As the smoke filled her lungs, a distinct, small burn sat in the back of her throat until she parted her lips and watched the smoke dance across the air in front of her and mingle with her companion's. She clenched her teeth as her finger slid along the rim of her glass of whiskey, her hazel eyes surveying the busy club.

"Do you think he'll show tonight or just leave it to his lackeys?"

As she put out her cigarette, Quinn turned her head, feeling her hat tip slightly downward, covering some of her vision. She didn't move to it for she knew exactly how Santana looked in that moment.

She was sitting next to her in a dark suit, red shirt and a loose red striped tie. Her hair was pulled up, displaying impressive cheekbones and predatory eyes, demanding respect and attention. Her lips were shining with the gloss she had applied on the way there and a permanent smirk was ever-present on them; as if she were perfectly aware of her bursting sex appeal and the affect that she so easily had on others.

"Quinn?" There it was, once again. That slight mocking and knowing tone that her partner's eyes had lingered too long.

Hazel eyes jumped upward from her glossy lips to eyes that shined with mirth and quickly looked away. The whiskey was making her lightheaded already and she could feel her blood pump hotly through her veins.

"If he wants his money, he'll show up tonight," the blonde retorted coolly.

The wad of cash felt heavy inside of her pinstripe jacket, constantly pressing against her breast in rapt attention. It hadn't been easy to get and at times, she still felt the sticky liquid on her hands. It amazed her how bright it shined, accusing her loudly in the dim, dark alleys of New York City. With a mute fury, she kept her gaze away from Santana's blood-red shirt, a trigger for the harsh memory.

The piano suddenly changed and transitioned into a slow, compelling stroke of keys as the lights dimmed.

Try to think that love's not around

But it's uncomfortably near

An angelic voice wafted through the air, dispelling the toxic smoke and banishing all the whispered threats riddled with curse words with its simple pure innocence and sweetness. Quinn's harsh gaze—which had been flickering between the front door and the office—slid up to the stage to land upon the sight of a mesmerizing woman in a nude colored dress; the slit falling low enough on her chest to entice any wandering eyes. The bracelets on her left wrist fell slowly against her tan, smooth skin as she lifted her hand to grasp the mike, while the other stroked the stand absentmindedly. Her lips parted as she opened her eyes, falling instantly upon Quinn's and suddenly, the hot blood in her veins from the whiskey had no comparison.

My old heart ain't gaining no ground here

Because my angel eyes ain't here

Her sultry voice and piercing chocolate eyes shot straight through Quinn and she found herself unable to look away. She was under the starlet's spell and judging from the slight flutter of the woman's eyelashes and breath of a smirk on those pouty lips, she was well aware of her power.

Angel eyes, that old devil sent

They glow unbearably bright

Everything about the woman was tantalizing. The way she shifted ever so slightly with the slow, gritty feel of the tune and stroked the mike, curling her feminine fingers just so. Her dark eyes seemed to not just move over the transfixed audience, but seemed to glide over each member, seemingly letting each individual believe that she was singing to them and only them.

"Damn," Quinn heard Santana mutter next to her.

A small burst of irritation emerged in the blonde's chest as Santana's single word drifted over a low, perfect note from the brunette's mouth.

Need I say that my love's misspent

Misspent with angel eyes tonight

A small burst of light peeked into the club and Quinn took the moment to linger over her form in that tight, perfect dress while Santana suddenly had other plans. She felt a hard jab into her side, making the wad of cash slide around in her breast pocket. She unwillingly tore her eyes away from the beautiful stranger on stage and looked to her partner.

"What the hell is your problem, Lopez?"

"Hudson is here," the Latina muttered, jerking her head towards the entrance. She looked up in time to see the front door nearly shut, giving the tall club owner a almost frightening silhouette of his demanding, colossal presence as well as his two lackeys beside him.

She stiffened her posture immediately and took a swig of her drink, watching his posse move through the club without so much as a look at the people they were shoving aside. His right hand man Puck looked tired and worn in simply a pair of black slacks and a heavy red button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She noticed a red stained handkerchief hanging slightly from his pocket and could only assume the worst for the last poor individual they visited. Hudson's newest member to the growing organization, Sam, looked crestfallen and weary. Perhaps he wasn't aware of what he was getting himself into.

Quinn sure as hell wasn't when she unknowingly stumbled into Hudson's employment.

The beautiful woman on stage finished her lovely tune and bowed out only with a slight curtsey, brush of a single strand out of her face and small, almost embarrassed smile on her lips. A rush of applause and whistles filled the dusky air of the club, only broadening her smile and subsequently, adding to Quinn's.

Finn Hudson took two large strides to the stage and held out his hand to the woman, helping her down the stage. Immediately, Quinn felt an anger wash over her, watching the vile man's hand grace the woman's skin and felt her grip tighten on her shot of whiskey.

Puck took a step closer, invading the couple's space and received a harsh glare from his boss before a mutter of words were spoken and Quinn saw his eyes flicker over his lackey's broad shoulder to land upon her.

"Santana, get ready," she directed and watched her partner straighten her lapel and tug on her tie.

With a hand situated on her shoulder more so as a warning or like a leash on a dog instead of an intimate habit, Hudson led the brunette to Quinn's table, while his two lackeys followed slowly behind. The club, it seemed, had needed to take a second to revive itself after the woman's intoxicating performance and only now did the band start a new song. Men flocked to the bar once again to retrieve glasses for their conquests for the night.

"Quinn." He greeted her, keeping his cool eyes on the pair of women even as his hand kept a tight grip on the brunette's shoulder. She kept her eyes downward, looking at Quinn's folded hands on the table, as her teeth seemed to pull on her bottom lip nervously. She was a completely different woman than when she was on stage. Under the hot lights and with the band behind her, an audience to enrapture she was a force to be reckoned with and was full of unparalleled confidence. The woman standing in front of the blonde now was clearly broken and under the control of a sick man. It was obvious that she had found herself in a situation that she could not get out of, much like Quinn. With a flicker of her eyes, the chocolate orbs met hazel briefly and immediately, she knew she had to do everything in her power to get this woman out of his control. She had been plotting for months on how to take down Finn Hudson, the most powerful gangster in New York, anyhow for what he had done to her but it was too risky to pull both of them out. With a harsh glare to Finn, she knew she would only be able to save the girl.

"Mr. Hudson," she replied in return.

"Did you get the package?" His tone was of utter indifference. She wondered when he stopped feeling guilt as he stood over his dead bodies. She thought about when the last time was he actually paused in remembrance for them before he stole their money off their lifeless corpse.

"Yes."

Puck sat down next to her and turned his body as if leaning for a kiss. They had gotten used to this routine for a while now but the first time it happened, she ended up head butting him and breaking his nose. While Finn enjoyed her feisty and rash behavior and saw the promise for it, he disciplined her for temporarily breaking his right hand man.

She reached into her breast pocket slowly, keeping an eye on any of the customers and was hopeful that none of them were an undercover cop. Quickly, she pulled out the wad of money and dropped it into his waiting hand. He leaned forward, adding more to the show and she felt a ghost of his lips against the skin of her neck. Santana shifted in her seat but Quinn flickered her gaze over to her, warning her not to do anything. He slyly shoved the money into his pocket and leaned away from Quinn, nodding to Finn.

A disgusting smile crept onto her employer's face and he moved his hand from the brunette's shoulder to her waist. "Well, now that that is over and done with, I'd like for you to meet our newest member. Her name is Rachel."

"Hi," the brunette said with a wave of her hand.

"I liked your singing," Santana offered during the apprehensive exchange.

"Thank you," Rachel replied with a tint of a blush coating her cheeks. She moved her gaze to Quinn, whom immediately relaxed upon her gaze. "Did you like it?"

She paused, taking a moment to look at Finn, whom was staring at her with a hard gaze. It was almost a warning, it seemed. "It was all right," she lied through her teeth and watched the woman's confidence shake slightly underneath the giant's hand. Sam's expression faltered in confusion at Quinn's obvious lie but chose to feign ignorance once he noticed her tense jaw and hard stare.

"I'll send you your info on your next client in a few days, Quinn. For now, I need you to watch over Rachel. She'll stay with you and Santana at your apartment for the next couple days while I get her room situated at my place." He released his grip on her and she saw his fingertips fading from the skin while Rachel took in a deep breath. His large form bent down to kiss her, receiving a small squeak of surprise from her, until the blonde watched her struggle to keep up with his mouth. She curled her lip up in distaste at the sight and looked away, seeking solace in Santana's knowing, reassuring expression.

Finn pulled away, straightened his tie on his suit and nodded to Puck. "Did you happen to leave a mess or did you do it clean this time, by the way?"

Quinn swallowed heavily. "Santana and I cleaned it up."

"Good girl," he said with a mocking tone before departing and leaving for his office. Sam stepped forward, taking a handful of dollar bills out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of Quinn, whom looked at him with horrified eyes.

"What are you doing?" Puck muttered angrily.

"Oh," the inexperienced blonde stuttered and pushed the money off to the side into Puck's lap.

"Amateur," Santana scoffed and looked around the club to double-check for cops.

"Here-Here's your payment," Sam said as quietly as he could, trying desperately to maintain some sort of professionalism. Puck folded it and slipped it into Quinn's hand, whispering angrily beneath his breath before he slid out of the booth. Rachel looked on silently but with a fearful stance, her hands wringing each other.

While Puck and Sam stalked off to Finn's office, Rachel stood uncomfortably in front of the table but noticeably with less fear than when Quinn's employer was standing with an air of intimidation over her.

"I'll get the couch," Santana immediately stated, loosening her tie and looking at the new roommate with distaste. "No way in hell am I sleeping with her in the bed. Who knows what would happen if he walked in and she just happened to be laying on me? No, no. No fucking chance."

"I'll sleep with her," Quinn brushed off and stood from the table at the same time as her partner did.

"You better be fucking careful, Quinn." The Latina warned and grabbed her heavy coat. "I'm going to get the car." With that, she walked out of the club with an obvious annoyance over the new situation and irritation.

"I-I can just sleep on the couch," Rachel offered, to which the blonde shook her head.

"Someone has to watch you constantly. You're Finn Hudson's girl. That makes you the second most powerful person in New York." Watching the realization draw upon the gorgeous woman's face, she took her hand in hers and led her out of the club out onto the cold, dark streets of the big city. "I'll watch you. It won't be easy but I will." Looking down at the woman, she saw that perhaps that wasn't enough of a condolence in her words. "I promise I'll look out for you and protect you."

She felt a squeeze against her hand and watched some feeling of comfort seep into her stiff body and the blonde watched her finally relax, breathing out into the cool air. "I trust you," she whispered, meeting her gaze.

Based on this: post/14417926248/faberry-week-1950s

Song is: watch?v=RcVejugsCic