With that much testosterone in one place, what else could really happen? Neither man had the best of tempers and now that John had half a bottle of tequila and multiple shots in him, he was especially surly. Shoving Jack off another building wasn't an option and he was doing his best not to draw and put one in his head (only imagining they'd feed him to one of those things outside if he did), but hitting him felt incredible. It always had. Even the breath-stealing blow to his own side only spurred him on with the way is throbbed and ached.
The other people in the bar were torn on how to react. Two men tried to grab for John and he stepped forward out of reach to tackle Jack backward into the bar proper, all elbows and knees vying for leverage to take the taller, broader man to the ground. When it only seemed he was groping around, John slammed forward with his head and spun the pair away to throw Jack to the ground.
Not that he'd stay down long, or that it'd be the end of it. Hart was already stalking forward to stomp at Jack and try for his lapels to heave him up again.
"Taken, is it? Then I'll jus' have to take you back," he threatened but had nothing but that glitter in his eyes at the thrill of a little something exciting. John lived for bar fights and narrow escapes. Fights with his ex partner came in a close third.