Before I could even shift my stance to disarm him, a blur of movement burst from the side.
A heavy, brutal fist collided with the leader's jaw with a sickening crack. The guy was out cold before his boots even left the floor, crumpling hard into a nearby clothing rack and taking a dozen shirts down with him. In quick, terrifying succession, Drakon pivoted—his elbow smashing straight into the second guy's nose, sending him sprawling, while a devastating roundhouse kick caught the third man cleanly in the neck, dropping him like a sack of stones.
It was over in three seconds flat. The crash echoed through the quiet store, followed by a sharp gasp from the front desk.
Drakon stood over them, his chest heaving, his dark eyes pitch-black with unadulterated rage. He immediately looked down at
