The moment the fat man's hand flashed from inside his jacket, the metallic gleam of a gun caught the light. His meaty fingers squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The sound split the silence, bottles rattling on the shelves. But Leo had already moved.
His stool tipped back just enough for the bullet to whistle past his chest, shattering the liquor bottles lined along the wall. Whiskey poured like blood, dripping onto the counter. The fat man blinked in shock. How fast? He hadn't even seen Leo move.
Leo's hand closed around the man's wrist before the second shot could fire. With brutal strength, he twisted it back, the bones popping. The gun clattered to the floor, and the man howled.
Leo stood tall and broad, his white shirt stretched across his chest, his muscles tense like a predator ready to strike. His stormy gray eyes burned with lethal cold.
"You dare," he said softly, his voice deep, velvet and deadly at the same time, "to point a gun at me?"
