It's rare for Yancy to get involved with tossing someone out of the club.
Jimmy is more than capable, being the brick shit house he is. But the manager likes to make special fucking exceptions when it comes to certain former customers. When he hears the commotion outside his door and goes to investigate, his vision tunnels.
Hank and Jimmy are grabbing a guy by each arm, while other people gawk and stare. But Yancy is focused on one of his dancers standing off to the side, being comforted by Merrick with tears in their eyes while they hold their face. He barely hears the words over the music.
The lighting in The Grind is a soft purple, but it might as well be red with the rage that boils inside of him. A kettle ready to blow at any second. Everything else is drown out by the pounding in his ears as he stalks forward, and as soon as Yancy has a fistful of the shitstain's collar, Hank and Jimmy let him go.
He practically drags the guy out... not the front door, but the back. The one that leads out to the alley. The guy struggles, but he might as well be a cockroach in a glue trap. It was futile.
Once the cold night air hits Yancy, he's throwing the guy to the ground. And of course, he's apologizing... fucking useless piece of shit. He cuts off anymore attempts of groveling with a swift kick to his gut, delighting in the pained wheeze it earns him.
As the worm leans forward and tries not to throw up, Yancy uppercuts him, sending him sprawling onto his back on the concrete. Hopefully, he didn't hit his head too hard because he's not nearly done with him.
"You wanna put yer fuckin' hands on my dancers, huh?" The words are a low growl as Yancy traps him on the ground. Grabbing him by the collar, his other massive fist raises before connecting with his face with a sickening smack.
It's the only words he can get out before he continues pummeling his face in. Even after he feels his nose break beneath his fist and sees blood gushing out of split open skin, he doesn't stop. All he can hear is his own grunts of rage and exertion coupled with the worms garbled pleas that quickly turn into agonizing rasps.
"-ance! Boss, hey, he's had enough!"
Hanks hand grabs his shoulder and attempts to pull him back unsuccessfully. The touch, however, does make the crimson tinged haze he was in lift at least a little. His own hands and forearms are covered in blood, and the look on his face must be something else with the way Hank stares at him.
Giving the guy one last shove before standing up, Yancy's chest is still heaving as he takes the towel that Hank offers. "Get this piece of shit outta my sight 'fore I kill 'im," he rasps before heading back inside.
