Chapter 1216
“Flying solo, gorgeous?”
The man grabbing her was average-looking at best, but radiated the kind of unearned confidence that screamed arrogance.
A classic arrogant jerk.
Claire yanked her hand away, intending to ignore him.
But before she could take two steps, his buddy stepped in to block her path.
Birds of a feather flocked together, and this guy was no better. He was wearing skinny jeans, tacky loafers, and had enough wax in his hair to build a wall.
“Come on, beautiful, have a drink with us.”
The first guy slinked closer. “Let’s be friends. Bumping into each other is fate. We’re good guys.”
“Get out of my way,” Claire snapped, her brow furrowing in disgust.
“Ooh, feisty. I love it,” the greasy-haired guy sneered, emboldened. “Don’t be shy. Let’s get to know each other.”
“I’m not interested,” Claire said, fighting the urge to kick him.
In a crowded, chaotic club, a two-on-one confrontation wasn’t going to end well for her.
“That’s fine, we just want to get to know you,” the first guy insisted, invading her personal space. “I just want to be friends with a stunner like you.”
Desperate to get rid of them, Claire lied, “My husband doesn’t let me hang around shady people.”
“Oh, you’re married?” the greasy guy asked.
Thinking this would finally make them back off, she nodded. “Yes. I’m married. So leave me alone.”
Instead, the greasy guy’s eyes lit up. “Married is even better. I have a thing for married women.”
A wave of pure nausea hit Claire.
Her patience completely evaporated. She snatched the drink from the first guy’s hand and splashed it directly into the greasy guy’s face.
He froze in shock for a second before his face twisted in humiliated rage. “You ungrateful bitch! I’m doing you a favor by giving you the time of day!”
The first guy lunged forward, boxing her in.
The bass dropped, the music grew louder, and the strobe lights flashed in blinding, erratic bursts.
The writhing bodies on the dance floor created the perfect cover for the men’s disgusting behavior.
Grabbed by both arms, Claire was forcefully dragged toward a secluded back hallway.
“Let go! Let go of me!” Claire screamed, fighting wildly and looking for help.
But her voice was entirely swallowed by the deafening club music.
These two had clearly done this before; they moved with practiced efficiency.
Panic and despair clawed at Claire’s chest.
She reached out desperately, trying to grab anyone passing by.
The greasy guy noticed, snarling as he clamped down harder on her wrist, his grip bruising.
Just as they were about to drag her into an empty room, a hand shot out from the shadows.
It clamped down on the greasy guy’s wrist with terrifying precision.
There was no violent twisting or shouting—just a smooth, upward wrenching motion.
The greasy guy shrieked in agony, instantly releasing Claire.
“She told you to let go.”
The voice wasn’t loud. It carried a lazy, almost sleepy drawl, but the tone was absolute ice.
Claire looked up and gasped. It was Wilbur.
He was wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves casually rolled up to reveal the lean, powerful muscles of his forearms.
His other hand was tucked casually into his pocket, looking as though he had simply
stumbled upon the scene while out for a stroll.
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The first guy hesitated, but seeing that Wilbur was alone, his liquid courage flared Who the hell. you? Mind your own business!”
Before the sentence was even finished, Wilbur let go of the greasy guy.
Without so much as shifting his upper body, he smoothly pivoted his right foot forward and dropped his shoulder.
In one brutal, seamless motion, he
flipped the arrogant guy around, pinned his arms behindffs back
and slammed him face-first into the wall.
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He moved so fast that the bystanders couldn’t even process what had happened.
“Try moving again,” Wilbur murmured, tilting his head. There was a dangerous hint of a smile in his voice.
The man’s face turned purple as he
thrashed for a second, but the
excruciating pain radiating
twisted shoulder instanted tum into submission.
his