Max gripped Mo's fist tightly, his own arm trembling from the strength he was using to hold it in place.
"What the hell are you doing? Let go! Have you gone crazy?" Mo shouted, panicked now.
Just as Mo reeled his other arm back for a punch, Max struck, his free hand snapping forward in a sharp, heavy slap that cracked across Mo's cheek. The blow was so strong, it left Mo stunned, his vision wobbling like the world had tilted.
"Who's going to whose funeral?" Max growled.
Then, without warning, he brought his knee up and drove it right into the center between Mo's legs. Mo let out a strangled cry, his body crumpling to the ground in a heap.
"A blow that could take out Harry Potter," Max muttered coldly.
He didn't stop. He raised his hand again and struck Mo across the face with the back of it, a second slap that sent spit flying from Mo's mouth.
