Rescued

The dangerously affable voice brought Garold out of his shock, pointing his gun up at Roscrow’s face. “Fuck off, Q’Hu. This is our bounty!”

Peering down the barrel, Roscrow raised a brow and sounded convincingly impressed. “Oh, saipaki, that is a very nice gun. Custom made. I’d hate destroying such exquisite craftsmanship. Would be a waste–” Garold stiffened under the predatory focus though he could only see himself in those abyssal eyes– “unlike your face.”

Cocking his gun, the others pulled their weapons. “I said fuck off, Q’Hu, before this exquisite craftsmanship puts some holes in your face.”

Glancing among them, Roscrow sighed unconcerned and shook his head. “Just plain rude, negotiating with weapons. But, I wouldn’t expect bounty hunters to have manners.”

“I’m giving you 5 seconds to walk out of here, arse. I’m not playing games.”

Roscrow grinned inhumanly again, his eyes shining, making the men squirm. “Games? Oh, saipaki, I love games!” He clapped his hands loudly up by his chest, making the men startle a little. “Let’s play ‘shoot the Q’Hu!’ It’s plenty fun!”

“Fine!”

The thunderous racket of the guns going off made S’re cringe against the bar, ears ringing with the sound. Opening her eyes when there was an equally deafening silence, she blinked in surprise. Roscrow smirked with a casual smugness behind a shimmering translucent wall produced by a thick band on his wrist. Bullets hung suspended in the light of the shield, smoking and spinning as their momentum dissipated.

“I’ve got a bag of tricks deeper than my dick can reach down your throat, saipaki. Keep standing there with your mouth hanging open, and I’ll be showing you how deep that can be.”

Holstering his gun, Garold pulled out the large knife from the sheath on his thigh, the others following suit. “This bounty’s worth it, grusik.”

Lowering his arm, the bullets clattered harmlessly to the floor as the shield disappeared. “I think so, too. Now, test your mettle, saipaka. I know you want to,” he taunted in a seductive purr.

The men quickly spread out, trying to surround him. Standing tall in the middle, he sighed again with boredom, rolling his eyes. “This old routine? Like a pack of Rattlers.”

At the first swing to his back, Roscrow nonchalantly stepped aside and picked the large man up by his clothes with the kind of effort a child picks up a toy. Stepping again, he snagged the next man by the arm. With another easy dodge from the one in front of him, he flicked his wrist and sent the two men colliding and tumbling towards the door with cries of surprise and pain. Still holding the man who had dared to be the first squirming and trying to get out of his tightened shirt, Roscrow grabbed the arm that swiped at his side and slammed the two men together with enough force to hear bones connect before tossing them like broken dolls into a groaning mess with the others.

As his back was turned, Garold pulled his gun and took aim, not expecting that S’re would hook her foot around his ankle and take it out from under him. With a yell, his bullet shot off into a wall.

Head snapping up to it with brows furrowed, Roscrow turned and smirked at the sight of Garold on a knee before him.

“Perfect,” he purred wickedly before his face returned to all due seriousness, motioning with both hands. “Now get up and come at me like a real man.”

Furious, Garold stood and glared back at S’re and for a second, she forgot not to meet his eyes. Frozen up, she felt every hair stand on her body again as the scene began to pull her in.

The contact was broken suddenly when Roscrow’s hand wrapped completely around Garold’s neck and lifted him into the air with hardly an effort. Shocked, the man kicked and tried to grab at the powerful fingers that held him like a steel trap from behind.

“I was going to give you that chance to fight like a man,” Roscrow admitted dangerously as he turned Garold to face his partners, “but I feel it when she looks into that ring and, well, a real man just wouldn’t need one.”

Reaching out quickly, Roscrow gripped the finger with the ring and bent it back, relishing in the bone and tendons popping for a slow second before snapping it off the hand entirely. As Garold screamed hoarsely and grabbed his hand, spraying blood on his comrades, Roscrow tossed him like a rag at them. Dropping the finger with the ring, he crushed both under his heel with a shattering crunch and squelch that made him smirk with satisfaction before glaring down at the bounty hunters.

“Now, I suggest you grusik fuck off real quick. I’ve got someone behind me, and he’s not as nice as I am.”

Perking, his head snapped around when he heard the employee door swing open and shut, then over where S’re had been, now only the zip tie she had cut with a dropped knife left there. No one would have noticed, but his eyes could not have rolled up any further with a growl of aggravation. “Damn it, woman! This is well past tiresome.”

Overwhelmed with the desire for revenge, Garold must not have realized just how far Roscrow’s reach could go, his anger changing to shock when he found his very nice gun bent asunder in the Guardian’s immense hand. Glaring at him, Roscrow wagged his other finger back and forth, shaking his head. “Custom gun. A concealed seventh bullet. Just couldn’t be a real man to save your life.”