Stunned by the sudden vise that had captured his wrist, Bull jerked his head around to confront the person who had dared to interfere.
With a little half smile on his face, Jordan spoke in low, even tones. “The man wants to sit in that place. It’s best to just leave him be and go sit somewhere else.”
Bull couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He tried to pull his wrist free, but Jordan’s grip was unyielding. He spun around to confront Jordan, at the same time taking a wild swing with his free hand. It was intended for Jordan’s nose, but Jordan anticipated it and easily ducked under. Before Bull could recover from his wide miss, Jordan hammered away at the bigger man’s gut with a series of lefts and rights, doubling him over in an effort to protect his midsection. Striking with the speed of a rattlesnake, Jordan delivered to Bull’s face a half dozen telling blows, which flattened his nose and left him staggering blindly backward, swinging his fists awkwardly, but finding nothing but air.
His rage tempered only slightly by the utter feeling of frustration, Bull hesitated a moment. His eyes gazed in disbelief as he peered out from under bloody brows. The eyes that returned his gaze were steady and cold. . . .