Rhapsody

12: undone

Maverick tears away from his barstool before he even knows what he's doing. The men crowd around Jonah's body, teeth gnashing. He vaguely hears Cassie urging them to calm down, but people don't calm down in situations like these.

"C'mere, fucker. Didn't anyone train you? Sit and stay, you motherfu—"

"NYPD! Step the fuck away," Maverick shouts, coming to a stand still beside Cassie.

"Maverick," she warns, but he shakes his head.

The men recede, revealing the figure on the ground. It's Jonah all right, tucked into the fetal position, hands covering a blood soaked face.

"Get the fuck away, or you end up like him," one of the men says.

Beneath the pale glow of the bar lights, his bared teeth are too yellow. A silver rod glints in the man's hand. Fear pricks at Maverick's mind.

"I said get the fuck away," Yellow Teeth says, stepping forward and pointing his silver rod at Maverick.

He clenches his jaw. In the low light, he can see the slight rise and fall of Jonah's chest.

"You get the fuck away," Maverick orders, teeth grinding against teeth.

Cassie stiffens beside him. She has one pair of handcuffs, Maverick knows. This is a losing battle.

Yellow Teeth's friend comes to stand beside him. 

"This is your last warning," Maverick says. "Step away."

"Or what?" Yellow Teeth laughs, cold and mirthless.

Maverick lunges.

The attack sends the man careening backwards. Maverick lands a few hooks across his startled face before the element of surprise wears off. For all his effort, Maverick wasn't able to wrench the silver rod free from Yellow Teeth's grip. The man swings with everything he's got. When the rod connects with Maverick's shoulder, pain explodes through his system.

The hit knocks him to the ground, and his tongue tastes copper. Grime and shattered glass scratch his palms. Eyes watering, he struggles to his feet. Cassie has already thrown herself into the fray beside him. She's grappling with the other man and holding her own, but the expression on her face says she won't be able to keep it up for much longer.

Yellow Teeth comes after him again. Allowing his training to kick in, Maverick side-steps him and knees him in the groin. When the man doubles over in pain, he uses the momentum to crack his head over a nearby table. It's not enough to knock him out; Maverick's too tipsy to muster that kind of strength. But it does relax the goon's grip on his silver rod, allowing Maverick to pluck it from him like candy from a baby.

One down, one to go.

A brief flicker of movement is the only warning he gets. Desperate, Maverick swings his rod around, just barely parring a blow from Yellow Teeth that would have knocked him out cold.

He twists, hoping the movement will grant him opportunity for a clean swing at the man, but all it does is ignite a pain in his shoulder that brings him to his knees. Yellow Teeth swings his fist immediately. Maverick tries to dodge, but there is alcohol in his system, and his movements lag no matter how desperate he becomes. The only thing he can do to combat the blow is lift a sluggish arm.

Agony shoots through him. His arm burns with the pain and his lungs burn with the cold air, and he knows he doesn't have much left in him.

Yellow Teeth circles him, cackling. He kicks the silver rod away. It clatters on the wooden bar floors. Pain shoots through Maverick and he stumbles, dropping to his elbows on the cold floor. Shit. Cassie, Cassie—where's Cassie?