Quade saw their hesitation and sneered. "What are you scared of? One of them's a useless heiress with no mother and a father who doesn't care. The other? A castoff thrown out by her family. Sleep with them tonight—no one would even blink." He deliberately raked his gaze over the two women. "All they've got are looks. Who knows how filthy they are behind closed doors? And that one in the red dress—bet you didn't know—she's crazy—" Crack— Before he could finish, a beer bottle smashed against his skull, cutting short the hand he was reaching toward Whitney. Blood and beer streamed down his face. Through the sticky mess, Quade caught Claudia's bright, wicked smile. "Since you know I'm crazy, then you should also know—crazy people don't get punished for killing, right ~" Her grin was wide, dazzling, almost childlike—but it sent chills down everyone's spine. Screams erupted. "She's killing him!" Chaos erupted in the bar. Guests scattered, knocking over chairs and spilling drinks. The commotion finally drew the bar owner from the second floor. He frowned and started to head down, only to be stopped by a man holding a phone high, recording. "Hey, don't. This is just getting good," David said gleefully. "Tell your guys not to interfere either." At first, David had considered stepping in. He hadn't expected the girl to be this ferocious. Looked like what Sterling was raising wasn’t a delicate rose—she was more like a chili pepper. David clicked his tongue in amusement. Since his own people weren't getting hit, he was happy to watch. The bar owner peered down at the panicked crowd, grimacing. Great. … Downstairs, the tide had turned. Claudia had struck at the source, smashing Quade over the head with a bottle. Two others, still smarting from previous blows, faltered. Who dared go toe-to-toe with the woman who had just brained Mr. Zimmer? Quade lay on the floor, his life—or at least his pride—uncertain. The others, thinking of the Zimmer family's wrath, bitterly regretted showing up tonight. What they thought would be an easy mark turned out to be a live wire. A few of the more cautious ones tried to slip away. Claudia blocked their path, eyes sharp, smile arched with dangerous charm. "What's this? Weren't we drinking? Where are you going?" The fat one, still wiping liquor from his face, squinted. "You dare lay hands on Mr. Zimmer—you'll pay for this later." Claudia tapped the jagged rim of the broken bottle in her hand. The glinting shards made everyone flinch. The fat man recoiled, terrified she'd drive it into his skull. "We'll worry about that later," she said lightly. "For now, let's settle tonight's tab." Whitney, perfectly in sync, stepped forward. "Gentlemen, after you." A tall, skinny man in glasses, pride already bruised, snarled, "They're just women! What are you afraid of? Take them together!" Their eyes flicked between Claudia and Whitney. True, the men were bigger, stronger. Surely two girls couldn't stop them?But instincts were often right. Five minutes later, the would-be toughs were sprawled across the floor, groaning. Who would've guessed that beneath those delicate looks, the two women were trained fighters? No wonder they'd been fearless from the start. Under the eyes of the two female reapers, the beaten men limped back to the booth, lined up like chastened quail, downing glass after glass. The drinks? Quade's choice. They were supposed to be for the two women—hard liquor, no mercy. It didn't take long. These pampered scions, already weakened by indulgence, flushed and gasping, began tipping over in their seats. Whitney still wasn't satisfied. She crooked a finger at the bar owner, who had finally appeared. "Boss! Another round. Double it!" Then she pointed at the still-unconscious Quade. "Put it on Mr. Zimmer's tab." Claudia, casually stacking empty glasses, added, "Mr. Zimmer is generous. Make sure to include the damages tonight." "Got it. Coming right up," the bar owner said cheerfully, unusually eager. He knew exactly whose shadow backed these women and felt no guilt ignoring the VIP lying limp on the floor. The young heirs, already struggling, nearly whimpered. "Please, mercy! We can't drink anymore!" Every one of them was hurt, and who could understand the kind of pain that comes from downing hard liquor while you're already wounded? Whitney's smile was icy. Given how good they were at knocking back drinks, she wasn’t going to let them off easy — their stomachs were going to pay."Shut up! Drink!" Claudia, nursing her own cocktail, strolled lazily over to Quade, still in a filthy heap. She pointed casually at the fat man and the one in glasses. "You two—pick him up and put him on the couch."