf.

"He's loose! Get him!" the other guards screamed, their tactical earpieces blaring with panic as the perimeter fell into chaos.

They didn't get a chance to reach me. I dropped the rifle, knowing the gunfire would ignite the aerosol, and went full underground enforcer mode. I lunged toward the main catering table that had been overturned in the sand. My hand reached down, my fingers wrapping around a heavy, solid stainless-steel carving fork that had fallen near a serving tray.

A third guard charged me, his combat boots throwing up a wall of wet sand as he swung the butt of his rifle toward my jaw. I ducked beneath his shadow, my long strides silent, and drove the heavy steel fork violently and repeatedly straight down into the top of his combat boot, pinning his foot directly into the wooden deck boards beneath the sand.

The man let out a sharp, piercing shriek of pure, agonizing torment, his knees buckling as he collapsed onto his side, completely immobilized.

I surged forward again, a wall of dominant, terrifying aura, my bare, white-wrapped knuckles driving brutally into the jaw of a fourth operator, sending him crashing over a pile of ruined white canopies.

I was a savage, an untamed beast fighting back with maximum, calculated violence. I was causing massive damage on the line, single-handedly breaking the bottleneck. But the numbers were too high.

"Hold him! Pin his arms!"

Before my fists could connect with a fifth target, three massive tactical guards violently launched themselves over my broad back from the blind spot, their combined physical weight throwing me hard into the wet, packed sand.

I thrashed against them, snarling, my chest expanding violently against the dirt as I tried to lift their weights off my shoulders. Another guard ran up, driving the heavy, iron butt of his rifle hard into the side of my ribs.

The impact cracked against my bones, a white-hot jolt of pain making me gasp, but I didn't stop fighting. I wrenched my left arm free, grabbing the guard by his tactical collar and slamming his face into the sand, until two more operators dove into the slot, physically chaining my wrists behind my back, pinning my broad frame into the shoreline.

I lay there, bleeding from a cut over my eyebrow, my face covered in a spray of black soot and saltwater, completely held down by the crushing mass of six men.