“Oi. How many times does she have to tell ye’, but she’s not interested,” growled Richard, his eyes darkened with protective rage all the while his hand gripped the other man’s shoulder.
“And who the fuck are you?”
Richard didn’t even grace the man’s question with an answer. Instead, his fist came flying at the other man’s nose, causing the drunken bastard to buckle onto the ground. The Scotsman didn’t even wait for the prick to stand back up. He didn’t have the time nor did he care. Get Bev somewhere safe. That’s all that mattered. Without another word, he took the woman’s hand before leading her out of the pub.
It was only when the two were far away as possible from the bar, that Richard turned towards Bev, sincere concern glistening in his blue eyes. “Are ye’ a’righ’?” he finally asked, deep lines settling along his forehead. “Did he-.... Are ye’ hurt?”