The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

As Daniel's attention shifted, acutely aware of the inevitably violent climax, the pulsating music still echoed throughout the bar, but the hustle and bustle had fallen into an eerie silence as everyone, including the leather-clad, bearded bikers, had stopped to witness the brewing conflict and predictable bloodshed.

My heart leapt to my throat.

The oppressive atmosphere in the bar was a stark harbinger of the inevitable brawl. Daniel's escalating provocations threatened to spark a volatile clash, making me feel like I was on the precipice of disaster.

My desperate pleas to de-escalate the situation fell on death ears, and the moment on conflagration arrived with terrifying swiftness.

In a sudden surge of movement, Drew lunged at Daniel, and the scene erupted in a chaotic blur. With a single, devastating punch, he jawed my husband, sending him sprawling across a bottle-laden table. He tumbled overboard, landing on the ground in a disjointed heap.

To my dismay, Drew was far from finished. He did not give Daniel the chance to get to his feet, to ask him to reconsider his actions. He speared my husband across the floor, the two rolling around like weightless objects, and delivered punches to his defenceless body with the force of a hammer.

Caught of guard by Drew's ferocity, Daniel writhed on the floor, his once immaculate suit soiled with alcohol and shards of glass. With a newfound surge of strength, he recovered his wits and rolled out from under Drew's relentless assault, his eyes blazing with primal fury. He scrambled to his feet, his unsteady movements now fuelled by an almost maniacal determination to defend himself and salvage his dignity.

As the bar erupted into a chaotic melee, a chorus of terrified shrieks pierced the air, echoing through the room like a flock of startled seagulls.

The customers, predominantly female, scattered in all directions, trying to escape the fist-fight and the violence, whereas the leathered individuals at the back, primarily men, either watched with a morbid fascination or turned a blind eye, allowing the two of them to continue the brutal exchange without intervention.

"Drew!" My feet slipped on the beer-stained floor as I futilely tried to break them apart. "Please, do not do this! It's not worth it!"

Daniel staggered into a gambling machine when Drew shoved him in the chest, a stream of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He belted out a guttural roar and launched himself at Drew like a rugby player in full flight, their combined momentum propelling them through the crowd and knocking people over like they were nothing but bowling pins.

Equally enraged, Drew met Daniel's charge with a fierceness that matched his own. The two men grappled and thrashed, their fists flying through the air, their bodies crashing through the bar like a pair of rampaging bulls.

People dispersed, leaving a trail of overturned chairs and toppled glasses in their wake. The only sound was the grunts and groans of the intractable men as they tore into each other, their battle of wills spilling out into a messy and brutal show of primal rage.

Mac's Bar exploded into a maelstrom of devastation, the rock music morphing into a discordant backdrop to the frenzied melee.

Drunken bikers, their inhibitions ruined by excessive alcohol consumption, plunged into an animalistic frenzy, exchanging blows with unbridled ferocity, punctuated by the shrill of fragmented glass and splintering wood.

Pint glasses and beer bottles sailed through the air like deadly missiles, splattering against the walls and the faces of unsuspecting bystanders.

Snooker cues, wrenched from their rightful place on the table, became makeshift weapons, striking fear into the hearts of those who double-crossed them.