We walk through the dimly lit club, pushing our way through the sweaty bodies crowding it. We make our way to the VIP section, where I spot a tray of tequila shots already waiting for us.
Men look at us longingly and hungrily, their beady eyes raking our promiscuous outfits up and down. This is clearly their attempt at appearing seductive, but it truly just makes me want to puke.
One man in particular, a mediocre looking grey haired man, has the courage to come up to me, just as I get cut off from the group. His yellowed and incomplete teeth show when he gives me a smile, although it's more of a grimace. He suddenly grabs my ass causing an angry and uncomfortable gasp to slip from my lips.
Fucking imbecile.
I roughly take his hand from my behind and abruptly yank it behind his back, causing him to wail in pain at the generally hurtful position. "Do not touch me or anyone else without their consent again, or I will chop your hands off and use them as my utensils." I grit out, a menacing threat in my tone and glare.
Before he can get a response in, I yank him down onto the busied floor, smirking as I hear him hiss out in pain after I turn around to meet my friends at the VIP table. Thankfully, none of them saw the ordeal.
Slipping into one of the black leather sofas and grab a shot from the previously noticed tray, I lean my head back and close my eyes, drink still in hand.
"Ugh, I seriously needed this." I tell my friends gratefully, to which they all giggle or smile in response.
"Mafia life taking it's toll?" My best friend, Clementine, whispers cheekily from next to me.
I groan loudly, opening my eyes again to look at her. "Clearly." I grumble. "I need shots." I declare, quickly downing the shot in one go. I make a sour face as it stings my throat, before taking another one and repeating the same process. I thank God I have a high alchohol tolerance.
Just as I'm about to take another one, my phone rings.
Angrily placing the glass back down on the shiny black table in front of me, I pull the obnoxiously loud object out of my clutch. I'm about to decline, but once I recognize the Caller ID as my brother's, I know I have to take it.
Huffing, I stand and face my friends. "Give me one second," I tell them, holding a finger up with one hand and my phone in the other palm. "It's my brother." I explain, inwardly rolling my eyes at the thought of having to speak with his dumbass.
I push through the crowd again and into a secluded, concrete bathroom area, finally accepting the incoming call.
"What the fuck do you want?" I groan, not wanting to be interrupted.
"Uh, so... funny thing." My brother starts, I straighten at the sound of uneasiness in his voice.
"Blake? What is it?" I question him.
"You know how I was supposed to handle that traitor that stole our shipments?" He questions nervously.
I think for a few moments before nodding, as if he can see me. "Yes." I tell him, voicing my physical assurance out loud.
"Okay, well, he's armed pretty heavily and he's claiming he set a bomb. We need backup and you're the only member that can dismantle bombs fast besides Eugene and today's his day off." He says, a certain pleading tone lacing his words.
I think for a few beats. "Fine. But you owe me." I agree, although somewhat reluctantly.
"Thank you so much!" My brother exclaims over the phone, and I can hear the gratitude in his voice.
