Son-In-Law Madness

“F*ck off, you creep.”

With a swift and forceful kick, Donald sent Emmett hurtling from his seat, propelling him directly onto the dance floor.

“Mr. Speight! Are you okay, Mr. Speight!”

“D*mn it! Are you asking for trouble, kid?”

The instant Emmett was toppled by Donald's kick, a cluster of individuals from an adjacent booth promptly rose, poised to confront Donald. However, what chance did these young troublemakers stand against Donald?

In succession, they surged forward, only to be swiftly dealt with by Donald, much like a series of dishes being presented.

In a mere two or three motions, Donald incapacitated them all. Emmett, lying immobilized on the ground, had never experienced such a substantial defeat.

Upon witnessing the evident prowess of Donald's combat skills, Emmett instantly wavered.

This young man's appearance suggests he's a martial arts practitioner. Could he possess some kind of notable background?

Noticing Emmett's inclination to retreat, Donald nonchalantly flung the ashtray from the table in front of him and remarked with indifference, “You showed disrespect to the lady. Break one of your fingers and leave.”

Initially, Emmett had resolved to walk away, but Donald's words instantly reignited a blaze within him. D*mn it, I'm in my forties, and here I am being expected to treat a young girl like she's above me?

Emmett's voice took on a deep resonance as he addressed Donald, “You're quite arrogant, aren't you? Are you even aware of whose territory this is? Daring to stir up commotion here, are you seeking an early demise?”

Donald let out a light chuckle and responded, “I must admit, I really have no idea whose turf this is. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Perk up your ears and pay attention. This place belongs to Mr. Livingston of the United Hearts Society. You've injured so many of my men. If you don't give me a satisfactory explanation, I'll summon Mr. Livingston to rectify this situation!”

Emmett's words dripped with a sense of righteousness and assurance, as though the mere act of calling for reinforcement would seal Donald's fate.

“You want an explanation? All right, I'll give you one.”

Donald approached the subordinates strewn on the floor, and without a hint of hesitation, he raised his foot and pressed it onto one of their outstretched hands.

“Ah! Save me, Mr. Speight!”

The young man's fingers emitted a distinct crunch beneath the pressure of Donald's foot. As Donald withdrew his foot, the young man's five fingers bore an unsettling bend.

Having trodden upon this subordinate, Donald showed no signs of stopping. Instead, he proceeded to the next, subjecting his hand to a similar fate.

If Donald had previously merely exhibited disregard for Emmett, his actions now amounted to a direct slap across Emmett's face.

Emmett's anger reached its breaking point; he let out a furious roar and lunged at Donald. Yet, to his surprise, the latter's foot swiftly rose, delivering a forceful kick directly to Emmett's abdomen. The impact sent him sprawling onto the ground, ending up on his knees.

Donald cast a disdainful gaze upon the kneeling Emmett. “You can't possibly go against me. Why don't you call for help?”