Lords

I

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The life of guns. I loved it. The smooth surface of the barrel. The soft bumps of the grips. That trigger could end someone in a second. I loved it. Every second of it.

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"Table 9 is ready to order." The bartender shoved the drinks these drunks ordered.

I grabbed the platter with the seven drinks on it. Heading to the group of creeps that come every day to look at girls' asses every day. As if they didn't have wives and children at home.

"Here you go." I handed the men their drinks. "Thanks, babe." The man handed me a bulk of cash. I only smiled at the creepy old man.

I walked back over to Daichi. "Look what I got." I threw the cash on the table. An impressed look on his face. "You might make more than the strippers y/n." I looked around waiting for some other creepy men waiting for their drinks.

"Could you cover double shifts today? Yachi is sick." I melted on the table. I want money, but double shifts?

"Yeah, whatever." I pulled a stool over to myself. "What's Yachi's job? I don't want to be doing some stripper shit." Daichi laughed at me.

We both know I wasn't suited to be a stripper. But this stupid job as a bartender makes me wear these stripper clothes.

In the city of Miami, there was never a boring day. Gangs, clubbing, blasting music, going to the beach. Never a boring day.

"It's just bartending a private room. She normally does that." At least it was something I was good at. "Serve me water please." I had a huge headache, the music seemed louder than usual. "Here." He handed me the glass of water. I hated drinking while I was at work, you never know what could happen to you.

"Is that y/n!?" I turned around, recognizing that voice immediately. "Bokuto!" I ran over to hug him.

I felt the guns at his sides. Always having those two revolvers at his side. A beautiful jet black, with gold vines engraved on the barrel and grip.

That sweet reminder of how he could kill people on sight. He's my best friend since college. Yet he took the wrong path in the mafia. But oh well, he's still my best friend.

"So, what are you doing here? It's been a while since I last saw you." I pulled another stool out for him. Daichi just waved and got back to work, not wanting to interact with any of the mafias.

Bokuto. During his years of school, he would always have his hair in a bird's nest and didn't dress formally at all. I never really asked how he ever got here, and I really had no interest in it.

His hair slicked back nicely, his tucked shirt with a few buttons undone, his cuffed-up sleeves, and his black Louboutin's. How much has he changed?

"Nothing much. My boss just came for a drink. I had to come." He waved a hand at Daichi, signaling that he was dry.

I heard a whistle behind me. I turned towards Daichi. He handed me the drinks, and I was off to work again. "Work calls."

I passed by the men. One in particular caught my eye. For he was the youngest one out of all the old men here. He seemed not over 26. Why would a guy this young ever be involved in this?

All the old men wore $4,000 suits. They were loaded. It was all too obvious that the man was too.

His dress shirt unbuttoned, showing his smooth chest. The huge gold chain with the letter T. His inappropriate way of sitting. Just by looking you could tell he was no good.