Scott's eyes darkened as he straightened up, his burly frame blocking part of the alley. His lips curled into a sneer, the alcohol clearly fuelling his bravado. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he barked, stepping forward. "You don't tell me what to say in my pub. Especially not about a—"
Kyle cut him off with a quick, sharp shove to the chest. The force made Scott stumble back a step, knocking him off balance. He didn't fall though as he managed to steady himself despite his drunken state.
"Don't," Kyle said, his voice dangerously low, "don't even think about finishing that sentence."
Craig, Johnny, and Dean flanked Kyle, their presence sending a clear message that this wasn't going to be a friendly chat. Scott looked ready to explode, but Jacob, always the skinnier, quicker one to assess danger, glanced nervously between them.
