Page 212 of The Bittersweet Bond

The tattooed guy yanked Leah even closer, her face twisting in pain.

"I said, let her go," Bas repeated, louder this time, his gaze locked onto the guy. The darkness in him stirred again, heat surging from his chest to his hands.

"And what if I don’t?" The guy let out a rough chuckle, but before he could say another word, Bas lunged.

The guy grinned, opened his mouth—but Bas didn’t give him the chance.

His fist connected with the guy’s cheekbone, hard. For a moment, everything froze. Leah stumbled to the side, breaking free from his grip. Shit. This had been a bad idea from the start.

Though the guy recovered quickly, he crashed into a group of nearby guests.

And then the whole scene exploded.

"You little bastard!"

He charged at Bas, and the crowd reacted instantly. Some girls screamed, others shoved forward to get a better view, while others instinctively backed away. But the tight space made every movement chaotic.

The guy’s punch landed hard against Bas’s right eye. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but instead of slowing him down, it made him feel more awake. Bas grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back with full force.

The guy crashed into another guest, who immediately started yelling, "Dude, what the fuck?!"

Suddenly, Leah’s boyfriend wasn’t just focused on Bas anymore—he had pissed off the wrong person.

"Bas, watch out!" Alexander’s voice cut through the music just before he jumped into the chaos himself.

One of the guy’s friends had rushed toward Bas, but Alexander got to him first. His fist slammed into the guy’s chest, and things spiraled further out of control.

People were getting shoved, drinks were spilling, and suddenly, the entire dance floor was moving. The pulsing bass was like an invisible fuel, feeding the rage spreading through the room.

I should stop. I should stop.

Next to him, Alexander shouted, "Bro, we gotta get out of here! Now!" But Bas could barely think, let alone stop.

Then he felt a firm grip on his arm.

"Bas!"

Alexander yanked him back, nearly pulling him off his feet.

Bas stumbled, gasping, as the world around him grew louder and brighter. They fought their way through the crowd, which was now more of a frantic mob than a party. Only now did Bas fully realize the extent of the fight he had started. The pain in his knuckles yanked him back to reality, but the fire inside him refused to die down.

Evin's face flickered through his mind like a warning, and for a split second, he felt the weight of his actions crashing down on him. Nausea crept up his throat.

"There!" Alexander shouted, pointing to a side door that stood slightly open.

They ran, stumbling through the exit, straight into the cold night.

The air hit Bas like a slap—sharp, crisp, filled with the distant sound of sirens. He doubled over, hands on his knees, his heart slamming against his ribs.

Alexander grinned, clapping him on the back.

"That was insane. You’re completely fucking crazy, man."

Bas didn’t respond. His hands trembled, and his chest rose and fell sharply. But deep down, something unsettled him: he had felt alive. Too alive. The tension in his chest grew, as if a steel knot had formed there, tightening with each passing moment.

The metallic taste in my mouth, the shouts of the other guests, the pounding in my knuckles—it was all still there. What the hell is wrong with me?

“This city isn’t for me,” he muttered under his breath.

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