Taming Leo's

As I drove slowly through the dimly lit alleyway, the neon lights of the nearby nightclub glimmered in my peripheral vision. It was then that I noticed a group of six men seemingly bullying a lone figure—a man who stood defiantly amidst the intimidation. Despite the threatening postures and exaggerated gestures of his harassers, he remained calm and collected, prompting me to stop my car and observe from a distance, torn between a desire to intervene and the instinct to stay hidden. The contrast of his poise against the backdrop of aggression was striking; he stood confidently, assessing the men surrounding him with an air of command that was palpable. “What do you need from me?” he asked firmly. His voice steady and unwavering, a remarkable contrast to the chaotic energy that crackled in the air around him. “If you need money, I can’t help—I don’t have any.” It was as if he were dismissing their threats as mere fabrications, exhibiting a level of indifference that both amazed and attract me. One of the men stepped forward, a smirk plastered across his face, his eyes glinting with malice. “We need you. We saw you at the nightclub last night.” The man gaze felt unsettlingly hungry, dripping with unwanted attention as he leaned closer. “So what? I’m just a waiter there. What does that have to do with anything? Why’d you stop me?” the man retorted, his voice firm. It was clear he was not intimidated by their presence, although the threat loomed large. “We think you’re delicious. With that perfect pair of buns, you’ll probably make us very happy,” one man leered, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he licked his lips in a freaky display of desire. The others chuckled darkly, drawing closer as if sensing a pack mentality emerging. Annoyed at their crude taunts, the man turned to leave, his back to them and his stance strong. “You idiots, I’m not interested.” But instead of letting him pass, another of the assailants rushed forward, blocking his escape path. “Hey! Did you think you could walk away from us? We’ll have our fun before you go,” he taunted, chest puffed out in a display of false bravado. At that moment, I felt a surge of rush coursing through my veins, compelling me to intervene. I opened my car door, ready to confront the group, when suddenly one of the attacker lunged to the ground, a look of shock on their face. What the hell? How did he move so fast? The others rushed to assist him, but the man who had been the target of their aggression remained agile and focused, single-handedly taking down the five remaining attackers with striking speed and precision. One by one, they fell, their earlier bravado shattered in the face of his surprising skills, until they all lay defeated on the sidewalk. “Don’t you dare touch me, you loser. You’re not even worth my time,” he growled, kicking one of the fallen men as if to assert dominance over the now-quivering group. The scene was surreal—what had started as an act of bullying had turned into an unexpected display of strength and control. Then, as if sensing my presence, he turned his gaze where I had been hidden, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. “You, get out from there. I know you were watching.” My heart raced, a mix of excitement and surprise washing over me. With measured steps, I emerged from my hiding spot, not out of fear but out of pure amazement at the whole situation. Standing tall, I approached him, crossing my arms, and eyeing the defeated men sprawled across the ground. “I didn’t catch how you took them down so quickly, but I’m genuinely impressed.” Even though the details of his movements had eluded my memory, his skill was undeniably captivating, igniting a spark of admiration within me that I hadn't felt in a long time. “Is that so? You aren’t with them, are you?” he asked, still focused on the men lying at his feet. “Of course not. I just stopped to see if you needed help, but clearly, I was mistaken,” I replied honestly, hoping to clarify my intentions. He turned away from me, beginning to walk off and leaving me momentarily deflated. “Wait! I heard you work at the nightclub and might still be a student. Are you looking to earn some extra cash? I have a recommendation for you, if you’re interested,” I called after him, feeling a flicker of desperation to connect. He paused, glancing back at me with clear dislike. “No thanks. If what you’re offering is to satisfy you, find someone else. I’m not interested.” The dismissal stung, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Hold on! You have such great potential. Here, take my business card. Just call me if you’re interested in working together,” I insisted, feeling determined despite his cold rejection. I extended my hand, but when he didn’t reach for the card, I slipped it into his pocket, stepping back quickly to avoid his reaction. I might even be among the men he knocked down. “Call me,” I urged, my voice echoing with eagerness. “My name is Clark Kriston Bentley. Don’t forget it.” After declaring my name, I turned away first, eager to distance myself from the chaos and tension that still lingered in the air. As I made my way back to my car, I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder and giving him a salute, a wide smile playing on my lips. What a strange yet exhilarating twist of fate this had been. Little did I know, this chance encounter would lead to a most unexpected alliance. ..... "Damn it." My anger boiled over as I glanced at my mother, her fragile body marred by bruises, the marks of my stepfather’s brutality. My fists clenched so tightly my bones felt like they were about to splinter, while the tension in my muscles was almost unbearable. “Damn him! I will kill him!” The words exploded from my lips, fueled by a rage I could hardly contain. But then I caught sight of her, my mother, the one person holding me back from the edge of violence. She needed me to stay calm, to talk instead of resorting to primal fury. I don’t know where to hold her anymore. Every time I lay a finger on her, she gasps in pain. “I will kill him,” I repeated, a growl escaping me, my heart racing with the thought of justice ang blurred by anger. “D-don’t, son. I’m begging you. I love your stepfather so much, even though he hurts me like this.” Her voice trembled, worn and weak, as she tried to plead with me. “That’s shameless love, mother. Look at yourself! I don’t even know where to hold you without causing you more pain. Your devotion to him is what will ultimately destroy you,” I retorted, my voice shaking with the fury that coursed through me. The grinding of my teeth was like an unending drum, bringing a deafening silence to my ears. “Son, your stepfather will change too. He wasn’t like this before. He’s just short of money; that’s why he’s always so hot-tempered,” she insisted, trying to find some glimmer of hope in the chaos of our lives. “Short of money? Why does he squander the very money you earn for him? You work tirelessly, sacrificing so much, only for him to cheat you, mother!” My voice rose, unable to mask the distress and anger that ripped through my heart. She remained silent, her stillness a testament to the truth of my words.