Mr. Cruz had hardly finished his sentence when a very stormy-faced Brendan threw a punch at Mr. Cruz’s nose.

The older man wailed and collapsed on the floor as blood sprayed from his broken nose.

That was only the beginning. Brendan’s face had twisted into a vein-popping, nightmarish glower. He grabbed Mr. Cruz by his collar and dished out more punishment square on his face. Every hit was rock solid, and even as blood was spraying, there was no sign of Brendan lessening his force.

It happened so quickly that the crowd was too startled to say anything or pull him away. They just gawked at him, though one of them managed to be aware enough to cry out, “What are you doing, Brighthall? That’s Mr. Cruz right there! You’re going to need his favors, right!?”

“Since when have I ever needed any f*cking favor from a sh*thead!?” Brendan thundered, his eyes dangerously red. His gaze was so sharp it was like the service end of a dagger, and the man promptly shut himself up, pale.

Brendan gav