The Tyrant Billionaire

Chapter 11: Conflict

??The Bunny Lounge

The Bunny Lounge was alive with energy. Patrons filled every corner, their laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses. On a small stage at the center of the room, a blonde woman in a glittering bikini and a tiny, round hat danced to the pulsating rhythm, her legs kicking high, captivating the crowd with every move.

On the dance floor, a throng of men and women swayed together, caught up in the joyous atmosphere. It was 10 PM, the nightclub's busiest hour, and the place was buzzing.

As the song ended, the audience paused for a moment to catch their breath. The spotlight shifted, and Marissa, draped in a sleek white evening gown, glided onto the stage. Her presence commanded attention, her stunning figure instantly drawing the eyes of every man in the room.

With a charming smile, Marissa addressed the crowd. "At the request of Mr. Wysland, I will perform a special song for everyone."

Her eyes sparkled as they locked onto a handsome man in the audience, Mr. Wysland himself. The crowd followed her gaze, turning toward him. Aware of the attention, Mr. Wysland gave a polite nod, his demeanor composed and gentlemanly.

A round of applause erupted, and the pianist began to play. Marissa's voice, soft and haunting, filled the room with a classic ballad, tinged with a touch of sadness. The audience was spellbound, captivated by her performance.

Hardy watched from his seat, impressed. He hadn't expected Marissa to be not only strikingly beautiful and socially adept but also a talented singer.

When the song concluded, the crowd erupted in applause. The atmosphere shifted again as the music picked up, becoming more upbeat. The guests, holding their drinks high, danced energetically, some even jumping onto tables in celebration.

Marissa stepped down from the stage and made her way toward Mr. Wysland's table. Before she could reach him, a towering man, easily over six feet tall, blocked her path. Despite her own height, Marissa seemed almost petite standing before him.

"Miss Marissa," the giant of a man said with a grin, "care to share a dance with me?"

Marissa glanced at Mr. Wysland, who was watching from a short distance away, and politely declined. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have a friend waiting for me over there."

She had encountered similar situations before. Usually, a polite refusal was enough, but this time was different. The man's smile vanished, and his expression turned dark. He reached out and grabbed her waist firmly.

"I don't like being turned down," he growled.

Marissa stiffened, but she remained composed. "Sir, please let go. We don't know each other," she said calmly.

The man laughed. "Just one dance, it won't take long," he insisted, trying to pull her toward the dance floor.

Mr. Wysland, noticing the altercation, turned to his companions. "What's happening with Marissa?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. He glanced at the burly man.

Mr. Wysland, a well-dressed man in his thirties, looked every bit the refined gentleman with his tailored suit and expensive watch. Seeing Marissa in trouble, he felt a surge of protectiveness. This was his chance to impress her, to be the hero.

"Step aside!" he commanded.

The large man glared at Wysland with a menacing look. Wysland hesitated, swallowing hard, then took a step back. He was not the fighting type, more accustomed to negotiating deals than brawling.

The burly man sneered. "A pretty boy with no guts. Typical."

Two security guards from the club noticed the commotion and hurried over. "Hey! Let go of Miss Marissa," one of them shouted.

The big man smirked. "I suggest you mind your own business," he warned.

The security guards were undeterred. "I think you're the one causing trouble here," one said, reaching for the man's arm to free Marissa.

The giant's face twisted in anger. He clenched his fist and swung it hard at the security guard.

"Thud!"

The punch landed squarely, sending the guard sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

Marissa screamed as panic spread among the guests. Hardy, along with his friends Sean and Reid, saw the disturbance and quickly moved toward it.

As they neared, Reid, a broad-shouldered man, pointed at the aggressor. "Hey, jerk! Let go of Marissa and get out before things get ugly."

Before he could finish, four or five men rose from a nearby table and stood behind the big man.

Hardy's instincts kicked in. This wasn't a random altercation; these men were here to stir up trouble.

The burly man grinned. "Name's Big Ivan," he declared. "I came here for Marissa, and I don't plan on leaving without her."

Reid, always quick to act, threw a punch. Another man stepped in, meeting Reid's blow with one of his own. The two grappled, knocking over tables and chairs, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the chaos.

Guests screamed and scrambled for safety as the fight escalated. Big Ivan laughed loudly. "Come on, boys! Let's show them who's boss!"

Several of his men lunged forward. Sean ducked back, dodging a punch, while three others surrounded Hardy.

Hardy moved swiftly, sidestepping their attacks. He struck the first man hard in the face, sending him sprawling. Without pausing, he delivered a sharp uppercut to the second, a sickening crack echoing as the man's jaw broke.

The third man managed to land a punch, but Hardy absorbed it, countering with a powerful blow to the side of the man's head, knocking him out cold.

Within moments, Hardy had incapacitated three men. He then turned and kicked the man attacking Sean, sending him stumbling. Seizing the moment, Sean grabbed a nearby stool and brought it down hard on the man's head, drawing blood.

Reid, still wrestling with his opponent, saw Sean's move and took advantage, landing a final, crushing punch that knocked his man out.

Big Ivan, realizing the tables had turned, reached for something at his waist. Just as his hand closed around a gun, he felt the cold steel of a barrel pressed against his temple.

"Don't move," Hardy ordered, his voice calm but firm.

Big Ivan froze. He knew better than to test his luck. He hadn't planned on actually shooting anyone; this was supposed to be a simple shake-up, not a bloodbath.

Hardy, skilled in quick-draw shooting, had his gun ready in a fraction of a second. "Let her go," he demanded, his gaze cold and unwavering.

Seeing the deadly resolve in Hardy's eyes, Big Ivan knew he was serious. He reluctantly released Marissa.

Hardy pulled Marissa behind him, keeping his gun trained on Ivan. She looked at him, a mixture of gratitude and surprise in her eyes.

Big Ivan felt humiliated, his plan falling apart. "You won't shoot me in front of all these people," he bluffed. "Men settle things with their fists, not guns. Fight me fair and square!"

Hardy remained calm. "Hand over the gun," he said.

Ivan hesitated but eventually complied, handing his pistol to Hardy. It was a Soviet TT-33, known for its reliability and low cost.

Hardy took the gun and turned to Marissa. "Hold onto this for me."

She nodded, taking the weapon without a word.

"Alright, Ivan," Hardy said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's finish this the old-fashioned way."