7. Dirty Strike On The Face

Chapter Seven

Declan pushed his way through the crowd, his face flushed with fury. Stella stood still, her expression a mix of defiance and fear as Jacob's words hung in the air.

"How dare you speak to my wife like that!" Declan shouted, stepping forward to shield Stella.

Jacob sneered. "It's none of your business. I'm talking to Denver and Stella."

Declan's hands clenched into fists. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm the storm inside him. If he lost control now, he might do something regrettable.

When Declan reopened his eyes, Jacob was reaching out to touch Stella’s arm. Rage surged through Declan again.

“How dare you touch my wife! Don’t make me warn you again, or you’ll be waking up in the hospital!” Declan’s voice was a low growl, barely controlled.

The club had gone quiet. Everyone was watching, murmuring to each other about what might happen next.

Jacob, unphased and arrogant, raised his hand, aiming to slap Declan across the face. His smirk suggested he enjoyed this, feeling cool and in control.

But just as his hand moved through the air, a hand shot out, grabbing Jacob's wrist tightly. The slap was stopped mid-air.

Declan stood confidently, his eyes locked on Jacob’s, ready for whatever came next.

Jacob’s face twisted with anger as his arm was caught in mid-air. He spun around, ready to lash out at whoever dared to intervene. His eyes widened in shock when he realised it was his uncle, the owner of the club, who had stopped him.

"Uncle," Jacob stammered, his voice a mix of confusion and fear.

“He—He tried to embarrass me. Let me teach him a lesson..." He tried to justify his actions, his face flushed with the need to prove himself.

His uncle cut him off sharply, not interested in his excuses. "Enough, Jacob," he said sternly, his voice carrying through the now silent club.

The uncle turned away from Jacob and approached Declan with an extended hand, his demeanour changing entirely.

"Mr. Declan, I apologise for my nephew's behaviour tonight. It's not reflective of our values here," he said, his voice filled with respect.

Declan took his hand, nodding slightly, his posture relaxed but his eyes still wary.

The uncle then turned back to Jacob, his expression stern. "You will apologise to Mr. Declan and his wife immediately. We do not condone such disrespect in my establishment."

Jacob’s mouth opened and closed, his usual confidence drained away. He looked around, seeing the expectant faces of the club-goers, his own friends, and other patrons who murmured among themselves.

Reluctantly, Jacob faced Declan and Stella. "I—I apologise," he muttered, not meeting their eyes. It was clear he was humiliated, forced to back down in front of the crowd.

Declan nodded, accepting Jacob's apology, but his expression showed he wasn't fully convinced. As the uncle turned to talk to another guest, ensuring the situation was under control, Jacob leaned closer to Declan.

"This isn't my fault," Jacob whispered harshly, his voice tinged with bitterness.

"Why should I be embarrassed? It's Stella's fault for dressing like that—so seductive like some stripper..."

Declan's eyes narrowed as he listened to Jacob try to shift the blame onto Stella. The atmosphere around them tensed again; the murmurs in the crowd grew louder, picking up on the new conflict brewing.

Declan's patience snapped. He didn't wait for Jacob to finish his sentence. His hand moved quickly, striking Jacob across the face with a sharp slap. The sound echoed through the club, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd.

Jacob stumbled back, his hand flying to his cheek, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He looked around, his gaze landing on his uncle, who had turned back at the sound of the slap.

The uncle's face was filled with disbelief and disappointment as he witnessed his nephew's humiliation.

“Uncle, you need to do something about this animal!” Jacob shouted in pain while holding his cheek which looked red.