Then I quickly close the distance between me and that red door, pushing through the doorway like the devil himself is on my shoulder.
TWO
WHEN THE PARTY ENDS
Zion
I should have shut the place down at the first sign that the boys were going to have issues controlling their impulsive nature.
Of course, then I would have had to explain my actions to others, and that would have gone over like a lead balloon, but sometimes you have to pick the mountain you’re willing to die on. Quite literally, even.
I don’t particularly like any of these people much. They’re mostly abrasive and argumentative, some bordering on completely unhinged.
And I don’t mean the happy unhinged some people wear so well. Nor is this the morally grey hue of people wanting to do the right thing while having no choice otherwise.
This is that pitch-black morally-absent and happy-about-it fuckery.
I do my best to monitor the patrons coming in and out of the bar. I manage to prevent some from entering, but a few groups of younger party-driven women refuse to take the subtle hint.
I watch all of them from the cameras, keeping a close eye on the ones I feel are more at risk. The impulsive. The foolishly daring.
No sooner am I distracted for just a few seconds than I look back and see that one particular short blonde is missing.
Cursing, I click through the different camera views until finally zeroing in on the back room. Dread fills my gut, and I sit there for a few moments staring at the screen. Part of me hopes that the situation will rectify itself, but it doesn’t take long for me to figure that’s not gonna happen.
At first, the woman looks quite comfortable wedged between two assholes on a dirty old sofa. But before too long, the look of distress on her face overrides the slight tinge of nervousness. And then she’s no longer giggling and handing out teasing pokes to the torso.
Sighing heavily, I make my way down the hallway to where they’re all congregated. Unfortunately, it’s unlikely that any men in this crowd have a moral compass beyond instant gratification and the intense need for power over someone, anyone.
I enter quietly, wanting to assess the situation briefly before deciding how to proceed. Sure enough, the room is full of a bunch of assholes looking for trouble, likely wanting nothing more than to run a train on someone who’s not exactly happy about it. Which means it’s now my job to try to figure out how to put a stop to it without drawing attention to myself and the fact that I’m trying to put a stop to it.
My ace in the hole is the fact that I outrank everyone here, but I’ve used that one so many times it’s starting to get old. And since they’re all particularly heightened it will definitely cause a huge problem.
Not that I really care about a huge problem, but I need that huge problem not to include this unsuspecting young woman getting hurt. Or my boss catching onto the fact that I give a damnabout some bitch getting hurt in a backroom where she willingly entered.
Realizing the situation is quickly escalating out of control, I step into the middle of the room, pushing some guys out of the way so that I’m in view of the men on the couch.
The woman looks over at me, her tear-filled eyes hopeful and pleading. All this does is annoy me because my life would be so much easier if people would stop putting themselves in positions where there is obviously huge risk involved.
For example, don’t enter a notorious biker bar and then get upset when you join their notorious back room and find yourself trapped with a bunch of unethical, morally black douchebags.
She’s flanked on both sides by two of the biggest douchebags here. Blake is seated on her left, and he’s one of those lowlife scumbags who, if he didn't have an inherited spot within an organization, would probably be dead. And then on her right is Shawn, a slightly lesser lowlife but no smarter and certainly not the type to go against Blake.
I’m of the mind that the two of them are rather limp dicks, but now isn’t the time to try to prove that theory at the expense of this young woman, who is becoming increasingly upset.
Sighing again, I take a step closer and ask, “Whatcha up to?”
Blake gives me a humorless smile as he says, “Just havin’ a little fun.”
My lip curls in disgust as I cross my arms over my chest and retort, “Doesn’t look like the lady is having any fun.”
Blake shrugs dismissively, and Shawn snorts, his hand touching her neck as she flinches away. “She was having a fine time when she agreed to come back here.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but Shawn’s hand immediately wraps around, covering it. She struggles, elbowing him in the side, but it does no good, and after a moment, shestills, those tear-filled eyes now glaring daggers as she shakes her head in silent denial.
I narrow my eyes at Blake, wishing like hell I had witnessed the exchange on the cameras. “Are you sure about that?”
He doesn’t respond at first, and I see his friend squirming rather uncomfortably, indicating that my assumption she didn’t come here of her own free will is accurate.
