“Do you see that woman behind me that you just touched without her consent and then called a nasty name?” I ask him in an intentionally low voice that I hope haunts his nightmares. He swallows and barely manages to get his single-word answer out. “Yes.” “She’s my wife. And if it were up to me, I’d have you bleeding all over this bar right now for laying a single finger on her that she didn’t invite. When I let go of you, you’re going to apologize to her. And then you’re going to leave this bar, and if you ever treat another woman like that again, I will know, and I will hunt you down…and for
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