Notes: Well. There's a bit of… action in this chapter. Being that I (Turner) enjoy writing action, I wrote a fair amount more than I usually do (and even got to play Jonas! fun!) so there is once more the * rule, with "*" representing the same author, while the "." marks a change in author. Hopefully it all reads smoothly. ^^
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It's on Monday when the realization hits. When all of those accumulated ideas, mentionings and deals pop back into his head. Jonas had been getting ready for a ride just as the sun went down, but the plan is completely overturned when he finally figures out what his old crew's game plan is. Logan said Mike was still managing. He was enforcing for Frankie. Which meant he was probably taking some of Frankie's hold. And if Frankie still does what she used to do… with Alex as some kind of courier…
So Frankie is using Alex to run drugs. And with a girlfriend working at the Island, there's a perfect market. A perfect brew of club scene and a reason to be there making it seem like nothing is amiss.
They really have stepped up their game since North Valley. But there isn't any hesitation in what he's going to do because of it. If the Island goes down, Alex could go down with it, and then he'll be implicated, and nothing good will come of that. She may have deniability, but she's still dating Frankie. One of the ring leaders. This has to end. Tonight.
Jonas climbs onto his bike, and takes off. Of course it isn't long until he's pulling up to the club, skidding to a stop in the first parking space he can find. People are staring, but that's going to be a norm of the night, he thinks, with what he's about to do. If he's lucky, Mike and the rest will be inside, and he can end this quickly. If he isn't… Well, he might have to go into hiding for a bit. Not like it'll be easy, but doable. Then again if they just kill him outright his troubles would be over. That might be another option. A bad option, but another one.
He takes the back way in to avoid all of the people crowding the front entrance, and that stupid bouncer, having learned to deal with the smell of stale booze and garbage. Just like coming into his own bar. Except this time he's here to kick someone's ass. It takes him a minute to curve up the alley and get into the club, passing by a rather confused coworker of Alex's, just waving them off so that he can actually get inside. Mickey or something? Better if they don't know anyways. Better if nobody but him knows. Then they can't get grilled by the cops for something that will be just a confusing bar fight.
Strobe lights and a neon aesthetic. Still not his scene, but one he's getting used to, and one that matches his chosen companion pretty damn well. Alex lives for atmospheres like this. Probably to distract her from everything she thinks is wrong with her. Not great, but better than dipping into the bottle completely.
He shouldn't be thinking about this right now. Stay focused on the task at hand. It brings back old memories, hunting someone - something - down in order to bring some pain. He hopes this is a one-time thing. Jonas is already pumped full of adrenaline from both the ride over and his own racing thoughts, slipping through the sea of people and staying out of sight of the bar to search out targets.
The first person he spots is Logan, chatting with someone in the corner of the area they've sectioned themselves off into. To be dealt with later. Then it's Frankie, then someone he doesn't quite recognize, and moving closer more and more of his old 'friends' start popping up. Perfect. Must be something big going on. Or they upped security since the situation at the Kanaloa. The idea that he'd scared them that much actually manages to make him smile. Of course, the whole thing is ruined when another voice carries over the haze of EDM music and bodies.
"Jonas! Thought you got told not to come here." Mike. That signature cheshire grin is on his face, one thumb in a belt loop, the other hand holding a drink. Jonas's lip curls up in disgust.
"Thought you were smarter than this."
"Ohhh ohohohoh, are you trying to scare me now?" The other man takes a step forward, still safe behind his little velvet rope. Jonas doesn't budge. There are things he could do right now— wring his neck, snap his arm, any of it. But he's restraining himself. Mike, of course, notices. "Aw. Since when do you know how to hold back? That blue haired beauty of yours got your tongue?"
"I'm not here because of Alex."
"Why are you here then?"
"To do something I should've done a long fucking time ago." Jonas has no idea how he looks right about now, but the ring leader takes a step back, one eyebrow raised in what seems like concern. That's good. That's perfect. Running scared like a little rat. Jonas crosses their border, entering enemy territory. "And based on that reaction, I think you know what I'm talking about. Don't you."
He can feel hands on him before his body catches up with his head. Looks like Mike got some new muscle. Jonas has a guy on either arm, and their grip is nearly joint-popping when they tug his arms behind his back. Okay. He can get out of this. He can still get out of this. His first instinct is to start fighting now, to start busting heads and breaking bones, but now is too early. He needs a good opening. He needs a reason. And then Mike makes the mistake of taking out a knife. It's that butterfly blade of his, more for a flashy intimidation tactic than for doing actual damage, seeming much more encouraged with some extra guys on board. A coward, just like always. Good. He can bank on that.
"Well now I gotta make an example of you. Really, Jonas, I didn't want it coming to this. We could've coexisted! We could've forgotten all about that little… mm, hands on incident with Frankie. But now you think you can bust up my whole operation." They're face to face, damn near chest to chest, and Jonas still hasn't moved. The opportune moment. Mike keeps talking, and he isn't paying attention, until the butterfly knife starts raising toward his neck. That's the cue. His head snaps back, before reeling forward, slamming into the bridge of the ring leader's nose with a sickening pop and darting back to avoid a flailing blade hand. He can hear the pained yelp that comes out of him. Good. Fucking glorious, he deserves it.
One of the men loosens their grip. First mistake. Jonas takes his chances, jabbing an elbow into the man's gut at all the wrong angles, sending him sprawling as Jonas's arm tingles with pain. Probably did more than just hit his funny bone wrong. Clubgoers are starting to notice the scuffle, and he wants to get this over quickly, which means it's on to the next contender.
Maybe he's missed this more than he'd thought.
.
Alex hadn't wanted to believe it. And when she doesn't want to believe things she's very very good at ignoring them. Alex 'Denial' Strickland. But things started to click when Frankie explained that the whole crew would be getting together at the Island and could she set them up as VIPs if Frankie put down a cash deposit - which, okay, not that weird, theoretically, except there's no way they'd get a tab on cash only without putting down a hefty payment. Still, while a shit load of cash was a bit sus, it was when Alex learned who exactly the crew consisted of that she started to feel uneasy.
More specifically, Frankie's dismissive attitude and the few names she did mention connecting two separate routes from Alex's courier gigs. People she hadn't thought - until Logan had that backpack - had anything to do with each other. Logan. Who knew Jonas. Who Jonas said was in some kind of gang with him way back when.
Who Jonas said— what was it? "He's not getting his usual payment."
That's what does it. That, and when Logan comes up to the bar with an easy smile and she thinks to ask so how do you know Frankie, he gives her the way-too-enlightening. "We've been running together since North Valley."
Which— okay, it doesn't necessarily mean that him running with Jonas and him running with Frankie are the same kind of things, but… But it's another drop of doubt dripped into her ear, working its way like poison into her, eating away at what she'd so hoped would be different. For once. She won't be the idiot attached to some asshole who cares more about— about whatever that isn't her. Too attached. Always too attached. Things start simple, a one night stand to a two night stand, to in bed together every night, and then she starts seeing it as something else, and they don't, and she should know better than to attempt anything even resembling a relationship at this point.
It's just a minor crisis.
Tiny crisis.
Which just gets more confusing when Frankie's at the bar, smiling and praising her and she feels so sure that this is different, that she does like her. It feels good to have her attention. To have her affection. And when things feel good Alex clings, because it's easier to think on the positive than remember how bad things can get. And things don't get bad with Frankie. Because Alex isn't going to make them get bad.
Still, her attention is soothing. Being pulled aside while on break, into a dark corner, and thoroughly distracted by lips on hers and hands wandering under her tank top is better.
"We have a meeting babe, I'll be back."
Alex nods, grins, steals another kiss.
Then Frankie is gone, and Alex's mind would be wandering again, were it not for the fact that business is speeding up as it passes 11pm. Work keeps her busy, it's why she likes it.
"Al, your not-ex just walked into the club like he's on the warpath; might wanna keep an eye on him."
"Hm?" Alex is in the middle of a five-drink order, with two made and another in her shaker, when Mick has her hand on the small of Alex's back, speaking the words low into her ear on her way behind.
"Tall guy. The one you were lusting after."
"Which one?" Alex jokes, though she puts it together that Mick's referring to Jonas, and adds: "Where?"
Mick is sweeping her gaze back and forth, then shrugs. "He came in through the back. Dunno where he ended up."
It's a few minutes later that something starts to feel off.
Frankie comes up, looking like she's just barely holding herself back. "Alex, we're leaving."
"I'm literally— I have like another hour left of this shift, babe-"
"That friend of yours? The one you're so convinced is innocent?" There's noise under the bass of the music, something from the velvet-roped area she just came from. "Yeah; he's a psycho."
Alex frowns. "Jonas?"
"Yeah, Jonas. I told you he's bad news. We need to get out of here."
Mick is back again, at her side, and Alex doesn't realize how much she needed the support until the blonde is there. "Alex can't leave. If there's trouble, we've got security. You can go, but she's not coming with you."
The glare Frankie turns on Alex's coworker is a hell of a lot angrier than she ever looks to Alex. "You know what, bitch-"
Okay, now there's definitely noise. Something metal falling over, probably one of the stands roping off the area. Frankie looks toward it. "Ugh. Fuck this." She leaves without a second look at Alex, which… hurts. A lot.
"*"
"You're making a scene, Long." Mike's voice is muffled, a hand over his nose, the skin along the bridge of it split and bleeding. "You don't want to start a scene here."
But it's not like his own people are doing much to avoid it, either. The plan seems to be to keep Jonas from moving things toward the dance floor, so they're closing in from the exits. The one who's still got a grip on Jonas's arm twists it hard behind him, trying to get leverage with a barred arm across the back of Jonas's shoulders and an aimed kick to his knee to bring him down to the ground and end this early.
It doesn't quite go as planned. Jonas still has an arm free, and that means a sharp elbow jamming back into the side of his attacker's head. Someone else is coming up his right side again, like they can tackle him around the waist, but either no one told them or they inconveniently forgot that Jonas has been training for years now. He's gotten nimble and these guys not so much, so with the right - or wrong, depending on your point of view - shift in hold Jonas has both arms free again and isn't afraid to use them. If they're bringing knives to a fistfight, they aren't afraid to fight dirty. So this is no holds barred.
Hair is grabbed and fingers poked into eyes, into ears, into any soft spot he can find, 'cause it won't take long for them to realize he's not gonna be a gentleman about this and they'll realize they can be just as brutal in return. He thanks fucking God for the warehouse and their whole 'teachers get classes for free' 'cause there's definitely a few tricks he wouldn't have known otherwise, and they're essential in his first KO of the night. The second one he's not so proud of - to really hit below the belt - but the guy is doubled over and dry heaving before Jonas brings a foot up and down into the back of his head, and he's flat and not getting up any time soon.
"Fucking maniac, I knew we kept you on a leash for a reason." There's some theatrical element to Mike's voice, a bit of impressive, Mr Bond, but his eyes are darting to the rest of his crew, because this is getting out of hand.
Those same eyes go wide when Jonas reaches for the nearest bottle. There's no use trying to break it, but it's a thrown weapon at least. And if they have knives, he really shouldn't let them get to them. He hurls the bottle at Mike, who barely sidesteps and the thing flies wide and shatters on the dance floor below.
.
"So sorry about that, Mikey," his voice is all shades of condescending glee, "-but I think the scene just got started."
.
With him distracted, Jonas goes for the knife. Not that he plans to stab anyone, 'cause… well, that's a last resort. He's got enough blood on his hands without actual hemorrhaging.
"Jonas. You don't want to do this." Finally the voice of reason is coming from Logan. He's got his hands up, placatingly, but his eyes are darting to others in the group as more knives are pulled.
"Put your fucking knives down," Mike spits, "we're not here to kill anyone in a fucking club." In a fucking club. Like it would be fine somewhere else. They definitely upped the ante since North Valley.
Already, half of the group has fled. People who weren't prepared to throw down, or didn't want to get caught when the cops showed — and they'll be showing eventually, that's for sure. After the crash of glass into a crowd, someone would know. Those who are left look warily at an armed Jonas.
"Drop the knife. We drop ours. This isn't gonna be a murder scene."
.
"Drop yours first."
Mike pulls a face, opens his mouth to say something, when Jonas interrupts again.
"Thought you weren't scared of me?"
.
"You're a fucking dumbass. You think this won't come back on you? On your girlfriend? On this whole fucking neighborhood? You want to turn this club into a crime scene?"
But Logan is already moving forward, plucking the knives from the hands of others, giving them a look that warns them not to argue, and Mike isn't stopping him. Finally, when they've all been unarmed, Logan comes to Jonas, holding out a hand.
It's like they're holding their breaths. This is why Logan did the job, obviously. A hell of a lot harder to stab someone you used to love. And an open hand is an easy target.
"Jonas." His voice is low. "This is better for everyone."
.
Logan's right. He knows Logan is right, because he's usually right, and Jonas hasn't really been thinking in the long-term here. Then again he never thought in the long term— unless he was being stupid. Technically he's being really stupid right now. He doesn't really want to let go of the knife. There's a kind of peace offering that comes with dropping weapons, and peace isn't what he came here for, though the talk with Logan at the Kanaloa had reminded him of a few things. More than a few things. One part of his brain is telling him to be reasonable, to be rational, to just hand over the knife and finish this. Some other, feral part, just wants to attack.
He listens to the rational part of his brain. Jonas flicks his knife around, and holds it handle-out toward the other man. "Here. Fuckin' take it."
.
As soon as Jonas's knife is in Logan's hand, it's chucked aside and Logan has a grip on Jonas's wrist, yanking him off balance and getting him into a headlock.
"Listen," his voice is quiet, hissed between teeth as he struggles to keep a hold. "Play docile, let a few of them leave. Then you hit me and run, you get me? You and Alex, 'cause there's no way she hasn't put it together yet and she's a good kid that's gonna be pulled into a lot of shit because of this."
The music is too loud for his words to carry to the rest of the group, who are watching warily.
"Act it up, Jo."
The noise he makes has a lot more effort behind it than the nudge to the back of Jonas's leg - an attempt to get him on the ground.
"Sirens." It's unclear who's said it, but as soon as it's said, the inevitable truth is obvious, even if the sound isn't actually audible. They aren't here yet, but they will be soon.
"*"
Okay, there's definitely something happening, and Alex is not happy about it. She's part irritated, and mostly just scared, but she sure as hell can't show that. Or she can try not to show it, at least.
She'd been trying to do her job, but gradually more and more attention was being paid to that spot just off the floor around the corner from her view, where she knew Frankie's crew was. She saw familiar faces leaving, and gradually the area next to it cleared.
"Someone has a knife— they're threatening a guy with a knife-"
And then the bottle smashing into pieces.
"Thanks," Mick has this way more under control than Alex at the moment, as she gives the wide-eyed girl a reassuring glance, but the look she levels on Alex kicks her into gear, too. This is work. Things happen. This is her job, to handle it. "Call the cops, I'll get Rob and security."
Alex nods, whips out her phone and puts in the call.
Apparently, she's not the first. Someone else must've seen the knife. They're already on their way, but the nearest precinct won't be here fast enough. They have bouncers for this. Mick is getting them. Or maybe Will. Someone is doing it.
Alex should stay behind the bar. Stay safe. But then she hears it.
.
Jonas screams bloody murder. Of course he does; he has every right to. Half of it is payback for Logan scaring the absolute shit out of him, because having him attack out of the blue had made him even more feral than before, but it's also because of what he'd said. Act it up. If that's the plan… Jonas's hands grapple onto Logan's arm, trying to tear himself out of the hold, but it doesn't seem like he's getting out that way. At the same time, he lets his leg give out, and then he's being shoved into the ground kicking and screaming.
Some of the others have fled. Most are more afraid of the cops than they are of Jonas, which is something Logan had probably been banking on when he pulled this move. The other man starts pushing the back of his head, more trying to press him down, while Jonas keeps shouting a garbled mess of insults and curses.
"Shut the hell up, Long!"
"Fuck you!"
His forehead hits the floor, and Jonas hisses air through his teeth, fighting the hold for just a few more seconds; trying to scratch, bite, anything he can do. Until finally he goes limp. Mike looks triumphant - scared, but triumphant nonetheless - when he stoops down to Jonas's level. "Where's all that fight, pup?"
Oh he's gonna get it. He's definitely going to get it. "You want a fight? You want-" Ow. Shit. That hurts. Logan has hit his head against the ground again, but it probably sounds worse than it actually is. Jonas shuts up. The ring leader stands, motions for some of his crew to stay, and then dismisses the rest.
"Logan, get him off his ass." Mike spits the words as he starts for the dance floor, and Logan's tugging Jonas up by his arms, maybe a little too harsh with his grip.
"Ow. Dude. Ease up." The words are muttered, just low enough for the other man to hear.
"Nope. This is payback for screaming in my ear."
Jonas wheels his head around. To anyone else, it would look like he was trying to take a chunk out of him with his teeth, but Logan has that shit-eating grin on his face. It's too dark to really see other features, even if that's the telltale face of a smug motherfucker. "Seriously?"
"Yup. Now keep moving, Long."
He hates this.
.
Jesus. That's bad. Whatever that is, it's bad.
Smart people stay put.
Alex would be staying put. Maybe. Probably? But she's got a bad feeling about this. (Which, yeah, probably makes a better case for staying put, but…)
Fuck. No, she has a gut feeling. And the last time she went with her head instead of her gut she lost her guardian angel, and she's not letting that happen again. So she scrambles out from behind the bar, heading for the dance floor, her tank and jeans clashing with the rest of the club-goers, but a hell of a lot easier to move in.
Her heart rockets into her throat when she catches sight of what's going on.
"Oh my god-" Okay. Yeah. That's— that's Jonas. And he doesn't look good. But… fuck, there's something totally wrong with her. He looks good. The feral thing is working for him. Which is pretty fucked. But Alex knows her tastes skew unstable.
The people with him she recognizes, too. Gio. Chris from the place in the Pearl District. And— what the fuck, she thought Jonas and Logan were on good terms. Alex glares at the blond who has Jonas's arms pinned back. Traitor.
"*"
It's just five of them, now. Logan, Mike, two guys Jonas has never met before, and Chris from the old crew. Logan is the one dragging him across the floor - or pushing him, really - 'cause they're gonna do their best to ditch this place before the cops come but don't want to leave Jonas behind. Not if they can help it. That seems to be the plan, anyway. Jonas is faking a limp. Logan has his arms forced behind his back, sandwiched in a lock that isn't giving him the best mobility, but it looks worse than it is. They're getting a wide berth as people start to realize what's happening, but they're heading for a back exit. Ha. Like he's letting them take him somewhere else. Somewhere away from Alex.
They're practically in the middle of the dance floor when he breaks the hold. It's like it happens in slow motion. The slight adjustment, pulling up short, shifting his weight and torquing enough to pull Logan off balance - and with a willing victim he's free too easily, Logan stumbling onto the floor. Jonas is up and swinging immediately, going for the one that had been following behind, a sloppy fist glancing off the guy's shoulder but letting him maneuver back to put all his enemies on one side.
A punch comes at him, but the man swings wide, not close enough to even graze him. He darts in, arms up, gets in a strike and then uses the guy's next swing to shift again, get to his side to twist his arm down and back and force his head toward the ground as Jonas drives his knee up into the guy's face with a sharp crack. Jonas stumbles forward as someone hits him in the kidneys before getting an arm around his neck. First enemy discarded, he focuses on years of training. Tucking his chin in under the hold, adjusting his stance, jabbing bony elbows into soft belly, and angling to free himself before immediately whaling on his attacker, blow after blow until someone else starts hitting him.
Shit— He pulls back, once more getting his enemies on one side of him. Can't be caught between them. At least now they're down to three. Well, three and Logan, who's back up and standing behind the rest, though he looks as ready to throw down. The one who'd tried choking him doesn't look too good, stumbling a little. That's what you get for a fuckin' jab in the kidneys, though. The next strike coming at him gets deflected before Jonas slams a fist into an eye, getting in an extra blow to the guy's cheekbone before backing off again. Distance. Distance is good, for not getting hit.
Okay. Halfway done. Mike and Logan are both hanging back. Mike 'cause he's fuckin' scared - he always was, had to get others to do his dirty work for him - and Logan 'cause he knows what the fuck is up. Still leaves one guy with the gall to throw a right hook. Fucking idiot. Jonas is fast. Faster than he used to be. He's got the training, the conditioning. Redirecting the fist coming at him, he brings a hard right hand up to crack into the guy's chin, feeling teeth snap together, the whole shockwave of impact that sends him down like a sack of bricks. One perfect strike. One shot KO. It's a rush.
Down to two. His ears are ringing. Hands are bloody. Might have split his lip at some point, and there's definitely gonna be a lot of bruising tomorrow. And probably for the next couple weeks. Doesn't matter.
Logan is shaking his head. The message is clear. I don't want to do this. But they have to. So he barrels in and Jonas angles himself to take the blows on his forearms instead of his face. They're not as hard as they could be, but nothing close to weak. Can't lose face. And, after all, he told Jonas to run.
Jonas didn't run.
It's Jonas's turn to do the choking, Logan's nails scratching at his wrist and arm and breaking skin where he can reach it, but he's letting himself loosen up, and Jonas almost feels guilty that he has to ignore the slap at his arm asking to tap out. No tapping out from this. Sorry, not sorry. Logan takes the hint, goes limp, with a hissed, "Fucking Christ."
"You motherfucker-"
Shit, Mike.
And— he's got a knife. That fucking butterfly knife. Flashy piece of shit.
Jonas has to dodge a slash from the knife— ow, okay, ow — He stumbles back, getting out of range again, 'cause he wasn't quite far enough and now his face is bleeding. Focus. Gotta neutralize the weapon. Catch the strikes with his jacket, 'cause it's thick, focus on taking Mike down without getting stabbed, yeah.
"*"
"What the fuck, Alex-" Mick isn't happy to see her out from her post, but is taken aback by the anger in her coworker's face.
"The guy has a knife— he's the one from before, I think, but—"
"Oh shit, that's your boyfriend."
"He's not—" Now really isn't the time to argue this. "Look, he was the one being threatened, he can't take the fall for this." That, and his history of… legal problems.
Mick gives her a sidelong glance, but Alex has that stubborn look about her. "…Cops are coming."
"Mick."
"Lemme talk to Rob."
"Thank you."
"*"
It takes too long. Really wish this could've been over before it started. But after too many close calls and few scratches across his bike jacket, an unfortunate lucky strike that stings like a motherfucker across his chest, Jonas finally has a hold on the wrist with the knife and is bearing down hard enough to feel the grind of bone on bone. The knife goes down, but Jonas take a blow to the head that's a lot harder than he'd expected, knocking him to the floor. But, hey: no more knife.
"You're a fucking dead man, lifter."
Jonas grabs for Mike's leg as he runs, and he's down on the ground for a second before his foot slams into Jonas's face and Jonas loses his grip. His nose is bleeding. His eyes are watering, vision gone blurry, and there's definitely blood in his mouth from one source or another. Mike is running, of course he's running, but—
But fuck it, Jonas is done. He won. Or close enough. The victory doesn't quite salve the pain, but it helps.
Notes: I know, I know, it's maybe a teensy tiny bit melodramatic. xD But look, we had a damn good time. Hopefully you did too? It's not quite over yet, emotions will be running high for… a while yet. But I for one am curious to know how the action reads. Too technical? Not clear enough? Drop a comment, I'm interested in reactions for this whole scene.
-OWT