CH.87

If it wasn't for the solid wall of heated flesh that Serena’s limbs collided with a split-second later, she probably would've face-planted right into the marbled club floor.

A pair of strong, muscular arms encircled her slender frame, allowing her to regain her balance and steady herself.

Killian was on his feet and moving before his brain even fully processed what was happening.

Every finely-honed instinct he possessed had him tensing in a cold spike of adrenaline, ready for violence as his gaze snapped towards the source of the commotion. However, he forced himself to pause and assess the situation with a calculated detachment, taking in Serena's steadying form and the lack of any immediate threat.

No real danger would come to her as long as he was there watching over her with the focused intensity of a hunting predator.

Serena finally steadied herself. Her chest was heaving slightly as she blinked and tried to get her bearings.

Then her gaze lifted with indignant anger as she sought out the asshole who had so rudely and forcefully shoved her.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Miss Serena Bolting herself!" A jeering voice, sharp and mocking, cut through the loud music a second later.

Serena’s head whipped around at the all too familiar voice, then zeroing in on the sneering face attached to it.

"Have you really sunk so low as to start selling yourself to any ugly man or cheating husband who'll have you now that you've lost your fortune and reputation?" the woman crowed in a singsong tone, each word dripping with venom and undisguised disdain.

She slowly looked Serena up and down in an exaggerated, dismissive sweep.

Serena glared at the woman for a long, drawn-out moment. Her fists clenched unconsciously at her sides, nails biting into her palms hard enough to sting as her temper flared hot.

This was the same person she'd once actually considered to be a friend. Before her was none other than Brittany Montgomery, Alex’ spoiled, entitled younger sister. Of course, she should've known better than to trust or get close to any of those slimy, underhanded Montgomerys.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing that fake, plastic surgery disaster of a face around here after all the shady, vindictive shit you tried to pull," Brittany continued taunting in a shrill, grating tone.

She seemed to be taking a perverse sort of delight in verbally abusing Serena, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.

"Hiring hackers to dig up dirt and leak edited videos, spinning up all those made-up stories to try and paint my brother and his fiancé – your own sister as some kind of monster in the press?" She tsked loudly, shaking her head in a mocking display of disapproval. "It's not going to work you desperate, lying little whore. No one is ever going to believe your trickery and manipulative lies. Not when the whole world knows you're nothing but a cheap, shameless slut who-"

The vicious slur, the blatant character assassination, finally snapped something inside Serena's mind.

She felt a blinding wave of rage wash over her… an incandescent fury burning away any remaining coherent thoughts.

Her body moved on pure instinct and her hand lashed out in a vicious backhand slap that caught Brittany square across her smug, sneering face before the woman could even register the movement.

The flat crack of flesh on flesh seemed to reverberate through the enclosed space like a gunshot, loud enough to cut through even the pounding bass thumping from the speakers.

A shocked hush fell over the nearby crowd. Dozens of bodies freeze in place as they turned to gawk at the unfolding altercation.

Brittany staggered back a step with one hand pressed to her rapidly reddening cheek, crashing into the embrace of the man she was with as she gaped at Serena in utter disbelief.

Her own temper was always so quick to flare. As such, it finally reached the boiling point with that denigrating slap.

She screeched out a furious cry of indignant rage, raising her hand to retaliate in kind. However, the retaliatory slap never landed.

Deafening gasps shattered the heavy bass rumbling through the speakers.

Brittany's expression went blank for the span of a single, stunned heartbeat. Then her eyes rolled back in her head as her body seemed to almost crumple in on itself, folding bonelessly to the floor in an ungainly heap.

"You little whore!" the man accompanying Britney bellowed, his face twisted into an expression of pure, unbridled rage as he watched her lifeless body crumple to the floor.

Thick veins bulged on his forehead, and spittle flew from his lips as he raised his right hand, ready to slap Serena across the face with brutal force. But just as his palm began its vicious arc, a searing pain exploded in his right shoulder.

"Arghh! Son of a bitch!" he howled, clutching the bleeding wound with his left hand. Redd liquid began seeping through his fingers as he whipped his head around, trying to locate the shooter.

Before he could react, another poker of agony impaled his crotch.

"Oh fuck! My dick! My fucking dick!" His voice cracked into a piercing scream, collapsing to the ground with both hands desperately cradling his shattered manhood.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he writhed in unimaginable torment.

His bodyguards were being restrained by a few other men in black. They strained and thrashed, their bulging muscles rippling beneath their shirts as they fought to break free and save their boss's ass. Yet the tactical men had them locked down tight, using brutal submission holds to subdue them.

"Stay the fuck down, dickheads!" one of the guys barked, jamming his knee into the small of a bodyguard's back with crushing force. "Unless you want matching holes in your dicks too." He punctuated the threat by pressing the muzzle of his gun against the back of the man's head.

"Oh god, my balls... My fucking balls! I'm bleeding out! Somebody help me! Call the fucking ambulance!" The wounded man continued writhing on the floor, groaning and whimpering like a wounded animal.

Serena stood frozen in place with widened eyes as she stared down at the unmoving form of Britney and the man shrieking in agony in a state of numb shock.

She couldn't seem to process what had just happened. Her mind was utterly incapable of making sense of the scene playing out before her.

Her gaze slowly tracked across the dance floor until it landed on Killian who was tucking a silent pistol in his pocket before sprinting towards her through the crowd.

He didn't even break stride, just scooped her up protectively with his free arm and hustled her back towards the safety and seclusion of the VIP area.

Hs expression was one of cold, businesslike efficiency.

Killian had no romantic feelings for Serena whatsoever. She was his boss's wife, and he feared Knox far too much to ever cross that line or step out of bounds.

His sole priority was ensuring her safety and wellbeing, no matter what brutal methods were required.

"Wha...what the hell just happened?" Serena finally managed to stammer out once they were away from the chaos.

She was visibly shaken, her slender frame wracked by tremors from the combined aftershocks of fury and adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't tear her widened eyes away from the growing commotion and the prone, unmoving form out on the dance floor.

"Just a little pest control," Killian replied.

There was no hint of flirtation or innuendo in his words, only the same brusque practicality he applied to any other job or task in his line of work. "That mouthy little bitch had it coming for running her toxic trap and showing you that level of disrespect right to your face. Don't you worry that pretty head of yours about it for a second."

With a subtle hand signal, he alerted the club's private security team to immediately handle the situation and clean up the mess before it could escalate any further.

Two massive men in suits moved like a machine, sealing off the area with precision.

Serena's lips parted slightly as she watched the scene unfold, the body being efficiently removed and cleaned up with a disturbing level of routine professionalism.

Soon, any evidence was sanitized and the club was back running just like normal as if nothing had ever happened.

One minute there was chaos and commotion, screams and panicked shoving from the crowd. The next it was like the whole violent incident had been abruptly rewound and erased from existence, covered up before it could cause any lasting stain or disruption to the club's operations.

An uneasy feeling churned in the pit of her stomach as the true weight of just who and what she was dealing with truly sank in for the first time.