¸.·´¯·»Chapter One«·´¯·.¸
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»The Club«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸
The parking lot was nearly completely full to its capacity limit, each of the long rows effectively jam-packed with vehicles of all shapes, sizes and colors, and the few spaces that remained unoccupied were steadily becoming fewer and fewer with each passing moment. It seemed as if everyone was in a particular hurry tonight, horns blaring loudly at the pedestrians to scurry out of the way, mainly because the impatient men and women in their vehicles felt as if the pedestrians were delaying precious time that could either mean a primo parking space or a two block walk from a space further downtown—which, of course, would most likely make it all the more difficult to get inside of the club itself.
It was a well-known fact that anyone who was anyone could be found at the hottest nightclub in the entire city, especially at the start of the weekend like tonight. The long line of anxious people leading from the nearly over occupied parking lot to the entrance which was blocked off by muscular men and a velvet rope, every single one of them dressed to impress with their finest party attire, were all still waiting restlessly for their chance to be allowed entrance to the club, the pulsing and somewhat muffled beat from the live band teasing them mercilessly.
And so, needless to say, that when a certain young man pulled up in his old beat up truck and smoothly glided into a reserved parking space near the entrance, he garnered himself a lot of unwanted attention from the crowd. He was dressed in a rumpled button down shirt, a jean jacket that had seen better days, and a pair of tatty and worn jeans. He stood out very obviously among those wearing the highest and priciest fashions of the month, and many turned their noses up at him while others just ignored the newest addition.
However, what really and truly enraged the patrons waiting for their own admittance to the club was not the fact that this stranger was dressed so inferior to their classiness—no, what enraged them was the fact that he ignored and bypassed the line entirely, taking a more direct route towards the bouncers as if he owned the place. And then, the large and clearly imposing men guarding the doors proceeded to unhook the velvet ropes, and allowed him through without delay.
It was outrageous, though the complaints and protest of the impatient and angry crowd falling on deaf ears.
The man was either unaware or uncaring of all of the nasty looks and vulgar names his actions earned him, and really, if he had not been so distracted and upset at the moment, even then he would have only been amused by their reactions. What strangers thought of him were inconsequential, and right now his mind was completely focused on one thing, and one thing only and he was determined to see it through.
The stairwell leading from the entrance down into the club itself was relatively empty, the majority of the patrons currently gathered in front of the stage to cheer and dance as the band began the chords of a popular tune. Others were simply milling around at the tables and comfortable leather couches, some hiding within the privacy of an alcove to enjoy an intimate moment.
All throughout the club, people were sipping at their beverages or enjoying the company of their friends or acquaintances. He himself had his mind on the center of the room. He walked resolutely towards it, so intent to reach his destination that he rudely pushed past several people in his stride.
Despite the fact that he had not shaved in three days and his I'm wearing the same clothes as I did yesterday and I don't give a damn appearance, he still managed to catch the attention of a large portion of the crowd who seemed to find his rugged appearance attractive.
Many of the regulars, who frequented the club almost every night and had been doing so for years, knew exactly who this young man was, and they all knew better than to even consider approaching him with the vibes he was emanating.
There could be no denying that he was a handsome man, and normally he would have smirked when he drew the eyes of several people in the room, including people who already had a significant other. He was a smart man, charming and wealthy, which his clear and soulful cerulean blue eyes, long dark blond hair that was clearly begging someone to run their fingers through the tousled curls and tame them. His friendly and dimpled smile could melt even the coldest of hearts.
A few might have even gone as far as to claim that he was the definition of sexy in the past, and usually he would have been pleased with the attention he gained.
At the moment, however, he looked downright menacing. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, his head downcast so that his disheveled and unkempt hair acted as a veil to hide the way his mouth was twisted into an irate scowl. And his eyes… they may as well have been made of ice for how cold they were. The way he held himself right now clearly told people that he was not in a mood to be disturbed.
Ignorant or just uncaring of the eyes following and assessing him, he sat down on a stool as he finally reached his destination at the bar, taking care to choose a seat with the least amount of people present. He took no notice of the brunette woman who suddenly perched near his left, her legs crossed towards him as he attempted to flag down one of the busy bartenders. He let out an irritated sigh when he was unsuccessful in his attempts, rolling up his sleeves in an effort to distract himself from how badly he wanted a drink.
If he didn't get one soon, someone would be very, very sorry.
Minutes passed at a painstakingly slow pace and he grew increasingly frustrated with each passing second, but it wasn't until he felt a perfectly manicured hand close over his tense forearm that he felt his miniscule patience finally snap. He gritted his teeth as he maintained his precarious tempter, and reached up to capture the offending claw that had already begun to race the soft blue veins, visible through his lightly tanned skin, and it took every ounce of his control not to be rough as he removed her hand.
"Not interested," he told her gruffly, not even bothering to look at her to see what she looked like. And really, he was not interested in anything at the moment other than getting his drink.
Perhaps after a few shots, or possibly a few bottles of alcohol, he may consider going on the prowl for some pleasurable company. But until then, he had no interest on some random woman who thought she could seduce him into being her plaything for the night.
Unfortunately enough for the both of them, she was persistent and apparently not easily deterred by his dismissive attitude. He cringed uncomfortably at the overwhelming scent of her perfume as she pressed her body against his side. "Are you sure? Because I think I can change your mind…" Her voice was like liquid honey, low and suggestive, sticky sweet, and she emphasized her point by placing her hand on him again, this time high on his thigh, dangerously close to a certain part of his anatomy.
A quiet rumbling escaped him, almost like a growl but not quite, and he finally turned to face her. She was attractive enough, he supposed—she had a decent figure, dark caramel hair, big blue eyes outlined by dark charcoal and artificial lashes. She was probably the kind of woman who usually got her way, but even if he were already smashed, he would never consider it. She was too… fake, for his tastes, and too aggressive.
As far as he was concerned, he was still entirely too sober and she was just another obstacle trying to keep him from his ultimate goal of the night of drinking himself stupid. He did not breathe a word to the woman, and he didn't have to. His eyes were warning her that he was at the very end of his patience, and she was pushing him to make that final leap to do something he would regret come morning when he was finally calm.
The woman swallowed thickly, grabbed her purse and left.
Sighing in relief at her retreat, he turned his eyes back to the bartenders, who were apparently still too occupied with the fussy and demanding customers on the other side of the bar to bother with him. Scowling in displeasure at being so blatantly ignored, he reached over the countertop without any further ado, and wrapped his long fingers around the neck of whatever bottle he came into contact with.
Barely pausing to glance at the label, a soft sound of approval escaping his throat, he reached again, this time pulling back with a single tumbler. He huffed a bit, because he was hoping for a larger glass, though he supposed it would have to do for now.
A strangled noise met his ears as he began to pour himself some of the alcohol. He glanced up to see a slack mouthed bartender staring at him in shock. He snorted—of course they would notice now, when he was no longer in need for any assistance.
Bringing the edge of the glass to his lips, he swallowed it all in one gulp, savoring the burn as it traveled down his throat.
"Hey!" the bartender said loudly, finally reacting to what he was witnessing. "You can't do that!" His voice held a certain amount of incredulity to it, as if he couldn't believe that anyone would have the gall to simply reach over the bar and take something. His words, however, had no effect, the other man rolling his eyes and pouring himself another drink and eagerly bringing it to his mouth.
And it burned oh so wonderfully—he barely managed to hold back a cringe at the familiar taste of the whisky, knowing it would aide him in his endeavor to drown in his sorrows, and to forget. As he went to pour himself another, a hand attempted to intercept the bottle. He pulled the whiskey out of reach and raised his head to stare at the culprit.
The poor bartender looked suitably intimidated by his glare, he noted smugly, though the hostile look faded into one of puzzlement as blue eyes scrutinized the stranger in front of him. After a moment, he could one come to one conclusion.
"You must be the new guy," he said casually, as if he had not just stolen himself a few shots of whiskey. He had to bite the inside of his cheek as the bartender stared at him as if he had just spoken in another language entirely.
The alcohol was slow to take effect but he could already feel the beginnings of a pleasant warmth spread through his muscles, making him much more relaxed. He snorted softly into his shot glass when he noticed that the bartender was inconspicuously attempting to catch the eye of a nearby bouncer, presumably to take care of him.
"Tommy?" He guessed. "Timmy?"
"It's Tony," the bartender corrected absently, becoming so increasingly anxious as it became apparent that he was not going to stop at just two or three drinks without paying, that he didn't even pause to question how it was that this man knew he was a new employee here or hoe he at least knew the correct amount of syllables in his name when he was not wearing a nametag. "Look, you can't just reach over the counter and take stuff. You have to pay for it,"
Tony winched nervously as intense eyes regarded him seriously.
Though instead of becoming angry with him for stating simple facts, the man only shook his head and chuckled deep within his throat, apparently amused by him. "I think… Tony," he drawled, the mirth prominent in his voice as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "That you'll find I can do whatever the hell I want."
As if to emphasize his point, he not only finished off the drink in the tumbler but also made a split second decision that refilling the glass was becoming too much of a hassle for his current state of mind, and then proceeded to lift the bottle by the neck until the rim rested at his lips. His eyes watered slightly as he swallowed as much of the sharp tasting alcohol as he could while gravity provided a challenge for his frantically working throat.
After a good while he discovered that yes, he did still need to breathe, and reluctantly lowered it. He coughed a bit, observing the fact that the bottle was half empty with a frown. He would need a new one soon. He wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand where some of the alcohol had managed to escape, licking his lips.
The pleasant buzz was nowhere near as drunk as he wanted to be just yet but he was certainly on his way, given his current pace.
Tony could only stare wide eyed at the display. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes into slits, not very pleased that he was being so blatantly ignored, especially not on his first official day on the job. He may have been too intimidated to do something about this man himself, but he did gain some confidence as he finally caught the eye of one of the bouncers. Tony was hoping that the larger man would… assist him with the thieving trouble maker.
And by assist, what he really meant was, he hoped the larger man would toss the bastard in the alleyway out back with the rest of the garbage, especially if the guy continued to ignore the simple fact that he had to pay.
Darryl Morris Junior was not a particularly large man, though he was by no means out of shape. He was tall with a medium build, his muscles sculpted and defined beneath molten chocolate skin. Currently he was wearing a tight shirt, which he wore for two purposes—one, to show off his upper body, because if he had to act tough in a club full of beautiful, and questionably single women, then he was going to use it to his advantage; and two, to signify that he was a bouncer, and that he could manhandle anyone who attempted to disrupt the peace to his friend's club.
"Is there a problem here?" Darryl asked cautiously, straightening up when he finally got a look at the blond.
Before the disgruntled bartender could even attempt to recount the incident, the blond turned to him and shook his head slowly in answer. "No… not really, D.J." he said smoothly, a pleasant smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.
It was the tone of the young man's voice that told Darryl that he would have to tread carefully, his eyes drawn to the excessive amount of alcohol with resignation. He wondered just how much the man had already managed to consume before the bartender had caught his attention.
"The new guy doesn't seem to know who I am, though," the blond added. "He keeps trying to take this," He shook the bottle slightly. "Away from me…" His voice was cool and even… dangerous. "He really shouldn't."
Darryl gave him a wary look, wondering if he could manage to get the bottle away from him without losing an arm for his efforts. "Wy, man," he began with concern. "Come on. It's his first night, give him a break." He could only sigh as he watched the man empty the bottle in response, the last of its contents sloshing into the man's mouth.
A new bottle replaced it just as quickly, the man reaching over the counter again.
Something had happened, something really bad.
Darryl had known it since he had first received the frantic phone call from his father three nights ago, and now, witnessing what this man was up to, he knew it had to have been more severe than he had initially guessed. Darryl could literally count on just one hand, the number of times he had witnessed Wyatt Halliwell get drunk—sure the man drank all the time, he was in his prime after all, though he was the one who remained responsible while the rest of them got smashed.
Each time Wyatt got truly drunk, there had been a reason for it, each one more unpleasant than the last, and Darryl was not exactly sure how to handle his friend when he was in this type of mood.
And thankfully, he wouldn't have to, because their little disturbance had drawn the attention of the current manager on duty, Darryl's younger brother Eric. He was much better at dealing with anyone in this kind of state. Eric was a few inches shorter than him, though his muscles were a bit more bulky. His hair was shaved closely to his head, just like his brother's, and he had the same dark eyes they had inherited from their father.
Eric took in the scene with a slight winch, sharing a look with his brother. He grabbed the empty bottle, throwing it away and wiping the countertop with a rag to get rid of the little bit of whiskey that had been spilt as he tried to think of the best way to approach his friend. When he was done cleaning up, he frowned deeply at Wyatt, deciding it would probably be best to just speak his mind rather than be delicate.
"You scared the shit out of us Wy," he said bluntly, and the only indication that he had managed to capture the other man's attention was the slight pause as he struggled to open a bottle of tequila. "What? Don't you have anything to say, you jackass?" he demanded, seriously tempted to smack the man he had always thought of as family over the head with something heavy. "Three days… it's been three days Wyatt. You've been missing for three days… and now you are just going to sit here like nothing happened? That you didn't just disappear?"
The blond remained silent.
Eric scowled. "You know, dealing with your mother alone while she is hysterical over your disappearance is enough to drive a man crazy. And then there are your cousins, your sister, your aunts…" He trailed off, his tone managing to convey the amount of stress they had all endured these past few days better than his words ever could. He knew just by looking at the other man that he would not be getting any answers out of him, at least not tonight.
However there was the barest hint of a smile appearing on the corner of his friend's mouth as he spoke of the man's mother, and the rest of his family. Eric glowered—it was not amusing! It had been a nightmare!
"Where were you?"
Wyatt ran a hand over his face tiredly and sighed, finally setting the bottle down long enough to give an answer, even if it wasn't quite the one his friends were hoping for. "I didn't stay in one place for too long. Damien let me crash at his house for a while, then I went to Isaac's another night. I walked around for most of it. Needed… I needed to think, to be alone…" he admitted quietly. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly."
"No shit," Darryl snorted.
"You could have at least picked up a damn phone and let everyone know that you were okay," Eric said reproachfully. "It wasn't your best move, disappearing like that. No one knew what happened or where you were… for all we knew, you had been attacked and left to die in a ditch. Everyone has been going crazy trying to find out where you've been." He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "Does your mother even know you're back yet?"
Wyatt rolled the neck of the bottle between his fingers. "No."
"Are you planning on telling her any time soon?"
"… Nope,"
"Will you tell me what happened?"
Wyatt knew that intellectually, the mature thing to do would be to say yes, to allow his friend to take him home where he could speak rationally and tell everyone exactly what had caused his flight reaction to kick in. Only… only he wasn't sure if he was physically capable of talking about it just yet. He was just so tired… and emotionally exhausted. No, he didn't want to talk. He wanted to forget.
Standing from the barstool with a soft sigh, he clutched the bottle of tequila loosely in his hand. "If that is all, gentlemen, I think I will retire to the lounge," he said, his mouth forming into a bitter smile. "I suggest you all get back to work before you get in trouble with the boss," He gave them a mock salute and sauntered off into the crowd.
Tony, the nearly forgotten bartender, was the first to speak. "Why did you let him steal from us?"
Darryl sighed heavily, shaking his head at his friend's departure and resisting the urge to go after him. "Because, technically, he owns everything already, so it wasn't exactly stealing," he kindly informed him. "That was Wyatt Halliwell. He's the other owner of the club. Chris, the guy who hired you… is his younger brother." He bit his lip to keep from laughing as all of the color fled from the poor new employee's face. "Don't sweat it," he said, smiling. "Wyatt's a good guy. He's not really the type to fire people just because they don't recognize him. If anything, it amuses him to no end. You just caught him in a bad mood."
Eric gave the kid a friendly pat on the back. "Still, it would probably be best to stay out of his way for tonight. I seriously doubt he will venture our way again, but if he does decide that he wants to drink down here instead, just let me or one of the others handle it."
"You're sure that I… that I won't get fired over this, right?"
"No worries," Eric assured him. "He'll probably come to his senses in the morning, and want to apologize."
Darryl snorted. "That's if he even remembers any of this."
"True," Eric agreed with an impish grin.
A small disruption near the state drew Darryl away to deal with unruly patrons for a few moments later on, and as soon as he got the chance, Eric pulled out his phone and dialed the number of one of his closest friends. Unfortunately enough, he ended up with having to leave a voicemail, and was only able to convey a short message that Wyatt was in the club and looked relatively okay physically. Mental wellness was still up for debate. He tried very much to downplay the emotional state Wyatt was in, because knowing Chris, he was likely to worry himself sick when he got the message and realized that his brother was drinking excessively.
Eric had a vague idea of what could have upset his friend so much, even though he could not be positive he was right, and even then he still was unaware what the circumstances might have been. Hopefully Wyatt would be calm and sober enough tomorrow to explain what had happened, or at least, enlighten them all as to why he decided to disappear for three days.
With a sigh, Eric got back to work.
The young man spent the next hour helping various customers. All of the fussy, the flirty, the macho, the needy, and the horribly drunk customers who had nothing better to do than chat his ear off for hours on end. He cleaned spills and left over cherry stems. There were even some napkins that had phone numbers and little hearts written on them, though considering he couldn't remember who might have left them for him to find, such things usually went into the trash. He was in the process of throwing one such number away when something pleasant caught his eye.
Eric unconsciously stood up straighter, one hand rising to rub at his closely shaven head anxiously when he had identified her. The grin that etched its way onto his face was positively predatory as he watched two women approach his section of the bar. And, not shy in the least, Eric allowed his eyes to devour every inch of feminine beauty they had to offer, though he gravitated towards one in particular.
Cadence Rowan was well known to this scene. She came in at least once a week, though never on any particular day… just whenever the fancy struck her. She was, simply put, gorgeous, with long blond hair and golden skin. She had an air of superiority that spoke of absolute confidence, wealth and worldly experience, and she absolutely flaunted it. She had no problem flaunting her looks either, with skin tight dresses that left little to the imagination.
Eric did love to admire her, though one of his favorite things about her… was that she happened to be quite intelligent. Eric admired her more for her sharp wit and her ability to render him speechless with a single sentence than her looks, and she certainly had no problem speaking her mind. It was refreshing compared to the drunken doozies that usually attempted to chat him up. He knew he would never stand a chance with her outside of this atmosphere, though he was perfectly content to mix her drinks and gossip about the world in general.
The redhead, however, Eric could not recall ever seeing before, so he took a moment to observe her. She looked a bit younger than her blond companion, though not by much, and she was quite a bit shorter. After further scrutiny he deducted that she must have been related to Cadence in some way, because both possessed similar delicate features. Her skin was soft ivory, and her hair was down in corkscrew curls, luscious dark wine in color. He black dress she wore did show off her figure, though it was quite modest compared to the other woman's cream one.
"Ladies," Eric greeted them smoothly. "What can I get for you on this fine night?"
Cadence smiled coyly at him, one arm leaning down against the edge of the counter and dipping low enough to give him a pleasant glimpse of her cleavage. "Eric, darling, it is so nice to see you again," she said easily, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You can start us off with two shots of your choice," Her voice was low and sultry as she slid a small amount of money towards him to pay for the drinks. "And then you can get me my usual,"
Eric accepted the money with a raised eyebrow. Normally she went for the more subtle, fruity drinks, rather than straight up liquor, and she usually avoided mixing her alcohol though he didn't question it. "Of course… but first, I will need to see some identification for your friend first," he told her, not even bothering to ask for hers. He had seen it on so many occasions, that he practically had every last detail committed to memory.
At his words, the redhead looked up with a triumphant gleam in her eye, and when she spoke, her voice was deceivingly pleasant. "Oh. What a pity. I seemed to have forgotten it in my other evening gown," She made a slight show out of patting her sides down for nonexistent pockets. "It's a shame, really. Maybe next time I can—"
Cadence merely smiled as she interrupted the display, clearly having already anticipated this very situation. "Don't be ridiculous, little sister," she said deviously. She simply reached inside of her small clutch handbag and extracted the little plastic card she had pilfered from the redhead's wallet earlier in the evening. Her smile steadily transformed into a smirk as the other woman narrowed her eyes at the card in irritation. "I knew you would forget your purse, so forgetful you are sister dear… so I took the liberty of remembering for you."
There was no answer.
"You didn't actually think I was going to let you out of your first drink as a legal woman, now did you?"
Eric was hard pressed not to laugh as he passed the identification card back to the blond after verifying the young woman was beyond the legal age to buy alcohol, biting down his own lip in amusement as he noticed the dark scowl painted across the redhead's face. According to her license, her name was Brígh. And from the look of it, she was very unhappy with the current predicament.
"I already had a drink," Brígh said with a look of contempt, wanting to erase the smug look from her sister's face.
The blond woman waved her hand in obvious dismissal. "A few sips of champagne is hardly the way to celebrate your twenty-first. You need a real birthday party now that all of the formalities with the family are over. Now it's just the two of us. Now we can really celebrate… by getting tipsy and have a grand time doing it."
Cadence eagerly accepted her shot, and Eric silently slid the other in front of Brígh to take. The blond rolled the chilled tumbler between her fingers, silently waiting for her sister to cease being stubborn. Brígh only raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow in response.
"I'm not drinking it," she said firmly. "I put up with the extravagant party that Ma a Da decided to throw, and I let you dress me up in this rubberband masquerading as fabric. And I even let you drag me here. But I refuse to drink anything other than water. If you really wanted a drinking buddy, you should have brought one of your friends."
Though the pleasant smile remained firmly in place upon Cadence's lips, her eye twitched noticeably due to her ire. "Brígh, sweetie… we didn't just stand outside for an hour to have you sit here and chicken out at the last minute," she told her matter-of-factly. "You seem to forget that I have a lifetime of blackmail material on you, little sister," The threatening edge to her voice was steadily ignored as Brígh merely turned to observe the band playing on the stage. "Eric,"
Eric blinked, pausing as he mixed together her usual drink. "Yes?"
"Darling, I would like for you to meet my younger sister, Brígh," Cadence introduced sweetly, an edge to her smile that made him just as wary as the redhead was.
"Nice to meet you," he replied, a bit unsurely.
"Cadence," Brígh said in warning, though not before returning the gesture with a tight smile.
"Today is her birthday, you know," the blond continued, even though they all knew that he had probably deducted this on his own, if not from her identification card then by eavesdropping on their conversation. "She just turned twenty-one. And," Cadence said brightly, her voice positively radiant. "She's single!"
Brígh narrowed her eyes but her sister wasn't done just yet.
"In fact, she had been single for quite some time now," Cadence smirked. "I don't think she's ever been on a single date… she might even be a vir—"
The rest of her sentence was left to implication as Brígh decided her sister had spoken quite enough and cried in protest and humiliation. Eric bit the inside of his cheek and took an idle guess at what the blond had been about to say, finding the shade of red on her cheeks complimentary to her burgundy hair. He was not about to touch that topic with a ten foot pole, and held his hands up in universal surrender. He figured it was best to keep his silence.
Brígh glared sullenly as she brought the drink closer to her mouth. "I hate you."
"I know, darling," Cadence smiled sweetly raised her glass in a toast, awaiting her to do the same before she spoke again. "Now… a bird with one wing cannot fly," she declared before swallowing the shot.
Brígh sighed with obvious reluctance before she copied the action. She had never really had anything stronger than champagne before, having stayed away from the same crowds her sister chose to associate with, and she couldn't help but choke slightly on the overwhelming taste of the alcohol. It burned unexpectedly as it slid down her throat and she slammed the glass back down while she coughed. Cadence just laughed at her, picking up the mixed drink she had ordered.
"… I hate you," Brígh repeated, sputtering.
"Awe, I love you too, pumpkin," the blond cooed with a triumphant smirk.
The two sisters lingered at the bar for at least an hour. Cadence continued to order more shots for them while also sipping at her mixed drink at regular intervals. Brígh had no choice but to consume the alcohol lest she dare to face the other woman's wrath, which could be potentially embarrassing. After the fifth round, Brígh had an oddly pleasant warmth coursing through her body and she felt much calmer—something her sister was pleased to note.
Eric watched the two women as they bantered back and forth meaninglessly; shaking his head when they began speaking of personal matters that he figured they would rather he not know. Apparently they had reached the point that they were tipsy enough to forget that they should censor themselves. It was something that tended to happen quite often in this profession. He couldn't even remember how many times perfectly random strangers poured their hearts out to him in their inhibited state over a shot glass.
"Ooh," Cadence said abruptly. "I think I've found tonight's entertainment,"
Brígh cocked her head uncertainly. "… What?"
Cadence sighed. "My sister, so innocent," she lamented before making a slight, inconspicuous gesture near the stage where a handsome young man was watching her unabashed. "Cute guy, over yonder. He's been eyeing me up for the past half hour." She flashed a seductive smile in his direction and stood gracefully. "Eric, would you be a dear and make sure my little sister gets wonderfully smashed?"
Without waiting for him to respond, she had extracted a large sum of money from her clutch purse and slid it over the counter to him, smirking when Brígh sent her a half-hearted glare for doing do.
"Have fun, pumpkin," she sang, and with that, Cadence sauntered away from the bar, soon disappearing among the throng of bouncing and gyrating people.
A bit downhearted that his crush had once again abandoned him in search of another man, Eric still could not help but find amusement at the disgruntled look on the redhead's face. She looked about as pleased as he felt about this new arrangement, though neither of them were particularly surprised by the blond. It was a bit disheartening, though he had known she was out of his league. He chuckled lowly, shaking his head, glancing back up at the other person Cadence had abandoned.
"This is your first time in a club, isn't it?" he observed.
Eric swallowed slightly as he was locked in place by the greenest eyes he had ever seen. He had not taken the time to notice earlier, what with Cadence being her usual distracting self. Brígh was every bit as beautiful as her sister, something he had taken note of straight away, but not in the same was her sister was. She had a more classical look about her. She was a fine specimen, despite the obvious stiff way she held herself, as if she was a skittish kitten just waiting for a predator to attack her. And, Eric thought, she just might be if the eyes drawn to her were anything to go by.
"Am I really that obvious?"
Eric blinked in confusion. "What?" he cleared his throat, belatedly realizing that she was merely responding to his previously asked question. He smiled slightly. "It's just… you seem very uncomfortable," he said. "Honestly, I can't say I blame you, especially since every guy who had come to buy a drink has practically been undressing you with his eyes."
It was possibly the worst thing he could have said, and the young woman stiffened quite suddenly, seeming to draw into herself as she glanced around at the other occupants sitting or standing nearby. And indeed, though unsettling his words were correct, there were quite a few men studying her with a bit too much scrutiny. One even blew her a kiss when he noticed he had her attention.
Brígh held back a shudder of disgust, wanting nothing more than to melt through the floor. Didn't these men have anything better to do? She swallowed what was left of her drink quickly in an attempt to distract herself. It was only one of many she had drank tonight, and although she had been mentally prepared for the taste, she could not help but cringe as she polished it off.
"Lovely," she muttered, swirling her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Does it always burn like that?"
Eric released a low laugh. "You get used to it eventually. Would you like to try something else?"
"Yes please," she readily agreed. "Perhaps something with lower alcohol content,"
Eric thought on it for a moment, finally deciding on a drink he figured she would like. It was one that Cadence ordered occasionally, when she was in the mood for something with coconut. "So, what was that stuff about a bird with one wing?" he asked conversationally, the way she glanced towards the staircase leading to the street as if she were just waiting for the opportune moment where she could slip away unnoticed going unmentioned.
Brígh sighed, reluctantly returning her attention to him, and she shrugged slightly. "It's nothing really, just an Irish toast for drinking. You say it to encourage someone else to take the second drink."
"Oh," he nodded. "Does that mean you're Irish?'
"What," Brígh smiled wryly. "The red hair doesn't give it away?"
"You don't have much of an accent," he told her. "And not all redheads are Irish, just as not all Irishmen have red hair,"
"Touché," she conceded. "But I do have an accent. I just don't like flaunting it." She warily accepted the tall glass filled with a type of blue slush when he handed it to her, and she sipped it through the colorful straw cautiously at first. It still had a slight burn to it, though it was overpowered by delicate tropical flavors. After a few more testing tastes, she decided that she liked this drink much more than anything Cadence had ordered for her.
"I would like to hear it,"
Brígh looked up in confusion. "Hear what?"
He grinned. "Your accent, I would like to hear it. Say anything,"
The young woman stared at him uncertainly, even as a slow smile crept across her lips unintentionally. She laughed softly, her eyes soft. "You are a strange one," she said, her voice easily slipping into a tone she usually reserved for friends or family, or when she simply lost her temper. She softened the vowels and hardened her consonants. Though her accent was nowhere near the strong brogue her father possessed, it was still distinctive enough. "Sweet, I admit… but strange."
"That is so sexy," Eric replied immediately, smirking when he spotted redness creeping its way onto her pale cheeks, causing her skin to match her hair. "A beautiful woman with a sexy foreign accent," He whistled in appreciation, nodding his head in a slow manner. "No wonder you try to keep that under wraps. Men would be lining up instead of just admiring from afar,"
Brígh laughed at his comment, shaking her head with embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands briefly, looking back up at him with bright eyes. "You must be angling for a tip."
"Not really, just trying to be honest," Eric grinned back at her. "Though I have to admit, I am surprised that no one has come over to ask you for a dance just yet. If I wasn't on duty…" He wriggled his eyebrows at her with a suggestive leer, snickering when she flushed an even darker red, reaching over and pushing at his shoulder. There were worse things he could do than spend an evening flirting with beautiful women, he mused.
Brígh shook her head once more, smiling despite herself. She observed him momentarily. "I can see why Cadence likes you," she said, and he looked at her with surprise. "While we were outside, she told me that if I needed anything, that I should look for Eric because, and I quote, 'he is the best damn bartender in the city, and he is an absolute sweetheart',"
"Aw," His heart fluttered a bit, even though he knew it wasn't meant the way he hoped it was. "You're gonna make me blush,"
"I'm afraid she forgot to mention what a dork you were, though,"
Eric snorted with amusement. "That's me," His attention was momentarily drawn as another customer gestured for him. He motioned that he would be there in one minute with his fingers before turning back to her for a second. "I'll tell you what… since you're obviously uncomfortable here without Cadence, I want you to go talk to that bouncer right there," He gestured to his brother. "His name is D.J. and I want you to tell him that I said you could go to the lounge. I can guarantee it won't be nearly as crowded or as loud." He slid the roll of cash her sister had given him to her. "That last drink was on me."
Brígh made to protest, but he swiftly cut her off.
"I insist. It's your birthday, and you're getting a free drink." He smirked. "Deal with it."
The young woman accepted it with an exasperated sigh, and abruptly leaned over the counter, extended her neck and kissed him gently upon the cheek. She smiled when she pulled back. "Thank you Eric," she said, and he grinned, obviously pleased with himself. He bade her farewell left to help the other customer.
Brígh stood slowly and slipped away, her shoulders set resolutely as she began to walk towards the bouncer she had been directed to. She would stay, if only so her sister would not hunt her down in the morning and go on a long, dramatic spiel about chickening out. Listening to Cadence when she was purposely being annoying was a surefire way to a pounding headache.
Maneuvering through the crowd was proving to be a struggle, and she couldn't help but cringe every time someone bumped into her a little too roughly to be accidental or when they mistakenly decided to pull her against them in an attempt to entice her to dance. It appeared as if she lacked the innate ability to walk through the masses with the same untouchable grace as her sister did.
When Brígh had finally pushed through, she stopped in front of the man, looking up at him with wide eyes. He was quite a bit larger up close, and she had to admit that he was less intimidating as she should have found him, had it not been for her alcohol induced calm. He looked at her briefly, though nothing more than a cursory glance obviously deciding she was inconsequential, before he returned his attention to the rest of the patrons, searching for someone who might be causing trouble.
Brígh sighed inwardly. "Excuse me," she murmured quietly, nervously attempting to pull the skirt of her dress further down her thighs. Either he had not heard her or he was ignoring her. It was difficult to discern, although, admittedly, the music was much louder here, which should be expected considering how much closer to the stage it was. She had to repeat herself, raising her voice above the music, before he gave her his attention. "Are you… are you D.J.?"
At the sound of his nickname, the enormous man turned around, giving her his full attention as he nodded in response to her query. "Yes, I am,"
"Eric said that I could go to the lounge…?" she responded quietly, biting her lip.
The bouncer stared at her for a moment. "Really?" he mumbled, not quite believing her. There were only a select few permitted up there besides family, and he knew every single one of them personally. However a quick glance to the bar, where his brother was waving at him, trying to communicate with hand motions that he had, in fact, sent her over, proved him otherwise. He frowned in surprise. "I guess he did,"
"… If it's too much trouble," she began, and Darryl smiled at her kindly, cutting off her protests with shake of his head.
"No," he chuckled. He was still unsure why his brother would give some girl he probably just met permission to enter the private lounge, though he could hazard a guess. She was, after all, quite pretty. "I'll just have to clear it with my boss first," he told her. "Who is not exactly in an agreeable mood at the moment…" Noting her worried look, he did his best to smile reassuringly at her. "I'm sure he won't mind. Come on, it's this way…"
Brígh followed two steps behind him, immensely pleased to discover that almost everyone moved out of his way. His face was rather fierce and serious, and he was slim but muscular. At least she would not have to worry about getting groped during this short walk this time—he parted the crowd with ease. The crowd did not seem so bad with a bodyguard leading the way.
They soon reached a secluded corner of the club where dark velvet ropes and another bouncer blocked off a spiral staircase made of iron. She smiled uncertainly at the other man as he let them through. As she began climbing up the stairs to the second floor she had not even been aware of, she took notice that the iron had been crafted in such a way that the side rails formed an ornate pattern of interlaced ellipses that crossed and joined at the ends into a symbol she was sure she had seen somewhere before.
The atmosphere of the club seemed to change drastically as they reached the second landing, boarding a catwalk. It was calmer and far less bright, the blaring strobe lights now below their feet. The catwalk led back to the center of the room, directly stationed above the bar. The lounge was more of a well hidden balcony that overlooked the rest of the club inconspicuously. There was a bar, taking up an entire section of the lounge, though much smaller than the one downstairs. The furnishings were placed strategically so that it remained uncluttered, though cozy. Plump suede sofas and high tables were scattered about, the ones nearest the railing angled so that they were facing the stage below.
"Welcome to the lounge," Darryl said proudly, grinning slightly as she gazed around curiously, her body unconsciously relaxing with the calmer surroundings. "Usually only employees or their family can come up here, so you must have made quite the impression on Eric."
"It's very nice up here," she admitted, feeling much more secure now than she had before.
Darryl grinned and instructed her to wait just out of earshot as he approach his intended target. He was pleased to note that Wyatt had apparently slowed down, if only just slightly. The bottle of vodka sitting on the countertop in front of the blond was relatively un touched, and the empty tequila he had taken from downstairs had been pushed to the side. He was still attempting to break some kind of record, though at least he was back to using a tumbler instead of chugging the bottle down whole. And the shot glass he currently held was still half full, Wyatt appeared to be nursing it.
Shaking his head, Darryl poked his friend in the shoulder to get his attention. "Dude," he breathed out, frowning at him entirely unsympathetic as he leaned against the bar. "You know better than to mix alcohol like this. You are seriously going to be regretting it in the morning…"
Wyatt snorted as he rolled the half empty glass between his fingers, watching absently the waves he was creating with the motion. "Probably," he replied uncaringly, taking a sip before finally looking up at him. "But I don't really give a shit at the moment. What do you want, Morris?"
Darryl sighed in response, his concern for the man becoming more prominent. Something really bad must have happened for Wyatt to be acting like an ass. And though he wasn't sure what may have caused this behavior, he did have his suspicions. He wouldn't voice his theory, just in case he was correct, because he knew Wyatt would not appreciate it. This was one storm they would just have to wait out until Wyatt was ready to talk about it.
"Eric wants me to let some girl up here," he told him.
Wyatt lazily finished his drink but otherwise chose not to respond. He poured himself another, just holding it in his hands, before he finally turned to face his friend. He sighed at the disapproving frown, and twisted in his seat, curious despite himself to know who Eric wanted to bend the rules for. She was standing not too far away, arms curled around herself and shifting anxiously.
Observing her closely, Wyatt felt a slight interest stirring at the sight of her unsure face and verdant eyes. She was pretty, certainly, though he rubbed at his chest absently as she met his eyes. His mouth felt a bit dry, though he figured it was due to the alcohol dehydrating him. And by now, he supposed he was suitably drunk enough to consider wanting… company.
After a lingering glance, he turned back and sipped at his drink.
"She can stay," he announced quietly.
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»End«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸
¸.·´¯·»Chapter«·´¯·.¸
So I finally stopped procrastinating and took down the old version. Those who read that one are sure to notice the similarities and differences, so I hope they like it. The rating and name has changed also, as has the tone of the story itself. This is not the same story with a different style of writing—this is an entirely different story. The Life… or Something Like It plot was left unfinished when I was writing it, and it was okay though now I have some fresh ideas and I reworked it and manipulated it into something else.
Lynx