Beneath The Surface - DNF

Chapter 3

There were multiple documents and files implying that George was indeed his real name and that he was a British citizen, also it was revealed that he had a mother, even though his father was unknown on the documents, he also had two sisters, both of them being older then him.

That made Clay wonder how did he manage the family and the strip business, because he was sure he took  his family out of the poverty range but where did he tell the money came from?

He decided to dig deeper, he logged into instagram by a fake account of his and searched up all of his main family members instagrams, both of his sisters profiles were private, but his mother had an account and it was public.

Let's go.

The blonde clicked on her profile, and it said
"Mother of three beautiful kids, 🧒🏻 👧🏻👧🏻 52 years old, UK, England, God First"

He scrolled and saw som interesting stuff.

First of all

1- She posts pictures of her kids every single fucking day. Doesn't matter if they're adult or kid pictures.
2- She probably thinks George is a coder since he apparently graduated in Cambridge on computer science.
3- If she's catholic she should've seen the things her son was doing on that pole yesterday- yikes
3- She's a big time cooker.

It was important to know where he could find George, the places that he visited, he doubted he lived in London because there were no adult pictures in England or near that. But he wasn't certain

George was almost untraceable, having  those informations up on the internet didn't make him accessible to anyone. Clay was lingering his presence, he just wanted to get a glimpse of his delicate features once again.

Dream couldn't get George out of his mind. The brief encounter at the club had left him restless, and the urge to see him again was too strong to ignore. Despite the risks, Dream knew he had to go back. There was something about George that pulled him in, something that made him willing to step back into the club and face whatever came next.

He turned off his computer and thought about what he was about to do. Was he really coming back? What if this took up too much space in his life and distracted him from his work? The blonde couldn't afford to play around when it came to business. He was a criminal, and any slip or wrong move could get him killed. There were multiple people out there, every day, trying to take him down.

This was the worst part of the job: getting attached to anything could lead to danger. What if he actually started to get romantically involved with George, and that led to the Brit getting killed? The poor guy didn't deserve to be dragged into this mess. But at the same time, George was a stripper; he wasn't clean. He'd been through some hardcore stuff and was probably able to handle all of this—or maybe not. God only knows these are confusing times.

But it wouldn't cost him anything to just do it, to check it out.

Fine, he sighed, resigning himself

He got up and decided to get ready, it was a quick walk until he got to his closet considering his house was almost the size of a mall.
He opened the double doors and the room immediately lighted up, he was proud of how he had built his home, it was modern but at the same time it felt so welcoming, elegant.

Dream stood in front of the mirror, the soft light casting shadows on his face. His closet was a mix of sharp suits and streetwear—pieces he chose carefully to show both power and an edge. He reached for his leather jacket, the one he'd worn on his first job interview a few years back. It had a commanding look, with a roughness that hinted at his past. Beneath it, he picked a black shirt, leaving the top buttons undone to show a bit of the gold chain resting against his chest. He also put on his classic "D" gold chain, even thought sometimes it didn't match the outfit, it was the most importance piece, he was nothing without it.

Next, he pulled on a pair of black jeans, fitted just right—not too tight, but enough to highlight his figure. He completed the outfit with polished leather boots, their pointed toes and slight heel giving him a bit of extra height and presence.

As he fastened the last buckle on his boots, he glanced at himself one more time. This wasn't just about looking good—it was about control, about showing George, and everyone else, that he was still in charge.

Dream settled into the driver's seat of his car, the hum of the engine steady beneath him. The city lights blurred past as he drove, but his mind was sharper than ever, wrestling with his decision. He knew the risks. Getting close to anyone in his world was dangerous, and George wasn't just anyone. He was already under Dream's skin, and that could lead to trouble. Real trouble.

But as much as the fear of consequences gnawed at him, the pull to see George was stronger. There was something about George—his defiance, his grit—that kept drawing Dream in, like a moth to a flame. He couldn't shake it, and maybe, deep down, he didn't want to.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he turned down the familiar streets leading to the club. The glow of neon signs spilled across the pavement, since it was rhetorical most expensive club on the area the surroundings were also very elegant looking, He knew this area well, he had went on multiple million dollar missions aprons here, every corner and shadow reminded him of the rush that was to work with something so dangerous. He'd made sure of that long ago. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it wasn't just business, it was personal.

As he pulled up to the club, the music thumping from inside, he cut the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the entrance. This was it. No turning back now. Whatever happened next, he'd deal with it. He always did.

Dream stepped out of the car, adjusting his jacket as he made his way to the door. The familiar faces of the bouncers nodded in respect, stepping aside without a word. He pushed the door open, the pulse of the music growing louder, and walked in, ready for whatever the night had in store.