Chloe Williams's Story

Blood’s got a stamp stickier than drying wax, labeled me C a m b i o n. I’m quenching the demons of fate while they flick through Benjamins and beg to attack saints. One thing I’m sure’a’s been the same, pleasure ain’t ever free.

The question has come a thousand times, written on the wall then imbued by the back splash of a blown brain. It used to look like, “Have you always been like this?” One persuaded glance at Chloe and he knows for god damn sure he hasn’t. In spite of it, eternal damnation is calling and he’s always eager when the doorbell rings. Bone to chin, the knuckle-pop pressure left his neck corrugating in repercussions. He’d stirred her up. But she was likely reigning supreme, he’d have to admit it. Transposed his entire universe and they knew, both of them, that this would not be the last time. Sex was becoming just as much a dependency as the capsules lingering in her clammy palms, at least on that concept she was frank. She was innately all the hues of fire and brimstone, tresses fierce but silken wrapped around his wrist. Contingencies were messy but true blue all the’ same. Hell was a state of mind and fleeting venue placed between her thighs: cozy.

Bel held habits and contradictions like accolades complimenting an outfit more fitting than his Rolex. Jonathan Moore had a point on his smear campaign, the kid sure was an impertinent little fuck, all things considered. And like all other things, Bel wore this too, unabashed and rolling tight shoulders with his head high. He might not have grasped full landslide. On the way up, he was still making power moves. The common denominator was degeneracy. Fractions prepared for the fall when gutter virginity manifested, but that was few and far between. Morality Chloe was anything but. Her tongue was the snake of sin, crooning a pet name as she shamelessly left as though not much had occurred to have her there in a morning after sort of fashion. Adios bonita. Until next time. ‘Cause being real? There would be at least a dozen next times.

Simplicity mixed with the uncontaminated good intentions of hope came around less than full moons. Where was she after that mess of a night? He half worried about the place Hani skittered off to like astral flickers in wake of an explosion, but somehow knew she was fine regardless. Felt bad for leaving. And on the same note, she wasn’t sticking around after ensuring he’d been alright from the upheaval at the Little Lady anyway. Bel swiped through his contacts and shot her a message on the loose spectrum of reminders, gratitude. You gonna' let me take you out for treating me so damn good? He’d chased a symbolic lunar constellation, underway, and pondered why she’d ever look twice at a man like him. Daily reflections had him humbled. Might have been monumentally manipulative, mean-minded, shambolic and commitment-fearing but he never forgot anybody. Never dreamed of overlooking genuine warmth that tingled long after somebody was physically gone. He’d promised her dinner, and she did that thing she was prone to do, pitched smirk, like she wanted to say yes, but knew a hell of a lot better. Tireless, that’s how he’d keep it up until she at least caved for a drink. Sporadic meetings, ten minute coffee sit-ins. Porque tengo miedo. No estoy entero. Tengo miedo de mí mismo. Y tu no. Because he was never going to pass over her. Because he couldn’t and had no desire to, inclinations slanted aggressively toward keeping her around. For something whole to keep him at anchor.

And still the son of a bitch wondered where the descent began. Where it would end. If by some terrible twist he’d be another dope fiend in the grand scheme, if there was a chance for a total loss or if losing his father was enough. He couldn’t survive another slip with Senna. Bebita didn’t know it but she kept him alive most days, and had she decided to be iron-willed again one day, run off shaking no dreams, love or daisies from her hair, he’d be a ruined man. All of this was hers, for her, at the end of the day. Nobody knew it.

Exceptions to the rule oscillated between Dominic Bates and sweet November Allen. And providence would have it so cruel as to intertwine the two on a tangental plane not completely intangible to Cristobel. He fuckin' wished he couldn't feel it. By hook or crook he coped, knowing how often the stars put his back to the wall. Tough love was still love at any rate. He’d never own Novi, she’d always cognize the pieces of him she sank her nails into and Dominic would be a glorified soul without regard to strife or time. Dice rolls were hard-hearted, that’s something even Dom told him. Perhaps he instilled it more aggressively in Senna, to a point of undying affection and admiration. ‘Cause she’d go running to him when she was bleeding, on the last skirt of balance. And Bel could never be upset. Couldn’t figure this was the flattened toe step of boundary-crossing, when all Dom had ever done was love Baby like she was his own.

He coulda’ sat on the bow of a bender, cursing the man who stole any woman he’d needed to keep, but Bel was not that deluded.

---

---

There were times to reflect on. Where things were put plainer. When Brooklyn nights were mid-July and hotter than the home Senna knew away from home, quiet. Too fucking quiet. Funny how taking something so mild out of a room changes the entire atmosphere. How thinking it ain't gonna' cause a huge difference, just like a framed portrait shifting two inches to the left. But when she decided to go every picture fell askew. She was just a child. What could have been done to stop a stubborn child who thought she was in love?

Dom always let her go wherever she wanted 'long as she was confident enough in herself to get through grated shins, which would extend into afflictions of the mind in due time. He took the edge off of everything in a way Bel nor his father could. Promises, and dandelions or some shit that Bel's lacking in lyrics could never stand up to. But even Bel couldn't wrap his head around why a person composed in such coarse loyalty coulda' stood the sight of Baby going away. 'Cause if it was hard on everyone, it was harder on the man who held her fragile pinkened hands and helped her walk rickets out of knocking knees. The man that bebita went like lightning to if ever anything was out of place, or she simply needed a crutch or a word of advice. She never ran home to Bel. He supposed this was all his fault. At least, he did the night that he was a shot off from being alcohol-influenced into drunk driving.

The doors of a dive were propped wide open and the sound going in and out melted around traffic, jive and sexual tension not participated in by himself. Which is strange. And anyone could say that if they saw him. Luckily for him, only person who saw him that night was an iron treasure chest for secrets. Guard mutt not trained to bite unless in protective measure. Bel remembered how he knew without looking 'cause of the way Dom's hand closed around his shoulder and shook in one sturdy gesture. Behind it trundled, "Y'alright, now, that's enough." How he had to suffocate the malice mandated by someone Dom's very own age, sweeping Bel's kid sister off her naive feet. Sapping her wouldn't do any good, either, though. Baby was aware enough at the very least, to know what kinda' royal fucking mess she dove head first into. Isn't that why she did it? Thinking messes were immunity, that she knew it well enough by residing in perdition for the living - to fix it? Did she wanna' fix that trainwreck of a human named Lazarus or was it authentic ardor? Either thought made him sick, or, maybe that was the bourbon and lack of food in his stomach.

"Hardly out of high school, Dom. Fuckin' kid." Yukked, choked, swiveled an empty glass in hand. "God damn kid."
"Smart kid." Dom countered.
"Yeah, right."
"Now look Bel, can't say I'm happy either, but Senna is gonna' come home one day, and she's gonna' be the one to leave; she's smart."
"Changed her number," Bel interrupted, slurring a blurred intent for his own perspective, "Hasn't said shit to me."
"Well, what can y'do, turn your fuckin' liver inside out and hope she calls you up and you get to play hero?"
"Huh, you know saying some shit like --"
"Spare me, Bel," Dom paid off the eldest Zaire's tab, "This ain't about you, not Lazarus, it's about her."
"But she just --"

The indicative inhalation of frustrations mustered into words of wisdom. Timber creaked under the sitting weight of Dom, who smelt of foreign tobacco and an aged musk that Bel, at twenty four, couldn't yet fully appreciate. Under different circumstances Bel would have yapped something more slick. Threatening. But where they were and the turn of events reviewed, they both knew it wasn't right. And it would never be like that. Besides, Bel was way too sloshed to throw a punch let alone pave the path of years lost to rage and secrecy. He needed Dom's guidance and he'd accepted that even in the face of bitter wrath boiling against his gums to expose pointed teeth. And Dominic was a tree trunk of a gent who was by no means above breaking fingers backwards to make a point, so it was what it was and Bel agreed to what was coming.

He needed it.

"She just fell in love, and some motherfucker spotted her miles off and knew she was gold so he wanted her, and she was taken with him. She came up in the filth even though she had nice things. All she knows is this life. The people that get stuck inside of it. So he mighta' sparkled lil' bit, 'cause he's not just a junkie, he's smart and knows what he's doing. Said a few things and she dropped her Sylvia Plath book to listen to his story instead, what do we get to do... Kill him? Drag her kicking and screaming back on to Brooklyn? That little girl is becoming a woman and we see her as a child and that’s why we’re fucked up right now. She’ll come home, Bel. Just think ‘bout that. She will. She’s our Baby but she’s not just that, she’s a lot more. Can’t keep taking credit from her when she’s off in some other part of the world doing things her own way. She’ll learn from this somehow and there ain’t no telling what it will be right now but she will. She loves you, she’d never stay away too long without explanation. Right now she’s got her hands full of decisions and she’s living her life.”

---

---

When did they stop thinking of Senna as a child? Was it when she slipped into heels instead of ballet flats or was it when she started romanticizing narcotics and the spirits they possessed? Could have been anything amid all the bittersweet developments. Was she smarter now, free of a shackled relationship and just drifting among wreckage she thought was pretty? Was she the wreckage? Who knows. Who really knows. All he could say at present was that she really was shrewd. Even if from an external standpoint she looked foolish, Baby was quick on the uptake.

And apparently ignoring his texts or passed out at her apartment. Bel figured he’d see her at the club which was sending for him by the point of NYC’s sunset modeling like an abscess glowing Abutilon on a blanket of reds and blues. The jaws of a chill settled into him but ten minutes into a VIP booth, leather was clung to olive skin and intolerable. He tossed it over a vacant chair, tried not to think too hard about every event that led him to this very location. Brooding would become a deterrent, high stakes pinning him in crosshairs couldn’t be snubbed if he wasn’t vigilant. He eased his phone into his pocket and hung his head back against a vinyl slip [guess this shit was easier to clean body oils off of] for a few slow blinks leading up to visual attendance.

Women moved without reticence. In lieu of inhibitions and wool sweaters they wore glitter grease, rubbed the toned thighs of hustle hanging by poles. They'd serve as a good distraction when Gunner inevitably palmed through the drapes and sat his ass down in the same subdivision. There’d be enough of a production without enmity, Bel reminded himself to dial his shit back as he twisted soft bolts of dark hair between tattooed extremities and focused on the cadence of hips nailing bass beats. Exposed brick turned black in the discotheque, asses clapped and baby dolls hung off of his neck, plump lips whispering.

Who was gonna’ walk through those curtains?
The last person most people wanted to see, he was sure of it.

---

Chloe left in a huff that was completely lost on Aedan, emotions weren't his forte and she didn't expect much really - it still hit like a freight train when he spoke of bullshit like Karma. What did a seasoned killer know of Karma that she didn't? If anyone in this damned world deserved it, it was the Dingo himself. Being angry about bullshit like this was a wasted cause, and she didn't feel like rebelling in that moment to fight against it. Instead, she hiked up her big girl pants and took the short drive to the one place she always seemed to end up on short notice.

Daimas place was a high rise apartment set between the usual shady buildings hiding secretive practices and the occasional drug dealers hut. She could work herself here easily and nobody would bat an eyelash; Chloe had more respect for the heiress than that, besides if Daima knew what she did in the night she would hardly care to keep funneling her money every time she put on a pouty face. Inside the building was a shocking contrast against the outside, where dirt smudged entry ways and yellowing nicotine walls were the norm for most this place had an obvious feel of wealth to it. Nothing that would give away the true money that hid behind the garish floral wallpaper, but clean enough to be a clear comparison against the grime. Chloe bypassed the receptionist completely, flashing a small withering smile to the man behind the counter. He returned the look tenfold, too cheerful, too trusting. Obviously new since he let her walk by without a fuss - and thus, he'd be gone within a days’ time once security got wind of his lack of discretion.

Chloe knew the more than enough people in this building to know they valued the secrecy of its occupants. She took the elevator up to the top most floor. She let herself in, found Daima humming along to some new age pop in the kitchen. While she was certain that her entry was heard she snuck up and wound her arms around the woman's waist anyways, settling her chin on her shoulder and peering at the food sizzling on the stove top. "Smells good," Chloe admits, stifling a smile against her shoulder. “I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon!” Daima half turned, shared a chaste kiss with Chloe but quickly turned back to stir the food. The domestic feeling began to invade Chloe like an unwanted guest, she shook it off with difficulty as she pulled back.

“You know I can’t stay away for long,” Chloe bit out around a tongue made of cotton, dry for the first time of any form of flirting. Something about this felt off, too close to a real relationship when all Daima is in for is some grade A heartbreak and a lot of missing money. But for the moment, she could settle as long as the cash kept flowing. “Apparently, grab some plates and sit down,” Daima motioned to the island. Chloe did as she told, settling herself into this strange scene with the ease of someone who has known this type of lifestyle for a long time – she hasn’t, has only begun to scratch the surface of a relationship lacking a hatred of one another. Sure, the stress fuck mentality still resided within, but with Daima, there was a lack of hate that left Chloe feeling conflicted on each parting.

“You going to a club later?” Daima asks, eyebrow raised as she settled in to the seat opposite of her. For the first time Chloe recognized the look of jealousy in her eyes and it almost made her laugh. Of course, Daima would recognize her clothes as nothing besides the type one would wear to a party. A white top, dipping low enough the show off but not low enough to show all, paired with a black pencil skirt that may as well have been the shortest one in existence – honestly, someone needed to fire Chloe from choosing her own outfits. It wasn't club attire per say, but Chloe wouldn't be Chloe if she wore anything that actually fit the atmosphere. She had to stand out somehow, to draw people in easier. “I’m going with some friends, yes.” The lie slipped out easily enough, sure there would be friends there but more or less this was a way to find more business, and if anything she would get the watch whatever drama happens to go down; as it always does when the Bates and Zaires are under the same roof for more than a few minutes. “Would you like to go with?” She was baiting Daima now, lips still smiling despite the narrowing of her eyes. If Daima didn’t pick up the bait that was her own fault.

She didn’t ignore it. Scoffing, Chloe knew that strip clubs didn’t happen to be the usual hang out of the heiress. “Not my scene.” She explained, bitterness still seeping into her voice. Well, in the least, Chloe would get the stress fuck now that she had wound Daima up just as much as Chloe herself. They talked for a short time, the both of them had barely eaten anything by the time Chloe hit the bed with Daima two steps behind her. Body outlined by the light filtering in through the windows, glowing on dark skin – damn, she was slowly stripping. Chloe grinned, was this her revenge then? To show Chloe how she could be everything she wanted and more?

That short hour progressed in slow motion, Chloe could wax poetic all night about Daima and the rough ways in which they handled one another but then – well, she’d realize just how much she enjoyed it. And Chloe was nothing, if not stuck in her ways of squashing every feeling she had. By the time they finished up and Daima lay spread out in bed, half asleep with exhaustion she could do little more than laugh at the other woman. One round and down, that was no way to live. However, Chloe had places to be so she took the opportunity for what it was and slipped some cash out of the safe box in Daimas closet. A good 2k to possibly spend at the club. She’d have taken more but Daima would notice if there was a sizeable dip in her cash box.

---

The party seemed to already be in full swing when she walked in, looking ten times the fucked out mess she felt like. Though that didn’t stop her from entering with a flourish, completely at home in the clubs’ atmosphere. On first inspection she could see a few familiar faces, appearing and disappearing within the crowd. As she moved through it she nodded her head at a few, and looked away from others in hopes of escaping detection. Places like these attracted all types, and a lot of those types happened to have been former marks of hers.

Chloe took a seat where she could, only had to wait a few seconds before a barely clothed woman made her way over. A brunette server, carrying a tray of drinks. “Need anything honey?” Her eyes swept the server up and down, barely humming in response to the question asked, uttering a response that she couldn’t even remember a second after; she’ll probably end up with something fruity and completely hate it but fuck it, she had better things to pay attention to. There was a methodical way in which she took apart what little clothing woman wore, leaving the impression of a stark naked body in her minds eye. Still, she focused for a while on her face, big pouty lips painted bright red standing out against dark skin and bright eyes. God, she would tear this one apart in a heartbeat. She wouldn't mind having this particular one beneath - or even above - her. Perhaps tied up, she certainly looks the type to like it rough. No matter, within a matter of seconds she was walking away, sashaying her hips as she went. Chloe would be a liar if she said she didn’t zero in on her ass the entire time.

‘These girls will be the death of me,’ she turned her attention to the floor, more or less ogling everyone and everything that moved – she could admit that these places were more her speed than anywhere else. At one point she would have considered stripping, but she found the task to be a bit too out there for her liking. An open practice no matter which way you looked at it. She much preferred the easy fuck and steal lifestyle she led. But, in all honesty she could see herself here just as easy as that. The server returned instantly with something that thankfully wasn’t fruity at all.

“Come here often?” The server’s tray was empty, a prime time for small talk if Chloe’s wandering eyes could even be considered small talk. “Wish I did,” Chloe let slip with a smile. The server didn’t even bat an eyelash, probably used to this by now. If it wasn’t blatantly obvious that Chloe was checking her out – then the woman had to be blind. Alas, their little conversation ended when another patron signaled her, but, at least Chloe got to see her ass walking away again.

---

Daytime felt like a slow, belly crawl to the finish line. Even as Chloe left him he knew the time between now and then would last a hundred, no, maybe a million years of half unconsciousness. He took to the beer like a lifeline when the shake got to him, let it roll through to snap at his bones. Biting from the inside out, a claw tearing open his chest from the inside to let that animalistic panting out. He barely made it to the bathroom, the kit and to the tub where he sat. Let ice cold water pour over him without a care. Arms limp over the edge and mouth at a lull, he felt weightless, floating somewhere between pain and ecstasy and the hunger to shoot up again – so soon after the last? No, no he just needed the idea to plant deep in his brain and sprout up through thick cranium. He was high still, pleasant, floating. There was only the lingering of something beyond, the cold pellets slashing skin in their wake. Tipped his head back and spluttered as his lungs filled rapidly. He didn’t need it yet – not fucking yet.

Felt like eternity passed in a minute, wrapped up in that dazed euphoric longing for the next big high – and while it didn’t last quite so long as an eternity he still felt it on the come down. The shake and shiver and burning of his guts from too much beer consumed. He’d be a damned if he puked but still, his stomach turned with each movement to tumble-fall out of the tub. He’ll be sick by morning, but the pleasant feeling lingered over. He would be fine for a while, stuck in the interim while the feelings settled in him. While his brain reawakens to discover the abuse it had endured in the subsequent hours following Chloe’s frenzies departure. He remembered then the invite.

His phone had pinged several minutes ago – maybe even an hour ago. The passage of time in this state barely caught up with his addled brain. He took his time stripping and dressing, the numbing cold unpleasant in a dysmorphic way. He felt out of body, projecting himself on the world like a ghost. He both loved, and hated the feeling of it. One would say by the sheer amount of times he chose to experience it he loved it more so than hated it. There was a level he had to reach, before it overtook him and spun too far out. Left him face down in vomit puddles two seconds from death, or in some cases blood when he’s torn himself to bits in a fit of undeterred rage.

He could understand those times the best out of any, while he may not remember most of them he stuck by the wounds and bruises left over. Digging palms into flesh made in the image of a rotten fruit. Tongue pressed against cuts, whether to staunch or taste even he couldn’t begin to know. He knew, somewhere deep in the rational part of his brain that the things he did, the way he acted, none of it could begin to be considered normal. That part had been drowned out long ago, maybe even strangled on the umbilical cord at birth. Rational thought has no way of life in the mind of a man who kills for pleasure just as much as for profit.

He checked his phone, Chloe had texted but there were various others as well that were several minutes to an hour old. A worried, but potential client. Aedan texted a quick meet up for later that night – he didn’t want to do any more business than necessary at the club until he’d had himself a good time. Chloe’s text was nonsense, slang word garbage and from what he could tell all she was really trying to say was that he needed to be there, and that some creep kept staring at her in a way that reminded her of him – she could take perfect care of herself, he was sure she would just as soon snap any creep’s spine in half rather than lay damsel in distress. But he kept it in mind, if someone was looking at her in a way that reminded her of him, he knew what that meant.

---

He found himself at the entrance among a packed crowd, the club thriving with energy and the scent of sex and booze in the air flustered the dark desires in him. He stuck tight to a crowd heading in, paranoia creeping up his spine. He hated crowds, loud places with people packed in tight made him nervous and only the fact that he had people to meet here made it begrudgingly better. Nervous energy left him jittery but not in a way that spoke of being afraid – simply hating the eyes all around him. Felt like any moment someone or something would set him off the deep end.

Aedan found Chloe nestled between two strippers wearing barely there latex outfits – of course she’d find her people here. He didn’t stop, nodded to her as he passed and if she was annoyed by his dismissal he didn’t care. If anything he’d circle back to her later, but she was having her own fun and Aedan was intent on his own. Even if it was uncomfortable to start with. The instant bombardment of girls was a bit off putting to say the least, he found himself flashing worthless smiles that felt stiff and unlike him and trying not to give away the true blue psychopathy beneath every feigned smirk and glance. He was of course appreciative, but the idea of looking without fucking was entirely unpleasing. His eyes trailed over the patrons and caught on Senna and the little blonde toy at her side, whatever false smiles he was maintaining earlier slipped away in that instant. Jealousy, settled deep in his gut and some part of his mind spoke deeply about the blonde.

She’s wrong, in what way he cannot even begin to know. But her very presence grates his nerves and maybe he stares at Senna a little too long as he passes but she deserves it in a way. His handiwork stands out on her face and he can’t help the smirk that reemerges in the wake. Aedan knows Senna would be pissed at him for interrupting so he simply passes on by. Maybe later he’d find a willing girl to take out back, take his aggression out on her in the form of sex, but for that moment he sidled up to the bar – up to the Bates that he caught sight of with a fake smirk still painted on his face.

Took a seat nearby to the only man that had ever managed to get stuck in his head, even if he made excuses there was still a thrill there – a wondering of; will tonight be the night? He had watched the storm between the Bates and Zaires brew for years now and as much as he stayed neutral on it he knew sooner or later someone would do something about it, and while he wanted Senna safe and sound he also put his bet on the Bates when it came to how everything would end up. Dominic, with his quiet attitude was a prime candidate for business.

There’s ten thousand reasons why any man could pop every single cell necessary for brain function when watching somebody he loves twist the emblematic knife. At the rate of this disaster, Hemingway’s monotone would sound a lot less painful. Beasts with two backs knew little to no boring interim and an imp with broken glass in her mitt knew z e r o. Full weight would rock into the soles of shoes too hard to fill. He’d rub his hands together at the crown residue, sticky with more weight than wine; he was wearing both their hearts on his palms. They unfolded like roses.

Floral relics all lost to destruction. Hadn’t Bel gone over this type of disaster at least a dozen god damn times, in and out of context? There was an addict’s twitch in gray matter when he let a beaded divider fall behind his shoulders. No necessary sudden discernment, just agitation at the obvious. The nasal inhale jerked veins under throat’s paper skin, fingers flayed in a blur of black ink at the bridge of his nose. Between Caroline and November his cerebrum was pendent from hardwired habit; hacked, instigated and hot-wired, left to become nothing but unadulterated pique. He steeped in it. The low light of red near black swallowed him like a pill, some smooth skin snaking around his waist. She thrummed to the same sonorous cadence that made him a fiend, lips and nostrils slathered in a smear of messy Spanish left wise of his neck. There was soothing to be done. But he wouldn’t find it in this one.

So he let her play her game. The hustle knocked past midnight yet never forfeited whether on dime or dollar. When he looked her over, he found the swollen mouth, its glistening invitation. Sable lace just pliant enough to be removed with one swift slip. Hazard at the hips, tapered before the widening where just a few inches below she could have brought forth panache. Black ribbon was tied delicately between tiny pieces of fabric maintaining dignity. Flesh soft enough to bruise with the single thumb print of animal need, and he knew. It churned inside’a him like the blade. He wasn’t sure how to take it, suddenly with all the salt he was worth stifled in his esophagus and popped out like a snail’s sentence. Metrical compositions were side winders and he couldn’t peel his eyes from her anatomy. But not for the pressure building in his gut that was connected to appetites. For what she was. For how tragic grace could build behind a gaze, on the wrong side of a tourniquet with only one option: watching yourself bleed. She could have been his little sister, the girls he fucked on a discretionary drug substitution, or even November. And maybe she was leaving him with the impression she intended. Telling him to fuck off and never call again. That she wouldn’t be back.

So, yeah, muneca, you got me there.

And she stuck to him despite disappearing in a mist bedaubed on the night. He can hear how she echoes with toe clicks from a heel strut on the underpass even when he’s asleep. It was going to get him, didn’t matter. Tonight. Tomorrow... His spine snapped into place as he ordered something in a jumble from the bar. Bel scooped the dancer off his lap with practiced care and bare-minimum touch, tipped her with a bubbled baritone, “Thank you” and took two glasses of whiskey straight back.

Estoy perdiendo mi mente. I’m sure ‘bout it. The lines are merging or not there at all. This girl’s got her hands all over Senna, something slick don’t feel right; but who am I to say her hands ain’t clean? No, no estoy loco. Noviembre tenía un punto. Esto es desordenado. It had to stop somewhere, might as well be sooner rather than later. But why can’t November smell that pungent fuckin’ shit across the way? Walks like bullshit. Talks like bullshit. Smells like bullshit. Tengo que manejar esto. Swallow my pride for a minute. Just one. Hay amenazas más grandes. Ones not written in familial territory or spattered on the Brooklyn horizon. This, here. Aqui. This is a fuckin’ problem. And whether or not November is here to bark and bite by the glory of my right hand, I got a Baby to protect. Every single body in here knows that. And I’m willin’ to lay money on the floral dukes wanting payment for the potential damage... Yeah, I’m gonna’ juuuust...

When he moved he had a slow pace like the hungry dog calculated in cold blood, rested just enough to lay waste to an entire plot of purpose. The sharp jaw line dropped under fluorescents and haze. He made very brief eyes at coral waves and fluttering lashes that rung familiar, ringing in ears at the split staccato of, “Good boy.” If he were in any other mood, he might have let a smirk claw at the side of him, revealing canines fit to garner stitches or remove them. Leave the black sutures on tile by the bone structure corset mislaid and undone. But they’d had their time. Chloe was on to the next, but she knew where to find Bel and that he’d be a willing hound to her cause if she needed a pill pop and pittance of sin. It seemed that there was never a final moment with the sequences, only historical reiteration with deviation in bruise placement. A coil of heavy dark hair fell across his eyes - made him wonder what the fuck was going on up top. Was there sweat on this brow over this? Brisk glances stolen, the feathered digits of hands too small to be any but Baby’s - across a tanned thigh. Flaxen swaying and the trickery between enamel. He strolled s l o w.

By the time he was crossing a line drawn deep he was kilometers from giving a fuck and kindly resting his weight on the broad shoulders of what anyone assumed to be an enemy. Someone who once wrapped Senna in Indian throws and rocked her on the beach by lily lullabies. There was still plasma on Bel's hands when his head tugged at an angle that struck stirred, he didn’t look at Caroline as he grunted, “Now I know we ain’t got a lot to talk about. But you and I ain’t stupid enough to overlook this, are we?” He could feel Gunner’s whetted curiosity.

Bel countered. Ordered a stiff drink for Dom, whose thousand-yard-scrutiny stabbed colder than the mien of the Pacific in his eyes. “She’s got snitch written all over her. Might not’a’been raised on a farm, D, but we know bullshit when we smell it. She gets those fuckin’ french manicured claws any deeper into Baby and I’m gonna’ have to catch my first body in broad daylight. Know you don’t want this to get that far either. ‘Sides... She’s rounding up something in her head. Looking around and wanting to be introduced, you can see it on her face the way she’s lookin’ back and forth. This is a problem. We ain’t gonna’ let it get farther. Sen’s all smitten and cozy but I don’t got the slightest faith that...” He moved a paw back and forth with such ferocity that his own drink spilt on the carpet, “Any of that is genuine.”

And he's wondering what G thinks on the low. How Aedan is gauging the interactions, blood lust at a steady simmer. If anyone had half a brain they knew this shit had trouble written all over it. November seemed to keep a hopeful outlook... And where in the hell had she gone?

You'll feel better when you wake up...

Gunner didn't. Not if he was being honest. Deni's chipper tone resonated in his panging skull. A reminder of where he needed to drag his ass, if he didn't want to hear about it later. He'd read the message beeping across the screen of his phone. Strip club? Bronx escort. It almost made him snort. He smothered his cheek against his pillow and exhaled sharply. Imagined his bones shifting back into place. His thoughts shivering in sequence, huffing out the blooming ache already setting roots in his chest. Fucking pathetic.

He'd support her anyway. Always did. Always would. Needn't whisper anymore words against her birdcage collarbone. In the cress of her hairline, threaded behind her ears. That was gone. Those moments. He wondered how long he'd miss them. His hand drifted next to his face, palm-down. He drew it into a tight fist and dragged his tongue across the back of his teeth. Probably just as long as he'd miss Bel. He'd long burnt that bridge with his familial silence. Buried his chances when he walked away. It was a Bates curse that would continue nipping at his heels. A fine line he walked. Two sides that adhered to his sensibilities. Promised sharper knives and no distinction between right or wrong—silence or wagging tongues. Either way, they'd feed him to the dogs.

Just a matter of time.

Blue curtains stretched out to allow a lick of sunlight into his bedroom. Crooked enough to offer a beam of the outdoors. Gunner watched Dominic toil in the garden. Hands turning over the soil and occasionally trailing across the petals. There were sides, angles, slants of Dom that most people would never see. Wouldn't have the opportunity to see. Not like this. Hunched in the sweltering sun to transplant flowers from one spot to another, in order to keep them alive. Like he did with all of them, really. As much as Gunner strong-armed anyone threatening his older brother, and his business, Dom operated in the background. Pulled invisible strings and tipped over dominoes. Kept him from stepping over any lines he wasn't aware of. Kept his chin tipped over the surface. Kept him from drowning.

This was Dom's garden. All of it.

He was just a part of it.

Maybe, the angry-looking spotted lilies tickling against the window.

He didn't mind.

...swear to God I'll make up everything and more when I get back one day.

---

Strobes of red and blue danced across the walls. Painted them into strips. Revealed slavish tongues and hunched hounds tapping knuckles in perverts-row. Velvet-covered seats riddled around the circular stage. Closest to the gyrating, hip-swinging girls crawling on their knees. Buckling down for dollar bills, slipped into lacy thongs. Winking long-eyelashes and puckering full lips. Gunner noticed. He might've paid them a glance. But he wasn't interested. Not his gig. This wasn't his scene. But Dom was here—so he was too. A gun in hand. Nothing more, nothing less. He'd been here before. Of course. Knew where all the exits were located. Recognized familiar faces weaving and bobbing in the crowd of hounds. The smell of sweaty bodies greeted his nostrils as soon as they ducked inside.

Seedy business attracted all likes of gun-totting, smack-dealing gangsters. Besides what normally happened behind closed curtains, transactions occurred. Alliances were made. Blood swilled together. Fingers twisted and sometimes, fists were drawn: cocked and loaded. Why they would pick this place of all places to do business? He didn't know. He supposed only crooked cops sniffed at their heels. Here to have a good time, like everyone else. Bulky bouncers kept the place under lock and key. Kept goodie-goodies from wandering too close. They were wolves and dogs and beasts curtailing whatever herds they claimed. The whole damn place felt like a smothering blanket pressed up against his face. He didn't really want to be here, but in that grumbly haze of self-pity he'd promised Deni that he would and if Dom was here, it was his business to be here. Supposed he might've enjoyed this a bit more, under different circumstances. Running around with Bel and Senna when things were simpler. Now, not so much. Everything was complicated.

Gunner slipped in beside Dom and sat alone. Shrugged off wandering hands wrapping around his bicep. Mumbled when shots were shoved in front of him. Ignored the croons of birds who craned over his bulky shoulders, whispering that he should just have one drink. Some of the girls knew him by name and stopped in to say hi. Knew all of the Bates and Zaires because their parties often carried themselves here. But, he wasn't interested in any lingering touches. Didn't want to bring anyone home with him. Besides, he wasn't the type of guy to rip into some hapless girl if it didn't mean anything. The only necks he wrapped his hands around were those he put down. Exposed collarbones and soft fingers in a place like this hid claws and sharp teeth. Opportunists who dug into leather wallets and fled at the first sight of daylight. As wretched as he felt, he didn't feel like filling in those spaces with a warm body. He leaned his forearms across the clean counter top and glanced sidelong. Noticed November sliding into Dom's lap as if she'd been there all along. A sultry kitten wrapping herself around him, sans purr.

He noted Simon sweeping through the doors with Hani clipped to his elbow. Fashionably late, as usual. A smile almost tipped across his lips. Stopped-mid twitch and settled into a frown. He inclined his head. Nodded to acknowledge that he was fine. They were all fine, in one place. Seeing Hani step into a place like this made him feel odd. He was, however, somewhat relieved that she'd come with Simon. He trusted no one else to accompany her. Even if they hardly talked anymore... he wanted her safe. Wanted what was best for her. He doubted it was Bel. Problems clung to his heels like weights. Threatened to send him to the depths: drowned him. Even so, he was relieved there was someone to wipe his knuckles clean. Pull him away from himself. Temper the anger that bubbled and threatened to spill over. He was a bomb sizzling at both ends. Couldn't blame him. If Bel was a walking grenade tick-ticking away, he was the one dancing with lions. Cawing for a death-wish.

It didn't take him long to notice Dom leaning back in his seat. Gunner followed his gaze towards the Zaires. He would've been lying if he said he hadn't noticed Senna walk in with the blonde bomb shell. Felt the sickness rise in his guts, green-envy that made him turn his head away. But now, Dom wanted him to look. So he did. Could see the clear distaste coloring his features. Dragging his lips down into a scowl that spoke volumes. He didn't want her here, so close in his vicinity. He wanted her gone. Probably wanted him to wring his hands around her pretty little neck to make her disappear. He couldn't. Wouldn't. Not to Senna. He said as much before looking away from them. He turned back towards the counter top and stared at his battered knuckles. Opened his hands, stared at his palms and crushed his hands into fists, “She told me 'bout her.” Barely a whisper. Only audible to Dom, and maybe November, if she was paying attention.

Fucking pathetic.



Giggling pair of girls leaning into each other like proper lovers. Kissing necklines. Whispering sweet-nothings in plain view. It only seemed real when it was right in front of him. He'd support her, that's what he'd said last night. Whispering in a euphoric tundra, wasted under the weight of such a promise. Lingering in the warmth she left behind. Gunner tapped his fingers and ordered himself a whiskey. He normally tried to keep straight while watching Dom's back. Normally sniffed snow to keep him focused on the task at hand. But his head still bugled like a pair of drums and liquor had the auspicious numbing effects he craved for. He threw his head back and finished the glass before turning back towards Dom. Surprisingly, Bel had joined him. Probably bristling at the sight he'd seen. Seemed like even ladies weren't exempt from his watchful eyes. Baby always deserved better. He tended to agree.

Another body occupied the space November had left. Slinked in when he hadn't been paying attention. She wrapped around Dom like a scarf. As if she belonged there. Gunner wondered what Nov would have thought about that. Would she bare her teeth? Mark her territory? Scream at the top of her lungs like she'd just done with Bel? Would've been a sight to see. Nov was a firecracker. Dom had the habit of attracting explosive women. The kind who would build you up and destroy you in the same breath. He didn't say anything. It wasn't any of his business who Dom chose to fuck. As long as they didn't dip their toes into any of his own affairs, it was fine. As soon as Bel leaned into Dom and pointedly called Caroline a snitch, Gunner finally twisted towards them. He probably looked like shit. Exhausted, trying to conjure something up. A warning. Something that didn't sound like he was agreeing that something should be done. Despite the quiet wish tickling at his bound fists, his expression shifted. Hoped the spite didn't leak through too clearly.

It took everything in him to grumble, “Don't fuck this up for her.”

This wouldn't turn into a fucking shit-show. Not on their account.

---

---

That night, they made love to one another like they hadn’t caressed one another in years when in fact it had only been some twelve hours since they last touched one another, with the intent of fucking like old sweethearts. Somehow that night felt more intense than any night preceding it. Maybe it was because they had to maintain their inside voices as there sweet innocent little angel slept unawares just down the hall. It could have been because of the ruckus that occurred early during the wee hours that the Little Lady had her legs open up until she finally closed them, having experienced enough for one night. Regardless, the moment their room was sealed off by a thin piece of wood they called a door, Anna was thrust into the door at hip level as Jona buried his face into the crook of her stretched out neck. His partner in crime made giggling sounds one would expect of an innocent schoolgirl while her hands roamed and said otherwise. Somehow the idea of trying to remain quiet made the whole of it seem as if they were having an affair, desperately trying to avoid letting the wife or husband become privy to their fucking while said husband or wife was next door unaware of the interlopers. After a certain point, Jona’s leg could no longer take the weight of holding her up, so as he attempted to set her down on the bed he had been so intent on re entering her that he had forgotten that his pants were still at his ankles. To make matters simple, the pair tumbled to the floor and snickered at one another.

If they didn’t know any better it would have been easy to have judged them and see that they were still new thus being clumsy in the act of love making. Of course, they were no strangers to it regardless of the location so they simply resumed where they were.Then again, the giddy way in which they explored one another it was almost as if they were nervous and were unsure of what to do but they knew exactly where to place a warmed moist hand or where to place kisses so light the skin shivered. As a result of one of those familiar spot, a deep throated chuckle erupted from within Jona, a feat not often witnessed by those not welcomed in these parts of their home. Only the bearer of his child knew what to do with her lovers body. Of how to make him squirm and ready to burst. He knew the ropes just as well and often times it became like a game to see who would give out first. It wasn’t until their alarms went off that they found themselves in bed layered in sweat and their own sweet, nearly sickening, scent of their love. Somewhere along the way they had moved to the proper place of love making. Almost at the same time, the two turned in to face each other and smiled at one another. Jona leaned closer to give her a kiss however Anna had other ideas.

After one last round together, the two sauntered out into their shower and washed each other. It almost led to another love making moment. Wrapping his waist with a towel, Jona was the first to exit the bathroom to find his daughter sitting atop their bed. “Good morning love.” Meg grinned a gap toothed smile and giggled, “morning daddy.”.

---

---

Unlike the night before, The Little Lady didn’t have as many patrons passing through her skirts so for a moment she had a brief respite from all the thrashings that went on inside. Jona worked the bar as usual, Anna and Meg were nowhere in sight for their presumably weekly girls night out. It wouldn’t be until their little angel grew older or could understand the significance of having that night out. The grump was happy with the quiet buzz that emanated from the four or five booths and tables that were occupied. It wasn’t everyday that the bartender got some peace and quiet and while he hates to admit, is actually quite relieved that he doesn’t have to worry about his wife and daughter. The previous night had only reminded him of how foolish it can be to have the both of them there especially when those two damned nitwits were involved. Angrily wiping down a mug, Jonathan glared out into the restaurant. A few of the patrons happened to glance up and flinched upon seeing the face their bartender was giving them. Although from Jona’s perspective, he was imagining the two nitwits in his restaurant and throwing them out by the ear. “They ought to be taught some manners.” in muttering this, he realized the naivety of his words and snorted. Shaking his head, the bearded man setting the mug back in place and grabbed another one to pass the time.
As he wiped down a second glass mug, the grump thought back to earlier that morning. Senna had come in to pay her respects for the damage her unruly brother had caused. The bartender still wasn’t quite over his actions and it was up to Anna to alleviate the tension between the two. From what he understood, Anna had struck a deal with the younger Zaire. The young beauty would have to make use of herself and work for them. It would certainly have to be long enough to pay off the cost of the damage the dimwit had caused. He chose not to partake in their conversation as the mere thought of the older Zaire made him grumble under his breathe. Somewhere in him, the bartender was fuming silently, just waiting to release that pent up irritation on something or someone. As soon as he came to that realization one of the waiters called from the kitchen.
Rolling his eyes, and let out of a huff of annoyance. “What the fuck is the problem now?” With cane in hand, Jona limped over to the kitchen doors and threw them open. Brown eyes scanning the large room for the face that may or may not meet his fist. A grim line settled on his face as the waiter that called him waved him over. Stepping around on the shelves, Jona noticed that she the kitchen phone to her ear and also wore an expression of annoyance. “What?” She raised a finger as she quickly barked into the phone in rapid fire spanish. The grump rubbed the back of his head to keep himself from snapping at the waitress. He was old enough to catch most of what she was saying and he growled when he heard just that one word or name rather, Lars. At once Jona tore the phone from her grip and yelled. “What the fuckin hell did he do this time!?”

The waitress shook her head. She almost felt bad for the kid but he had caused enough trouble that she was surprised her employer hadn’t kicked him out yet. Chest rising and falling angrily, Jona slammed the phone back into the cradle and hurridely limped out. “Close up our Lady when she’s had enough. I’m going out.” The waitress simply gave a nod and threw on the jacket that meant she was in charge. He snatched his jacket from the coat rack and stormed off into the night, lighting a cigarette as soon as he stepped out.

---

---

By the time Jona had gotten there, he was just finishing up his second cigarette. Flicking it to the ground, he stomped on the remains and adjusted his jacket. He forced himself to take a deep breathe as he didn’t feel like making a scene in someone else’s place. He had enough trouble for one week, so he calmly entered the strip club and scanned the dimly lit room. Ignoring the advances of some of the dancers, the bartender spotted the troublemaker and slowly made his way over. The kid was flanked by two of the hustlers but he still had the nerve to give Jona a cheeky smile. Almost at once, all the anger that had been building up inside Jone broke through the flimsy wall that was his control. With quick steps, Jona lashed out and punched the kid square in the jaw, garnering a few screams of surprise. “You fuckin dipshit! You’re still a damn minor and you honestly think you could actually spend time in here? And you had the fucking balls to actually get it down with one the dancers!? You must be out of your goddamn mind! You’re lucky we weren’t busy today or I swear to the good Lord I would have left you here for them to deal with.” At this point, Jona was more or less screaming and had attracted the attention of the other patrons. His appearance was a bit disheveled but a quick hand running over the stray articles of clothing and hair settled it back down. Brown eyes glared from underneath lowered eyebrows, daring the hustlers to try and remove him from the premises. “Fucking bastard. What can I do?” He jerked his thumb at Adam, not bothering to mention him by name at this point. When the kid tried to speak up, Jona glared over his shoulder. The expression on Jona’s face got worse as one of the hustlers presented him with a small dose of crack. “He was doing lines on our ladies asses and even tried giving it to them. He's also underage for drinking and being in here although I don't see how the fuckin kid managed to pass with such a shitty ID.” The owner glared at the two of the hustlers and frowned. “Jesus Adam. Really? I don't know if you're trying to be like them or if you're just fucking stupid.” Jona rubbed the area around his temples and gave out a sigh. By his stance he was still pissed and unless the kid thought it a good idea to say something, he wouldn't get punched again.

Carmine Bates was perched on at the kitchen counter when he finally made it back home, typing away at her laptop with all the seriousness of a wall street lawyer. Glasses balanced on her nose, tea steaming on her right, and a stack of woman style magazines on her left, she didn't even look up when Simon entered the kitchen.

"Mom" He greeted her from behind, setting his bags down so he could wind his tattooed arms around her thin shoulders as she continued to type, pretending to ignore her youngest son in favor for her latest 'job', "If you are organizing another fashion show, you know I need front seats"

He could feel her body visibly relax at his presence- though she was used to him not coming home for multiple nights in a row, he knew it still bothered her under the surface. Always watchful but never too intrusive, Carmine kept to herself just enough to allow Simon to think he had the run of the town- secretly she had her talons loosely wrapped around him, whether it by making Dominic keep tabs on it or sending out a driver to pick him up when she knew his whereabouts. Simon didn't care, he knew his mother liked to have a sense of control in her life and didn't mind being just that for her.

"Simon, you know you are way to big to lean on me like this" Always a calm voice, though it was now laced with mild irritation. He chuckled, his beard rubbing against her exposed shoulders as he moved to plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Excuse me for showing you my love, mother" Simon stepped away and around the counter to avoid her too-slow swat meant for the back of his head. He popped a hip against the marble counter top and watched his mother remove her glasses and pinch a tired worry-line off her forehead. For an older woman, Carmine was absolutely stunning. Maybe it was the years she'd spent with little worries, when their cashflow came in easy and she lived her life just for her children. Recently he'd been able to tell her age more- small things like crows feet, forehead lines, aging skin, aching shoulders, grey visible in her grow-out. It worried him, although he knew aging with a silly thing to worry about.

"I was worried, you've been gone three nights in a row. Usually I can tell at least when you come home for a shower"

Simon sighed and turned away favor of the fridge, sensing an argument and not wanting to get into it right now. Shopping with Senna had relaxed him for the most part, but if he allowed himself to his mind could easily slip back to the image of Jasper above him, arms caged on either side of his head and the prick of a needle grazing against his throbbing throat. He could almost just replace Jasper's hand with his own, remove the other boy entirely and give himself the needle- skin would break easily, a small bead of blood would be all he would loose, then his body would relax as the drugs filtered through him and slowed everything to a dull crawl-

He opened the fridge, the rush of cool air simmering his mind, "I was at Gun and Dom's, you don't need to worry so much", his eyes traced the mountains of tupperware and frozen meals, wishing that his mom would keep something edible in the fridge and not just copious amounts of leftovers. With a sigh of frustration he shut the door a little too harshly, turning to face the Bates matriarch whom was regarding him with a cool, even stare. A very Dom look, something Simon always thought his older brother had obtained from their father.

But maybe Dominic was more like his mother then he thought.

"Are you doing alright?" Carmine was perceptive as always, especially when it came to her baby. She could see his tight shoulders, stiff neck, the obvious soreness of his muscles from his late night activities, the way his eyes seemed to shift everywhere but hers.

Simon smile and rolled his eyes, playing it off easily even though he wasn't alright at all, "Im fine. Just need a shower and a nap" He grabbed the bags he'd deposited earlier and left the kitchen, ignoring the heavy gaze his mother followed him out the room with.

Safe in his room, he deposited himself on his black leather sofa without turning on a light. In the dark he could easily dig out what he needed- flick of the lighter, in hale, hold, then a slow stream of pure white smoke deflates his chest and allows his body to fully relax into the cushions. Fuck, he needed that hours ago- the restlessness in his bones made his over active mind nauseatingly fast, just the small confrontation with his mother had made the anxiety build up in his throat like bile. He hadn't been home in a few days and although he always had weed on him, there was nothing like siting on his couch by himself and letting his body sink into his own allotted self-medication. By himself, he could feel his mind teeter, let the constant stream of thought sift away and loose the tension from his shoulders. He relaxed, his usual perfect posture mellowed, and he let himself lean back and close his eyes and not give a shit.

Maybe Jasper as right, maybe this made more sense then everything else.

The buzz of his phone his his pocket startled him more then normal- it bothered him that even high, Jaspers tar still filtered through the haze.

[From: Hani]
[Hey...a drink? If you’re free]

Fuck yeah he was free.

[From: Simon]
Always free for you ;) Hows about you meet me at the strip in an hour? I owe you a few drinks, we can get wasted and hide from our problems together

Eagerly his fingers flung a text back at her and he hoped off the couch with energy that hadn't been present before. One shower, another smoke, and a change later, and Simon was hollering down the stairs a quick goodbye to his mother. He dressed more casually then he normally did- simple black tee, levi's, a dark fur-lined jacket- clothes that he didn't care much for. Cause Simon was higher then he'd been in a while and he had no interest in making it back home again tonight- he wanted someone new to wipe away the insistent creeping thoughts of pale junkie tattoo flesh and cocked needles.




The heat coming from the stage lights and the gathered sweaty bodies makde the place smell like exactly what it was, a joint meant for to feasting your eyes naked, hot contorted bodies. Pure sex, where woman used their power in a way that made the opposite sex turn primal. Although Simon preferred men for the most part, he could never deny that a the hot shit that pulled themselves up on the polls in next to nothing and ground their asses for bills didn't turn him on. It air was thick and sweaty, either from the crowded stages or the grinding bodies in the back of the strip next to the DJ. He pushed slowly through the crowd, idling racking his eyes over the stages and lingering on a few that caught his eye, though he moved on faster then most. Attractive, sexy, but nothing that really got him going farther then pure aesthetics.

He ordered a whiskey for Hani and himself- he didn't know what the small girl drank, but figured he couldn't go wrong if it was top shelf liquor. Down the bar he caught sight of Gun and Dom, both looking as stubbornly unhappy as usually. Dom, his usual scowl in place, didn't even smile when he nodded at Simon in greeting- so Simon beamed down the bar like the good little brother he was. He had a mind to head over and bother the two until he got at least a smirk, but decided he was too high to deal with their cantankerous 'fuck-off' presence. He loved his brothers, but why the fuck did they come to a strip if all they wanted to do with sit and glower at everyone else? Instead he paid and snuck through the crowds, found Hani at a booth out of the way, and handed over her drink.

Whiskey in hand and eyes dancing across the crowded sweaty bodies and half naked woman, Simon let his eyes roam for familiar faces. Generally he always saw someone he knew here- his brothers, the Zaires, some of the woman that always seemed to be hanging off of either of the elder Bates arms, Jasper... and as if on cue, said demons sickly dark aura stood out amongst the rest, his bad posture and sneering smirk already grating on Simons nerves. He was talking to someone, he couldn't see from here, and he hated the sickly feeling of jealousy that crept through him. Jasper wasn't his, he didn't want him, but right now he couldn't help the possessive way he wanted the tear him away from the crowd. He clenched his glass hard, taking a long sip of the burning liquid, and tore his eyes away.

There was no need to get wrapped up in that tonight, not when he'd spent all day avoiding the shit that was Jasper Callaghan and had a room full of other choices. Maybe he'd go unnoticed in this dark booth, maybe Hani's light presence would steer the demon away, or maybe Simon should give in and let things go their own course-

Fuck that.

He easily found the 'other choice' of the night, grinding against one of the half dressed girls like he planed to unload himself right on the dance floor. A skinny, blonde, tattooed junkie, grudgingly Simons new type. He tipped back the glass and winked at Hani before slipping through the crowds to join the undulating bodies in the back. He supposed he should have been bothered that the skinny kid looked eerily like Jasper when he slinked up along Simon's taller frame, or he should have been bothered when he could see the faint dusting of coke under his noes when he turned around to grind full frontal. But fuck, Simon was resigned that the sickly junkie type was his thing for now, even though he knew they only lead to trouble.

And a few more shots into the night left him really not giving a fuck anyway.

At some point they'd moved from the dance floor to a booth, his eyes focusing across the table at the ridiculous kid- Lars, he'd heard him say in a thick Brooklyn accent Simon wasn't entirely sure was real- was either talking a mile a minute or had his nose plugged up with coke. Right now he was concentrating on taking a hit off some strippers ass, laughing at himself and offering up the white powder when he saw Simon staring.

“Hey man, want a bump?”

There was a moment where Simon actually shifted to move around the table, his body moved forward without even a thought, inky black Jasper-like fingers tugging him with promises that everything would feel so much better, before his mind caught up to his actions and he let the movement propel him upwards and out.

The bathroom was disgusting, but the water felt good against his burning skin. The light in here filtered out green, bounced off the dirty tiles and illuminated his dark bags and strung out eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he new that was just his nerves eating away at him. With slippery fingers he scrambled for his lighter and a joint, inhaled, and instantly relaxed- though he knew it was only temporary, he took solace knowing that this still worked.

Back in the main room he caught sight of Jona making a bee-line through the crowds. Something about the furrowed antagonizing brow and uneven gait caught Simon’s attention over the slithering bodies and smell of sex. He’d come to terms with his attraction to the older bartender, he spent many nights making lewd comments over the bar in attempts to get some sort of reaction. But Jona had a wife and a kid, something even Simon knew not to fuck with. Much.

He caught up with Jona just as he was decking the coke kid- Lars- in the face and a few bouncers were dragging him up. He waited idly behind, not one to interfere (the kid probably deserved it anyway, remembering the way he was snorting off the stripers earlier) before slipping up next to Jona with a goofy grin once the scene had settled, “ Whatever that shit was seems more trouble then its worth” He had to lean over and whisper in Jonas ear for him to hear him over the club noises, but Simon preferred the proximity anyway.

---

The atmosphere of this place kicks up a notch right around the time that the people with wives and children awaiting them at home start filing out. Those who can’t party with the big boys and girls should have stayed home to begin with. She’s well aware that she’s having too much fun here, but after the day she’s had, the completely unnecessary karma curveball that got thrown at her – well, she goddamn deserves some fun. And what better way than to find some pretty girls to wrap herself around. Besides, she’s got the cash to blow, and thus far it seems like her little theft earlier in the night has gone completely unnoticed.

It’s not too far into the night that she notices tall, dark, and creepy staring her down from several seats away. She likes to occupy a middle grounds section, where she can easily get to the door if shit starts popping off, while also being visible in case any business were to come her way. She isn’t surprised by the amount of former and current clients she sees in the crowd; some she’s robbed blind even, though she chooses to duck her head when those types walk by. Even if she’s got ‘friends’ in this crowd she’d rather not ruin the party with a fight.

The longer the guy stares at her however the more nervous she gets. Her mind wheeling through the list of who she’s screwed over in the past. But this guy, she couldn’t tell if she knew him or not. At least, not by face, but those eyes were familiar enough. Whatever the case, she was getting irrationally more annoyed by the second just thinking about it. Even the two women parked beside her can’t seem to shake her out of the daze she’s gotten herself into.

“Excuse me ladies,” She stands away from the two companions that had been her entertainment for the night – farewell until another time. Barely sparing them a glance as she walked to the table where creepy sat. Closer up she could distinguish the features that she had not before been able to make out. At first she hadn’t been able to tell what it was, but as she examined him closer the picture instantly formed for her. He looked a fair bit like Aedan, if Aedan were older and a bit more roughed up. But what really made the resemblance click was when he opened his mouth to speak.

” Why don’t you have a seat?” Kaelin motioned to the seat opposite of himself. Entertained by the uncertainty in her eyes. No doubt little red was already regretting the decision to approach him. He certainly would have been had he been in her shoes. Never the less, he waited patiently for her compliance before flagging down a roaming waitress and ordering two drinks. – JD. At this point, if his face wasn’t the giveaway then the accent would have been. Thicker than the version that Aedan spoke with. Chloe tries to keep herself grounded to the spot, but she already knew that he was packing the better set of intimidation skills here. Goddamn it all, didn’t she know this day would come?

Not exactly, but she did know that her line of work came with plenty of danger and this, whoever this man is, he isn’t no diamond in the rough. “Just cause you buy me a drink don’t mean you’ll get a freebie.” Chloe bites her tongue immediately after. Jesus Christ, what an idiotic thing to say. Chloe doesn’t have time to recover from her slip of tongue. ” Sweetheart, if I wanted a freebie I’d have already taken it. Besides, I like my women a little more pliant.” Thinly veiled threats don’t make friends but Kaelin isn’t here to sweet talk. “So, profession aside, I hear you know someone I’m looking for.” - JD Chloe breathes deep, counting to three in her mind before answering. This could go a dozen ways and thus far none of them seem good. “I know a lot of people,” She admits. “But my client list isn’t exactly for sale,” She spoke low, enough for him to hear but anyone passing by wouldn’t be privy to their conversation.


” I’m not looking to buy, and –“He stopped, the waitress had returned with their drinks, he watched her set them on the table and continued watching until she had walked away and was out of his line of sight. When he turned back, Chloe had already drawn her drink closer to herself. He let the meaning of that sink in slowly, knowing he had gotten under her skin already. He had a knack for it, he supposed. “I doubt this person happens to be a client.” He knew it for a fact. There was something about the woman that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was how predatory she was, there was no doubt she was powerful, more so than most of the women he kept as company. He thought it a waste of abilities that a woman like her paraded around as a common whore – or, escort, as pretentious as it sounded to his ears. No doubt she was a little classier than the street walkers in their fishnets.

“I’m looking for Aedan Rory, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is, or perhaps if he’s attending tonight’s festivities?” - JD
She’s got one hand wrapped around a drink and the other tapping anxious fingers across the tabletop. Her eyes shift, dancing across the floor in movements mimicking the girls on stage. Something is wrong, deep in the pit of her stomach where all the sins get bottled up and sent out to the impulsive side of her brain. After too many nights stuck in the downpour she’s come to accept when life throws cosmic grade karma at her. Right now is one of those times. She isn’t willing to say it aloud but fear is slowly seeping into the rational part of her mind, but on the surface, where raw emotion dictates she is cold and unblinking. If not for the nervous twitch of her lip, she would be hidden behind a disinterested gaze.

The man before her is cold fury, and she knows the look better than most. Has spent nights in bed with it only to wake up the next morning with a wad of folded bills tucked neatly into the curve of her breasts. The kind that she only avoids on principle – she enjoys control and those men are nothing but predators vying for it. Besides the fact that stealing from them is nearly impossible, there’s an intelligence there, or maybe a similar state of mind that sniffs out her intentions long before they form. And then, if she’s lucky she gets through it alive. She isn’t proud of the life she leads, but she’s proud of the person she is, maybe that’s enough to stop her from biting the bait.

It isn’t.

Chloe is a creature of habit, and her habit is to follow the most dangerous thing in the room and claim it as her own. If he wasn’t levelling her with a look of pure bloodlust she would have almost missed that he had the same look she’s seen a dozen times and more on Aedan. Thoroughly ready to flay her alive. That look on anyone but Aedan jumpstarts the adrenaline. Cements the danger in her mind and yet she still doesn’t flee when he makes a jerky movement to lay one hand on her tapping fingers. She doesn’t flinch, but it damn near takes every screaming gut instinct to keep from doing so. She remembers now, Aedan never told her the full story, but she knows enough of his past that she can recognize exactly who this is - and that makes everything all the worse.

” No need to be so nervous,” He chides, almost jokingly. Lips pulling into a mock smile that shows every ridge of cigarette yellowed teeth. “I only asked a simple question.” Yeah, a simple question that could determine her fate then and there, either the man is going to get pissed and murder her or Aedan will He drops the smile in favor of a grimace, “I’m not that scary am I?” Another joke, perhaps. But its anything but joking in nature. He’s got a way about him that can do one of two things, draw people in, or utterly terrify them away.

“Who said I was scared…or nervous for that matter,” Chloe forced an eye roll, “Look what do you want, I’ve got things to do, people to see, and Aedan doesn’t happen to be one of them.” She’s dropped all pretenses of claiming to not know him. “He’s not exactly a people person, I’d be surprised if he even showed up to one of these things.” Lies. She had seen him earlier that night when he decided to blow her off in favor of Dominic Bates. She didn’t quite know the extent of that relationship, but she knew there was a history. As much as she liked to keep her friends close she didn’t much care how they spent their nights.

”Ah, but you do know him.” His grin had returned in force, “And that means you have all the information I need.” She had laid out all the cards to him, and he was ready to take them. -JD Chloe was just about tired of the back and forth, at this point it was becoming too exhausting to uphold. "Look, he isn't here okay. He's probably home sulking about this or that - or probably even high off his ass.I'm not his keeper" She could feel the fear ebb away for just a moment. Annoyance seeping in as it fades. But, she knows his type, and if anything he'll keep dogging her if she doesn't give him something. "Look, I can give you his number but thats it, I'd appreciate if you just left me alone after this." That seemed to be enough for the man, she quickly wrote the familiar number down on a napkin and shoved it to him. Her nerves were shot, she needed at least ten more drinks if she was going to weather this night. Maybe get fucked up and take someone home. Who knows at that point.

"Well, here's hoping we meet again." Kaelin lifted his glass in a mock toast. He was enjoying their little exchange more than he thought he would, and really, the number helped enough that he didn't mind her retreat. Despite the lip she was giving him, which normally he wouldn't have tolerated from anyone else. For that matter, he wasn't completely unaffected by her charms. He would have liked to watch her break down. - JD. Chloe grimaced, and, with a flourish turned away. No goodbyes to be had, she was more than ready to find some sap and break him down. Get her nerves back into the right place. But first....

To: Aedan
"Do you have life insurance?"

Pierian.

Childlike diversion came and went like the poetry of sinners. She'd never taken a step beyond the boundary known as bereavement, not to fall from seventy stories and be cradled by the crumpled coffin ladle of automobile wreckage. Nor hideously overdosed, reemerging with baby pink lips confounded, chest swinging. And certainly not alongside a lover, beige inoculated, their nerves a tangled mess of bare vigilance as they on dying breath shrugged at their syringe delinquency. But she had known the afterlife well. Had she not, she wouldn't recognize the charisma of its opposite. She was not ready to eat the crows of Brooklyn. She wasn't ready to die.

Senna shifted in the corner booth of fluorescent swept debts, not in part - quite the same as show girls. Her declaration of refusal was between the palm pulse of she and Caroline's grasp. But something about the guarded and unapologetic audits of her brother, even his sworn enemies, had her admittedly in a state of microscopic reconsideration. She knew after all, bringing Caroline into this place was proliferated with threats.

Not pretty, the colophon of Senna's light switch love interest had all eyes on herself and her shiny new right hand. This tool, not by any means meant to be, was garnering extra attention. No comity left. None expected. Her best guess is that life goes on, and she abides quietly with a pull of the hips. Caroline fell into her lap in a way that was beyond close for comfort to those around them. The euphoria behind shocks of dandelion hair bespoke of being wet, i n e x p e r i e n c e d. Untouched. A dusky pout was always in place, but she substituted it for a coy rock of her mouth which cracked corner vague into a smile and puckered to trace a slender neck. Senna knew what she was doing, that, they were looking for a show, really. She’d give it. Besides, the club was burning out in terms of holding her attention. Even with the blowout between Bel and November. Caroline, on the other hand, seemed overtly giddy.

“Has its days,” Senna sighed, drink in hand, leaning back into a cushion, “All dogs do.” Of course the feline like presence of the room belonged to maybe Chloe - Deni. One or both, and quite frankly, Senna had ashed the cigarette of her excitement and patience long ago. A bad feeling settled into her gut once Daisy showed up. Everyone could pretend like they didn’t see her, but she was hard to miss.

The warfare of nostalgia set in heavier than the bruise across her brow, and she leaned her forehead into the structure of her counterpart, creasing it. Burdensome, really. Nostalgia and sitting across the room from someone she’d just shared a bed with. A bed she didn’t want to leave. What was worse was having Daisy slide in, half kimono’d with her tiny waist and inky hair cast around her face the way it always was. It forced Senna to remember better and worse days. The latter perhaps warped her brain in a way that couldn’t be imagined even by the psychos she loved most. Speaking of psychos, her eyes grazed the shell of Aedan shortly before he up and disappeared, and pondered his presence in a way that might have said, “I bet you feel real proud right now.” And she couldn’t knock it. A heroin hedonist with the lacking in brakes made for a hell of a night and she couldn’t hate him anymore than she could have asked him to do her again. But when she recalled the lie spun like fine silk to fall on eager ears, protecting her now girlfriend, she kept her scrutiny up off of him. Avoided him like the plague.

Messy, messy.

Yeah, she knew it would be. It always was and it didn’t tend to clean itself up in a jiffy when things looked up, either. Perhaps the worst part of living in such a cesspool was less the people and more the circumstances and routines bred by them. There was an old saying about how once something manifests, it stays in motion. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. All that, and what not. Which meant the world of physics was granting evil immortality with little ramifications and plenty of bloodshed recoil. It made Senna mumble, “Mother fucker,” out loud and slam her drink back to counter herself immediately, “I’m tired.” But wasn’t everyone in the place? Yeah, they were.

And then there were the unidentifiable silhouettes that she thought familiar, but couldn't see long enough in the right strip of light to really know. It all felt too dangerous suddenly. She glanced over someone hollow, someone like something she already knew too intimately and watched it fall devil wise toward Chloe's company.

I gotta' get the fuck out.

A better shelter than shadow, Gunner sat up next to the baron with a sort of invisible mass cloaked around him. He looked just like she’d left him, maybe worse, and she didn’t want to tell the difference. Didn’t know how the hell she could take something so good and twist it up in her feeble hands, but she always managed to. Dominic wasn’t long for the likes of this place, and that was to no surprise. If he couldn’t hide in Novi or someone else, he’d dip alone or alongside the next best thing. They all loved lotus eating more than the beating of their own souls, but sometimes it was a close tie out. Much as they all thought they were alone they never really were. One cat always dragged in another. So the mess went. Over, and over, and over again.

In the company of wolves a person often finds that creature alliance is a fickle son of a bitch [no pun intended], yet somehow lays like the fruitful peace of a treaty between tandems that have accepted a common enemy. Everything was so fucking mercurial. Usually she didn’t want to complain but she was sodden with the strain of her free choices and was sick to death of being in a room full of them, past and present. She thought it better to peel out quick while the wounds were still kind of dry. Ripping them raw didn’t seem an alternative, she just wasn’t going to allow it. Not with tensions strung tighter than a guitar Dominic would rather smash than play or, traps rigged up right under everyone’s nose. Didn’t it just seem like, these days… They were all waiting to fall in on each other and lay their shit bare? That right there - the impending bloodlust? She forecasted it daily and watched the dam get a little weaker every week.

“We should cut this place,” she kissed it into prettier words, “Solo tu y yo.”

She couldn’t be paid to keep the baggage of everyone else’s evening and knew well enough that she had to keep hers in check. Some things weren’t fair. Well, about three hundred percent of existence wasn’t. She’d made a wrong turn or five and needed to bust the u. Maybe home. Maybe somewhere warm, under the covers or between Caroline’s thighs.

---

Spend your life in the underbelly of the world and a thing or two will start to become ultimately clear. For Aedan, it is the gray spectrum of rights and wrongs that don’t quite add up to coincidence when facing each other head on. It’s in the way he lives, hard and fast without breaks to slow him down. It is currently in the way that he is already plotting every single way he could torture the screams from Caroline’s quivering lips. Every tool he could use to get his very way, and it is brought to life in vivid detail by a mind that has already experienced so much carnage in so little time. He thinks at first that he hasn’t been noticed, his quiet arrival just barely announced. Mind still working over details of the past few days he’s had.

Somehow, life has been exponentially crazier as of late. Even his most busy days have not been this insane. Or, insane by his standards for that matter. It seems that things are slowly falling apart, a downhill sliding snowball. Eventually, he thinks, it will all come crashing down in one earth shattering instant. He wanders what could possibly be the catalyst, but would just as soon not know the name of their downfall.

He has been noticed, as he knew he would be even if his presence was a silent one. He could not stop himself from being drawn to Dom, just the same. Besides, who better a partner in crime than the established eldest of the Bates, a son of indifference, if only with the hundreds of miles in between. Aedan itches to be beneath his skin, to shred bits of flesh with a knife made by his own hands. Intimate degradation in the form of bloodletting and savagery. He would just as soon accept the same treatment from the man before him, an act that Aedan does not take lightly.

“Plans tonight?”

Nothing tonight, or, if there had been his schedule had quickly been cleared in the span of two spoken words. For Dom, his night was as endless as it would have been for Senna. It wasn’t every night that Aedan found himself freed up from the constants, the clean ups, the cover ups; the jobs that got his blood pumping. More so than the accounting firm ever could – that place with its business suits and barely concealed clutter would eventually be the death of him. Jobs that left him waking in the middle of the night panting for more and wondering when the next would come his way. Sure, he had plans, big ones and small ones that all amounted to his own sordid pleasures but on this night, for once, he is utterly at the mercy of his whims.

A dangerous thing indeed.

He takes the drink, a lifeline as usual, something to distract from feelings that don’t quite meet the surface. Exterior as always cold, but that isn’t the fault of anyone besides himself. Aedan couldn’t express normal human feelings if he took a class on it. But for the people he actually manages to tolerate the presence of, its much different. People like Senna, Chloe, and…Dominic Bates; whom is on a different planet altogether. Where he finds obsession in Senna, and friendship in Chloe it is in Doms presence that he finds peace – a comradery that cannot be explained in words. Its only in eye contact, the silent exchange, that they truly communicate. That above all else has always served to calm the raging storm behind Aedans methodical mind.

“Depends,” Aedan speaks low, swirls the liquid in his glass before tossing another glance to the girl whom had caught every stray bit of hatred within him. Would she be the final straw that breaks the camels back? If he were to act on his whims would Senna ever forgive him? Did she have to find out…. No, she would always suspect him, anybody would half a mind would suspect him, but nobody needed to know the truth. Just like any other job. Any murder in this city could easily be contributed to him, but nobody ever really gets to do more than suspect that he has had a part in it; Aedan prided himself on being a silent killer, and someone who could hide his jobs better than the rest. Most bodies that get discovered aren’t his work – no, he knows better. But every once in an infuriating while it happens. But he learns, and continues on from those times.

Now, on the other hand the muted side of him worried - well, as much as he can manage the feeling of worry, about involving Dominic. He had no issues leading someone down that road. Yet Aedan felt oddly territorial over the act of torture.
“Do you have plans tonight?” Unfortunately, his next furtive gaze cast towards the girls reveals that they have departed. One chance missed, but planning this out is the best way to go anyways. He wonders just how far Dom would want to take this one. Aedan didn’t doubt Doms own yearning to rip the blonde limb from limb. His own yearning was driving him madder by the second. Besides that, the drink mixed with the rest of his daily activities began to hit him. He wanted more of this feeling. Basking in the glow of hedonistic pleasures.

Somewhere in between a string of thoughts Aedan was rudely interrupted by his phone. The quick procession of buzzes bringing his attention to his lap, where the screen lit up. He barely glanced at it, mildly annoyed at the interruption. Of course, he expected to be contacted by Chloe at some point, after breezing past her earlier; he’s surprised she has waited this long so far. The text made no sense to him, she was asking about life insurance? As if he would give her that information. He set the phone aside after sending a blank message and returned to staring at Dom.

Dom made it all the worse, Aedan had not quite realized how far under his own skin the man had gotten. And was both annoyed and intrigued by how easily he accepted the feeling. The mutual understanding that came in silence. The darkness that Aedan often caught in Doms eyes when he thought nobody was looking – Aedan was always looking, always seeking out those moments. He marveled at the way the other could be so privy to so much knowledge and yet act on so few things, admired it really, for Aedan had never had that control in his life. In a few words, it was a complete turn on. For someone who stole control at will, the idea of another having control felt mystifying.

“There are things we should probably discuss anyways,” He acquiesced, unaware of the fuzz that settled in his mind. The atmosphere shifting from a fast dance to a slow crawl. He knew the conversation wouldn’t be so much that, as it would be a series of unspoken words. Silent looks, and noises of agreement or disagreement. “And, you could always tag along.” He didn’t explicitly state the plan but the implications were there. He knew by the way he spoke and acted that Doms problem with the blonde were just as big as his own, and Aedan could see that having Dom along would be beneficial either way. He could manage with his territorial side, if only to watch the other become stained with blood.

---