A book in which you, the infamous ability stealer, are the newest member of the Port Mafia and as witty as they come. Being the constant centre of attention, you have managed to catch the eye of the notorious young executive; Chuuya Nakahara, but no...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A/N - I highly recommend that you press play on the playlist above and let it run throughout this chapter! ;)
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
"Jesus Christ—" you said aloud as you entered the nightclub alongside Chuuya, who kept his hand on the small of your back the entire time. He didn't want to lose you in the massive crowd that had filled the club. The last place you expected Chuuya to take you was here, but you weren't complaining. It was the perfect way to end a night like this before the two of you had no other choice but to hop on his motorcycle and head back home. It was entertaining watching how excited these people were to get inside, most of them already drunk. A fair few danced around outside like little toy robots to the beat of the fast-paced, pulsating music.
There was an extremely long queue that had wrapped around the entire building, like ants marching to their hill. Security guards were stationed everywhere; wanting to make sure that no weapons or drugs were being carried into the club on their watch. This would have been a problem for you because of the gun currently strapped to your thigh.
Luckily for you, Chuuya being Chuuya, was already well-acquainted with the large, scary-looking bouncer standing in front of the doors with his arms crossed over his chest, sloped brows and his mouth set in a straight, grim line—which ultimately meant that he was able to sneakily get past security with spectral ease. All he had to do was slip a small wad of cash into the hulking man's pocket, and the two of you had been merrily sent on your way.
You heard a few colourful swear words being thrown in your direction by two of the people standing near the front of the queue that had been waiting in line for over forty-five minutes just to get in, but you ignored them. You could understand their frustration, but it wasn't exactly your fault that you were part of an organisation that had dozens of enterprises under their control and Karen with her sparkly dress, overdone makeup and greasy boyfriend weren't. Interestingly, the Port Mafia exceeded politics as well as economics and its influence was found in many sections of Yokohama, this section especially.
As you walked through the admission doors, the beat was vibrating off the walls; the crowd eager to party. Strobe lights were flashing all around you; transfusing from pink, to green, to blue, to red. There was a feeling of jubilation in the crowd as if they were both firmly on solid ground and levitating all at once. You could barely even see the dance floor; it was wall to wall of people dancing to the club music. The happiness and excitement infecting the very air you breathed almost made you forget how everyone was currently packed in the club like sardines.
Music filled the space with incorporeal ease—like waves filling cracks in the golden sand; the sound surging in and around everyone in the club. Some responded to the vivacious beat, while others continued in their chatter, but it always communicated with them in some way or another. A fast tempo was able to energise them, lift their spirits, or inspire them to dance, whereas a slow one could soothe them. The music consumed the air; possessing bodies, minds and souls.
