Note: This is a fanfiction based off of a story that I am currently working on under the same title with the hopes of making it available on Kindle. The names have been changed to suit the storyline. I don't own or have anything to do with the WWE, its partners or The Undertaker.

Also, right now you can get a copy of The Dark King's Bride, a story of mine that a fanfiction I wrote under the same title was based off of, on Kindle for just .99 cents.

Chapter Twenty-One

Catching what his boss cried out to him after she had been speared down in the midsection by her grandchild's ex-boyfriend, Mark found all the inspiration to tear him apart in that brief moment in time.

He gave a nod of his head towards Belle's direction before his eyes snapped in the direction of where Johnathon was standing with a scared yet defiant look in his eyes, as well as the rest of his body language. His own body started to tremble with unadulterated rage at what this little prick did to Emily's grandmother in just a few seconds what he would have done more than likely to the southern beauty that had been at his side.

"It will be a pleasure for me to deal with this little douche bag, Belle." Mark spoke back to his boss with an animalistic growl in his voice, showing no hesitation about what he was planning to do next. "The only number that someone will be dialing will be the mortician when I get done with him."

Every word that dripped off of his mouth was deadly serious. There was no way he was going to let Johnathon get off scott free with attacking his boss, and putting his hand on his woman with him in the vicinity.

His hands lifted up from his sides, and used one to pop his knuckles before the other one would do the same thing. He watched as Emily's ex-boyfriend glanced around the area in search of something to hit him with before his eyes found him settling in on nearby folding chair that was situated underneath the edge of a table.

Seriously? Does he think that a chair is going to help him out in an ass kicking against me?

A coy grin danced across the strong features of his face from the thought of this stupid, city slicker using a steel chair on him in order to have an edge in the situation that he was in at the moment. Shaking his head, he motioned with his hands in his direction while his voice maintained the same intense amount of ferocity in it.

"Come on then, Johnathon." Mark whispered at him, daring him to make the first move. "I will let you have the first swing at me to be fair with a little punk like you."

His eyes could tell that he hit a nerve with him when he called him a punk. Emily's former boyfriend's body started to tremble and the look on his face turned into that of a blind rage at the same time his voice got louder and sounded more pissed off.

"I am not a punk, you stupid bastard!" Johnathon screamed out to the heavens in his direction. His hands gripped onto the legs of the folded up chair as tightly as they could as he lifted it up at his side while he continued to make his rant. "I am the man that is going to take Emily Withers away from you once…and for all!"

I am really going to enjoy tearing you to pieces, and feed your corpse to the crows, you little shit.

Mark stood his ground as he watched his opponent bring the chair back behind his head, and rush forward with it, aiming to hit him in the head with it. His tall frame ducked down enough to where his head would be missed. He stood up right, and looked to see Johnathon looking back at him in shock. Mark didn't give him another chance with it as he wrapped his right hand around his throat tightly, and brought him close to him to hear him whisper to him.

"Now…It is my turn."

"Hang on, Granny Belle." Emily whispered to her as she used her hands to lift her off the ground, and guide her over to a chair that would put her out of harm's way. She eased her down onto it, and looked back to where her date and the party crasher were nestled.

In that second she chose to look over, Mark tossed Johnathon down onto the ground with enough force that it caused him to let go of the chair. One of his big boots kicked the chair away from his side before he motioned to him with one of his hands and spoke in a menacing and teasing sound.

"Come on now, you little shit-head…Is that all you got for me?"

Oh hell yes! Her conscience spoke with glee and excitement in its voice from what she was looking at the moment. Johnathon is finally going to get the treatment he deserves for all of the abuse you have suffered at his hand, and also the attack that he dished out on your grandmother with no regard for her age or physical ability to withstand it.

Even though she knew she should be happy at that moment for what was about to happen, Emily couldn't help but feel nervous about what was to happen before her eyes. There was an unsettling feeling that she was getting off of the scene unfolding her eyes.

She soon got her answer when her eyes captured sight of her ex pulling a switchblade knife out of one of his shoes, and point in the direction of where Mark was standing with the same fierce look of intensity upon his face. It was no ordinary switchblade knife though that Johnathon was holding, but the very one that he had used to engrave the initials 'SB' onto one of her breasts.

The visual of the instrument that he had used on her caused her entire body to tighten up with intense and unbridled fear at what he could do with it, and also an overwhelming amount of nervousness about Mark not being able to get out of the way of it.

I can't stand by and do nothing…I have to do something if I am to have any night left with my date.

Emily removed herself away from her grandmother's sight and rushed forward to where her former companion's back was facing her. She moved with desperation in her steps across the floor and amongst the people that were watching the fight. Breaking through, her right hand reached out, and grabbed on as tight as she could to his wrist holding the knife.

"No!" She shouted. Her voice dripped with a pure need to keep Mark from getting stabbed or worse with it. "I won't let you hurt him, Johnathon!"

"Get off of me, you bitch!"

Despite how tight she was holding onto him, Emily found herself being slung down to the ground by him shoving her backwards. She eased herself to sit up on her side, and looked up to see the face of the man she once loved gazing upon her with nothing but unbridled fury while his hand extended the knife's blade in her direction, and his voice showed her no sign of the person she loved by the uncaring tone it chose to speak in.

"When I get done with this big, dumb bastard," Johnathon said, lethally, "I am going to engrave on your other breast the same initials that I put on your other one so that way when you look at yourself in the mirror, you will see them and know that you are nothing more than a stupid bitch!"