by Liz Lorde
I looked up at him, trying to swallow away my nerves, “Yeah,” I replied, “you got any Jager?” I inquired.
The Bartender bobbed his head and quickly produced a shot.
I stopped him before he could pour, putting up two fingers, “Make it two,” I said with a certain resignation in my voice. Tonight was already going to hell in a hand basket and I hadn’t even made contact with a Reaper.
Get your shit together. Creeps will be creeps, you can’t expect to not have to deal with them.
The Bartender tilted his head and went to get a second shot glass, expertly filling the two glasses and placing them down in front of me. “You here on business or pleasure?”
“I like to dabble in both,” I brought the glass to my lips and tipped my head back, feeling the liquid courage worm it’s way down my throat - a bitter taste burning through me. I shuddered and shook my head for a brief spell, and then grabbed the other shot, knocking it back as well.
“I see,” the Bartender said, “this your first time here?”
“Do I make it so obvious?” I asked, a small smile appearing on my face.
The bartender smiled, “Not your fault,” he smoothly said, “I know pretty much every face that comes in here. If you’re looking for something,” he leaned in closer against the counter, his hazel colored eyes gazing into my own, “I can provide.”
There’s no way in hell he’s talking about something illegal so nonchalantly, is there? “Provide…what, exactly?” I leaned in response.
“Whatever you need,” the man reaffirmed in that lovely, smooth tone. He probably slept on the cool side of the pillow every night of his adult life. “If it can’t be done tonight, then another day,” he cocked his head, “If not the next day, the next week. A step at a time, a call at a time, it’ll be done.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. Too stunned and still digesting what he was getting at. “You’re telling me that you could just like,” I looked away from the bartender for a moment, shaking my head, “get weed for me, right?”
The man did not say a word. He kept his gaze fixated on me, as if we had both come to some mutual understanding that why yes, I could read people’s minds if I stared hard enough at the creases on their face.
“If you can provide something for me,” I started, wrinkling my nose in suspicion, “tap the desk.”
His knuckle rapped against the black, eloquently polished counter and my heart pulsed in my chest.
“Cocaine?” There was no way in hell this guy was for real.
Again his knuckle tapped two times.
“What if I’ve fallen on some hard times?” I asked, “say that I need a couple thousand dollars to get by, through the month.”
That familiar noise filled my ears. Something sinister slithered through the darkest canals of my mind. The heavy feeling cloaked itself around my person, and I had to look away from the Bartender’s cutting eyes for a moment.
Our eyes met once more, “Could you make someone—“ my voice was unsteady, and a knife of hurt cut cleanly through me, “could you make, someone, you know, vanish?”
The bartender’s face gave nothing away. His eyes moved from me to some approaching customers, and then he tapped the counter again with his knuckles.
“Isn’t it a bit brazen to be suggesting such things?” Suggesting wasn’t the right word. He was admitting.
The Bartender cracked a sly smirk and glanced over at a couple sitting down at his bar counter. He looked back over at me, the seductive pumping and pulsing of synths going off in the background, “The people I work for are allowed to be brazen. I, am allowed to be brazen,” the way he said it sent a chill up my spine, he looked so sure, so confident.
I swallowed nothing and brushed a strand of my hair back, looking around the bar, feeling more paranoid than I should be. “But, what if—”
“If what?” The man gave a small laugh, looking over to the couple drunkenly hounding him for drinks and putting up two fingers. He glanced back at me, “if you’re with the law? A cop? I could throw you out on your ass, if that’s what gets your rocks off.”
“I’m not into that kinky stuff,” I didn’t fully believe the words coming out of my mouth, and I got the feeling that he didn’t buy it either.
He snorted out a breath through his nose, “We both know you’re not a cop,” he shook his head, “Pooh Bear would have smelled your 5-0 ass coming a mile away, and a lesser man would’ve too. Look around you, killer,” I felt a jolt of laughter roll inside of me. Pooh bear. Really? The Bartender made a gesture with his hand, and then slowly began to walk over to the hounding drink callers, “nobody here’s on the right side of the law. Hell, most of them that wear blue still aren’t,” he called out.
I watched the Bartender begin to service the rest of the bar, and the only thing that could go through my mind aside from the fact that the people here were absolutely crazy; was that the tough guy door man listens to country and goes by Pooh Bear.
I wouldn’t be able to print this shit even if I had camera and a microphone to back me up.
I sat around the bar for a good long while, keeping my eyes and ears open; occasionally the Bartender, who was so gracious enough to give me his nickname after some further shooting of the shit, let me know that he goes by Lex. I tried to get him to open up as to why Pooh Bear was called as such, and if he really did listen to country music - but Lex could only stonewall me with ‘some things are better kept secret, plus he’s my friend. You don’t embarrass your friends. Well, except when you do.’
There was this one guy that caught my attention, much to my displeasure. He reeked of liquor and looked twice as smashed as anyone else in the still buzzing joint; which on closer submersion in the field, wasn’t as packed as it seemed. This drunk man had frazzled dark hair and maybe an inch or two of beard that was unkempt and groomed into the fashion of something that would imply homelessness.
Please, please for the love of god, take a shower. I started to think the poor soul probably never even heard of a wonderful thing called body wash and or shampoo. I moved over a seat, but I noticed his occasional spying towards me. Those looks dug right through my skin - like I could taste the disgusting alcohol of his breath. Like he was hovering over me and smelling me, without actually having to be there.
That was when I felt my phone buzz against my thigh.
Winters. Always having to be kept in the loop. I turned my head to the left and right, making sure that nobody was watching me; discreetly I unhooked the phone from its holster and unlocked my screen. Sure enough it was from Sabrina, checking in.
SABRINA: am I going 2 get old w/o my bestie? Do I need 2 bust down some doors?
I smiled and gave her a quick text reply, letting her know that everything was okay - that I was continuing to scope the place out, but that I hadn’t found anything truly solid yet outside of the bartender. I’d have to ask him some more questions later. Putting my phone away, I turned around to face the dance floor and the outer areas, taking careful look for some of the men that I had seen earlier.
Some time passed and sure enough, I’d spot a couple of people going up to one corner of the club and talking to some darkly clothed men, handing them money. After they did that, they’d maneuver through the throngs of dancers, waitresses and the occasional security. From what I could tell, the security – including Pooh Bear – and Lex the bartender, were all likely to be under the umbrella of Hell Reapers. Maybe not fully fledged members, but they had the rough and tough look to them.
Those people that met with what I assumed to be dealers, would go to some place in the back – through a hole in the wall that was guarded by two burly men; I had to admit the sight of them was…a feast for the eyes. Muscular, tall, tatted up to hell and back and good, strong jaws on each of them. The liquor was definitely starting to work through me.
I have to get back there. If they’re dealing drugs, or whatever, they’re doing everything in separations.
Still
, haven’t got a hell of an idea as to how I’ll get back there. I could try and buy from one of them I guess, but what if it’s not as easy as Lex makes it sound? What if they grill me back there. No, going in like that is too risky.
Craning my head, I noticed a small group of men in leather and denim that must have just taken up that particular booth. Lights went off in my mind, and I honed in on them. They were definitely MC. When one of the three handsome men turned; or rather, as handsome as one could appear from just the back of one’s head, he glanced over at me for a beat of time. It felt like I had stepped into the ring with Tyson himself.
Holy. Fracking. Shit. It was the guy. And he was hot as sin itself, just one smoldering, dangerous look my way was enough to make the pebble in my throat become a rock. I felt like a lost little girl, and that everything around me was suddenly a lot less real - that the only thing that mattered was looking into his striking blue eyes.
I went through some mental gymnastics on how to approach him, but for some reason my mind kept defaulting to ‘he is way out of your league, please do not approach and make a fool of yourself’. Now that was an unusual line of thinking for me, but here? Seven hells…I thought back to what I had told Mr. Gates. About how we crafty women had our ways. But, damn. This dude was like my womanhood kryptonite.
The dangerously handsome fellow cracked an inviting smile towards me. Like one that a predatory wolf might give to a scared sheep.
I felt the lines of my face stretch involuntarily into a stupid ‘I just turned eighteen and oh my god can I get your autograph?’ smile. Felt like I was back at that Motley Crue concert with Sabrina, stumbling over the crowd at night trying to get a better look at Vince. No, no! Stop. But of course, my body refused to listen to my head. The smiling became a beaming on my end, and I had to turn away before I went red in the face.
Jesus. After what happened with Jerry, I didn’t think I could feel…whatever that was. Find your inner composure, Ives, he’s just some guy. You can talk to guys; you’ve done more than that plenty before.
Some stupidly hot guy, I could practically hear Sabrina whispering in my ear. If she were here, she’d be busy wiping up my drool and waving the guy over.
When I felt a hand on my shoulder, a delightful blossom of heat and excitement worked its way through my chest - and I could feel this, this connecting electricity between my breasts and the tightness between my legs. Crap, I hadn’t even realized what that man had done to my—
Turning to face the man who touched my shoulder, I came to a grim understanding that I should have noticed, by the horrifying stench, that it wasn’t HAFG: Hot as fuck guy. It was the drunken, homeless looking creep. He flashed a yellow, toothy grin and stumbled around - using my shoulder as his own personal support.
I snorted out a breath through my nose and shifted in my seat, brushing him off of my person forcefully, “Go home and get some sleep, dude.” It took every ounce of my will to not lash out after what happened earlier on the floor.
“Only,” his words came out in a terrible drunken mess, “f’you, heh, sleep home with me?” He nearly collapsed against the counter, supremely shit faced. This guy was gassed.
“Not a chance, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I lied, it was usually easier that way to get a guy from hounding at you.
Usually.
“Fffuckin,” he gave me a pointed look, his face darkening to an angry shade, “liar,” he said abruptly. “You love that dick,” he announced to me, as if he had known me his whole life and was simply informing me of my likes and dislikes.
I looked over to Lex, but I couldn’t find the man immediately near me. He was off towards the very far end of the bar, engaged in a very animate conversation with some blonde woman. Worry worked through me effortlessly, and I felt like my skin was starting to shed right then and there. I got up off of the bar stool and backed away from the drunken idiot, “Get lost or I’ll call the police, don’t think I won’t you old bastard.”
He laughed at that, a drunken, stupid laugh, “You-u-u won’t call,” he slurred out, sort of clambering towards me. He grabbed his crotch then, “you want this too much, yeah-h-h baby, you want this dick!”
In that moment, my muscles started to seize up. I’d already been drained from my previous encounter, how many men could I be expected to shove off in one night?
“There a problem here?” A deep, hard voice called out. It did these funny, peculiarly wonderful things to my stomach. I craned my head over to look at the man.
To my joy, it was HAFG.
The drunken man slowly turned over to face the leather wearing man. He looked like a god in comparison. I could see it in the creep’s eyes that he was afraid. The man was built like a mountain; broad shoulders, two heads taller than the drunk - it looked like his muscles could only barely be contained by those clothes. I imagined his solid biceps beneath his bomber jacket, and his no doubt wash-board abs hidden beneath his gray shirt. “N-no…” the drunken man slurred, “not a problem at all boss, no.” He clearly recognized that HAFG was someone not to mess with.
The man in leather narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to the drunk, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hoisting him up, so that the drunk would have to look down at him. He wriggled around like some kind of desperate worm, trying to break free from the handsome man’s grip. “Seems to me like the lady doesn’t want to be disturbed,” his voice was threatening. Cutting. He looked over to me then, and I felt my heart tap hard against my breastbone. His presence felt like it covered the entire bar, suffocating anyone in his radius, “Am I understanding that right, lady?” I was taken aback by his manners – his rough voice hardly sounded like it was fit for conversation. It sounded like it was made for only two simple things: Fighting and fucking.
Couldn’t say I wasn’t inclined to find out.
I gulped for a breath, “He’s just - uh, drunk is…all,” I felt like I was a damn teenager, having to settle my mind down for a few seconds just to spit out words. “I mean, you know. That.” I shrugged, my mouth betraying me.
Great now he probably thinks you don’t even know how to talk right. Really showing your superpowers of screwing things up today.
The striking blue eyes of the man locked on mine, and beautiful electricity seemed to flow between us - if only for a split second. But, me being me, I quickly filed the feeling away as just wishful thinking and hormones. The man nodded his head and then turned back to face the drunk. If this guy was with the Reapers though, why didn’t he have a patch?
Lex sauntered on over finally, but opted not to say anything - only exchanging a look with the jacket man.
The drunk squirmed again, practically yelling now, “Come on!” He protested, “let me go! I didn’t do anything. She came on to me.”
“Not yet,” the deep voiced man said, hauling the drunk over his shoulder and through the club. Everyone got out of this person’s way, like he was parting the sea or something. People really seemed to know him, and perhaps even more so, fear him.
For whatever reason, Amanda had pictures of him the most – one way or another, I’ll have to talk with him.
I turned over to Lex, catching a final glimpse of the drunk protesting as the hot dude moved closer still to the front of the club. “Who’s that guy?” I inquired.
Lex grabbed an empty glass, and started wiping it down to a fine polish, “Him? Don’t get any funny ideas,” Lex started, “he ain’t no hero. That’s just Hunter, and he does for himself. Everyone around here knows that, you stick around,” Lex spied me pensively, “for whatever reason, you’ll come to know that too.”
The name rang through my head and caressed my skin like a heavenly breeze. Warmth sank deep into my bones and little pinpricks of excitement washed over my body; my inner self was nodding in appreciation of all the man’s features, the image of him still fresh in my mind. “He ride?” I asked. “I mean, he looks like the type.”
“Sure as shit does,” Lex confirmed, “course
most of us here do. Can’t see why that’d matter to you,” he said more to himself than to me; he brought over that glass he cleaned to a beer tap, filling it to the brim. He placed the glass down before me, “for your troubles, can’t keep all the rabble out all the time - you know?”
I sat back down at my seat and nodded quietly, “Yeah,” I said, “thanks.” The golden brew had bubbles that danced freely throughout the pint glass, it’s head coming to a glorious foamy top - I could smell the hoppy delights of it already, with hints of clove and a kiss of orange citrus. “If you don’t mind me asking, who’re they?” I made a motion with my elbow, pointing towards the table that Hunter was sitting at before he came to my rescue.
“Them?” Lex asked, looking over to the table, “you’re pretty nosy for a first timer,” Lex noted, “one on the right is Reyes, the other’s Jameson.”
“Like the drink?”
“Like the drink,” Lex affirmed, “those three are tight as…” he trailed off mid-sentence, “they’re tight,” he snorted through his nose, and could plainly not hide the smile that started to creep up on his face.
His smile made me grin in return, “You can be straight with me,” I confessed, shrugging, “I’m a dirty girl. I freely admit and embrace it. Used to be the only one at the dinner table that cursed like a sailor, when I was younger.”
“Yeah,” Lex glanced over at the blonde woman who he had served previously. She looked like a dancer of sorts, but I didn’t see any stripping poles. “Sorry but I try to keep myself right when I’m in the presence of a lady, sailor or not. Man’s gotta have a code.”
“Indeed,” I wondered then, what Hunter’s code was. I turned back to face the dance floor, and spotted Hunter working his way back towards me. Just like that my heart rate picked up again, and I felt like I had to hide. God it was the weirdest thing, this unbearable urge to dive beneath the bar counter.
