Jim glanced at the woman. “My buddy and I are gonna handle this. Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee and tell those other two girls to hang with you. I’ll give you a shout when the attitude adjustment is finished.”

Her eyes drifted over to Vin. It was clear she didn’t like accepting the help, but she wasn’t stupid. Given the buzz in the college kids’ eyes, there wasn’t just booze fueling them, but some coke or meth, too. Which meant the chances of things going downhill fast were high.

“I’ll call for a bouncer,” she muttered as she opened the locker room door.

“Do me a favor,” Vin said, still vapor-locked on his boy. “Don’t call anyone.”

She shook her head a little and ducked out of the hall.

And that was when the knife appeared in the quiet kid’s hand.

Leaving Vin to deal with the chatty Cathy of the pair, Jim stepped forward and anticipated which direction the lunge with the blade was going to come from. Ah, yes, fidiot with the sharpie was going to cruise in from the right because he was right handed, so it was just a case of waiting—

Jim grabbed the guy in midcharge, snagging his wrist, whipping him around, and applying pressure to the joint until the weapon dropped to the floor. And just as he introduced the bastard’s face to the wall, Vin broke into a fistfight, ducking a wide punch, then coming up with his bare knuckles like a boxer. His impact was a cracking stunner…but the trouble with illicit stimulants was that they carried, in addition to the possibility of felony and addiction, the certainty of anesthetic properties.

So the kid with the ugly, and now bloody, mouth didn’t seem to feel a thing. He slammed a return hook into Vin’s face and it was on. The pair of them went hog wild, turning the hallway into an MMA octagon—and check that shit out: Vin was both the aggressor and the punisher of the pair.

To give him plenty of room for the beat-down he was delivering, Jim dragged his deadweight out of the way, prepared to keep things civil as long as his load of crap kept the trouble and the opinions to a minimum.

Fucker had to open his mouth, though. Just had to: “Why do you give a shit what some whore does? She’s just a heartbeat and a hole, for fuck’s sake.”

Jim’s vision flickered on and off, but he got ahold of himself and glanced up at the ceiling. Sure enough there were pods at regular intervals—which meant this was all being recorded. Then again…he and Vin had been smart enough to let their opponents throw the first punch and take out the weapon, so legally they could argue self-defense.