Infinite Rebate: I Get Richer Every Time I Spend

The leader hit the floor hard, shoulder first. A rough grunt tore out of him as the impact knocked the air clean from his lungs. For half a second the entire lounge seemed to freeze around the sound.

Glass cracked under someone’s boot near the bar. Behind the counter, one of the staff members was still pressed flat against the wall, breathing too fast, too scared to run and too scared to move.

Then the hesitation broke.

"What the fuck get that bastard!"

The shout ripped through the room. Four of the remaining men pushed off from their positions near the entrance and charged, boots hammering against the tile.

Only one stayed behind, fist locked around Gracie’s arm. She twisted hard against the grip, but the man’s attention was already split between holding her and watching what was about to happen to the rest of his crew.

They came at Lucas from two sides.

He didn’t rush to meet them. He watched the distance close, reading the shift of weight in their shoulders, the angle of their elbows, the moment each one committed to the strike before the blade even moved.

The first knife came in low, a fast gut thrust meant to end it quickly. Lucas turned his hip just enough for the steel to cut empty air, close enough that the wind of it brushed his shirt.

The second man was already swinging from the opposite side, trying to punish the opening.

Lucas dropped his elbow into the path of the strike and caught the forearm dead-on. Bone met bone with a sharp, ugly jolt. The knife spun out of suddenly numb fingers and skittered under a fallen chair.

He didn’t give the man time to recover.

Using the same motion, Lucas seized his collar and yanked him forward into his partner, who was just turning back after the missed thrust. The two bodies collided mid-movement. Skulls cracked together with a wet, heavy sound. Both men went down hard across an overturned table and didn’t get up right away.

The third man hesitated for one second too long.

That was all Lucas needed.

He closed the gap before the man could reset his stance, locked onto the wrist holding the knife, and twisted until the joint gave with a sickening pop. The blade hit the floor. The scream that followed was raw and broken. Lucas shut it down with a short, brutal knee to the ribs that folded the man in half and drove every last bit of air from his lungs. He collapsed into a stack of barstools, sending them clattering across the tile in a loud, chaotic chain.

The fourth man should have run.

Fear made him stupid instead.

He charged with a wide, telegraphed haymaker aimed at Lucas’s temple—all shoulder, no control, the kind of desperate punch thrown by someone who had never truly fought for his life before this moment.

Lucas slipped under it without breaking rhythm.

He came up inside the man’s guard and drove three short, savage strikes into his ribs. The impacts blurred together into one continuous crack of force. The man’s knees buckled on the third hit. Lucas caught him by the shirt, held him upright just long enough to line up the finish, and drove him backward into the bar hard enough to bring an entire shelf of bottles down with him.

Glass exploded across the floor in a bright, violent rain.

Four down.

In less than a minute the lounge had gone from polished luxury to wreckage~overturned tables, shattered glass, bodies scattered across the tile. The warm ambient lighting still glowed softly overhead, almost insulting in how gentle it looked against the destruction beneath it.

The leader was already back on his feet.

He favored his side where the earlier throw had left something bruised or cracked, but pain had only fed the fury in his eyes. He was done being careful. Done following orders about keeping things clean.

"You’re dead!" His voice tore out of him, thick with rage. "You hear me?! You’re fucking dead!"

He came in low and fast, abandoning the knife entirely, launching himself at Lucas’s waist with the full weight of his body behind the tackle~the last desperate option of a man who had run out of better ones.

Lucas stepped aside at the final instant.

The leader’s momentum carried him into empty space. His balance broke. Arms flailed for anything solid and found nothing.

Lucas didn’t give him the chance to recover.

One clean motion. No wind-up. His foot snapped into the already damaged knee with precise, ruthless force. The joint gave the wrong way with a sound that made the last conscious man near the entrance flinch hard.

The scream barely had time to form before the leader slammed face-first into the tile, one leg twisted beneath him at an angle no leg was meant to bend. He stayed there, twitching, breath shattered.

Near the door, the other man finally broke.

Whatever loyalty or fear had kept him locked on Gracie’s arm evaporated the second he watched his leader go down. His grip loosened without him even noticing. His whole body angled toward the exit.

"Screw this," he muttered, voice shaking. "I’m not dying for this~"

Gracie tore her arm free the moment the pressure eased, stumbling backward, chest heaving, eyes wide as she took in the wreckage spread across the lounge~and Lucas standing in the middle of it, breathing steady, expression unreadable, surrounded by men who could no longer stand.

The last man didn’t wait for what came next.

He shoved past an overturned chair and bolted into the street without looking back once.

Nobody chased him.

Lucas didn’t even glance in his direction.

A strange, ringing quiet settled over the lounge, broken only by low groans from the floor and the distant, indifferent hum of the city outside. Near the bar, a staff member finally dared to peek from behind the counter, then immediately ducked out of sight again.

Lucas rolled one shoulder, slow and unbothered, as if he had just finished stretching rather than dismantling five armed men in under two minutes.

He walked toward the leader.

The man was still on the ground, one leg useless beneath him, fingers clawing weakly at the tile like he could drag himself away from what was coming. Sweat and pain had turned his face pale. The muscle along his jaw trembled from how hard he was clenching it.

Lucas crouched beside him without hurry.

He grabbed a fistful of the man’s collar and hauled his head up off the floor until their eyes met. Up close, the cold authority the man had carried when he first stormed in was gone. Only raw, unguarded fear remained.

"Who sent you?"

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