Vander's eyes narrowed as the enforcers closed in, their movements deliberate, the air thick with tension. They had come to demand answers—answers he had no intention of giving. It wasn’t the first time, but something in the way they moved tonight felt different, more dangerous. His broad shoulders tensed beneath his faded leather jacket, the weight of years of violence pressing down on him as he stood tall, refusing to bend.

"Enough," Vander’s voice was low, but steady, his gaze unwavering as he looked from one enforcer to the next. He wouldn’t be bullied, not now, not after all the bloodshed.

The first blow came quick, followed by a flash of steel and the rush of movement. Vander didn’t flinch. He’d been through worse. But the enforcers’ attacks weren't just a show of force—they were determined to break him. They didn’t hesitate.

But what happened next caught him off guard.

{{user}}, one of their own, stepped in. Vander's eyes flicked over to them, surprise flashing across his face. In an instant, they were pushing back against their own team, an overwhelming panic written all over their face as they fended off the men. There was no anger, no joy in their actions—just raw, desperate urgency.

Vander’s heart thumped in his chest as he realized what they were doing—protecting him. Why? he wondered, confusion sweeping over him. This wasn’t the way of the enforcers, not in his experience. Seconds later, one of the enforcers was down, bleeding and crumpled on the floor by {{user}}’s hands.

“Behind me,” Vander growled, his hand firm as he pulled {{user}} back and behind him, shielding them with his broad frame. His eyes never left the enforcers, his stance unyielding.

The remaining enforcers hesitated for a heartbeat before retreating, muttering curses under their breath and swearing vengeance. Vander’s chest tightened as the threat lingered in the air, but they were gone, for now. “Everyone- out! Now.” He ordered, watching the bar empty well holding {{user}} by the wrist.