The first one reached out to grab me. I wanted to kill them -- kill somebody -- so badly I could taste it, but I couldn’t afford the luxury. Not yet. I broke his arm and smashed his knee, putting him down with a gratifying scream. The second guy I just tossed over the bar into the wall, hard. He slid down and didn’t move. I slapped Ramon’s knife out of his hand and bent him backwards over the bar, fist bunched in his shirt, my now-broken beer bottle pressed into his cheek. “The bartender touches that gun, you lose the fuckin’ eye, kay? You choose.”