Rise of the Titan

by Pressley James

  “You’re lying to me,” Monique accused, staring at her hard. “Deny it all that you want. But, I can tell that you’re hiding something. More than that, you’re scared.”

  The PA system kicked on, and immediately, she was spared from saying anything else. To her relief, Monique was summoned. “Sounds like you’re up again.” She stood up quickly and hugged her friend fast. “And I think that’s my cue to go.”

  “We’re not done talking,” Monique insisted with stubbornly. “This is my last set. After I’m done, we’ll go to my place and talk more---”

  “I’m okay. I promise. Besides that, I don’t think Beau will like the idea of having company this late. It’s already past 1 am in the morning, and you’ve had a long shift. You’ll need your rest.” She nudged her towards the door. “Now, go before we’re both forced to be in Larry’s company.”

  “And we don’t want that.” Turning, Monique hugged her fast again. “Call me. We’ll get together for lunch this week or the next one.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  A minute or so later, the entire makeup room was clear.

  Just why she lingered, she didn’t know.

  Or perhaps, she did, she mulled, looking around the room.

  Isn’t this where everything began?

  Months before, she’d stood in this very space, not realizing that fate had something incredibly powerful lying in wake. That same very night, she’d been chosen to dance for one of the Wolf Pack in one of the secluded and private quarters. But, it hadn’t been just anyone. Instead, a more dangerous man had awaited her in dimly lit room.

  Titan…

  A mighty man destined to great wonders…

  She shuddered as the intense memory bloomed.

  The mood had been rife with sensual possibilities from the onset.

  Even now, her senses were assailed by the smell of whiskey and musk.

  From corner to corner, the sultry music had beat in the space.

  The shadows had been heady.

  They’d masked him in subtle secrecy…

  But, he’d been so alive…

  He’d appealed to the core of her.

  The real part of her that thrived and breathed…

  And because of that, she’d become his…

  Her eyes filled with unshed tears again.

  Now, long months later, she was even more so his…

  “Why does it feel like every part of me belongs to you? From the very beginning, it seems to have been this way. You’re all that I can think about,” she whispered, pained, and pressed a tight fist against her mouth. “Oh, Braden…Being away from you hurts so much. Why couldn’t things have been different? I’d give anything for them to be, and for once, I’d take a real chance.” As her eyes misted with fresh tears, she squeezed them shut. “I love you so much.”

  As she voiced the words, her eyes opened in shock.

  But, there was no denying the truth.

  She was in love---

  Suddenly, a huge shadow fell over her.

  Startled, she whirled around in surprise. “What----”

  The goon was massive in size, but her senses barely had time to register the sight of him. Quickly, soundlessly, the stranger clenched her in a violent hold. As the chloroform-soaked rag covered her both her mouth and nostrils, her sounds of protest were smothered out. Flailing wildly, reaching out, she struggled against the firm hold. But, the fumes were too overwhelmingly potent and suffocating. The air inside her lungs was constricted and tight, finally lessening to almost nothing. Weakened and fatigued, her struggle ended as she went limp in the stranger’s arms.

  Like a lifeless doll, she collapsed.

  Chapter 17

  The club was jumping.

  That was no surprise, he decided, hovering in the corner, and passed a bored look around the area. All around the room, the bass thumped hard, and the dance floor was packed. On the stage, scantily dressed women curled their half-naked bodies around the poles, suggesting sexual actions with their movements.

  Of course, a place like this had a knack for drawing in a hungry crowd.

  Sex, drugs, money, beautiful women…

  It’d do the trick every time---

  A large shadow fell across him.

  He turned to find Seymour, one of the hulky security guards, beside him.

  Easily, the man topped him by several inches.

  “Yo, Titan, we’ve got problems,” the man muttered in a scratchy tone, and leaned in close, so that his voice was indecipherable to the small crowd standing close by. He was of Caucasian descent, and the desperation played in his tone. That only indicated that the problem was a huge one. “Velasquez’s crew is here, and they’re pissed as all fuck.”

  Shit…

  The dead man’s crew obviously wanted answers.

  Stiffening, he nodded. “Alright---tell everyone to arm up, front to back. If so much as a corner is left unprotected, I’ll have your ass.” With his eyes, he gave a warning. “No one in this club is going to be hurt. Everyone is going to make it out of here alive and back home. Do you fuckin’ understand me?”

  “Got some bad news, unfortunately. They say they got ransom, high ransom. But, just who or what, we don’t know yet.” Shrugging his huge shoulders, Seymour adjusted the lapels on the expensive black suit, and then cast a cautious glance around. Obviously satisfied to find nothing amiss, he looked at him again. “We’ll have to play hardball, and that means casualties on every front. If some dumb dick gets in the line of fire---”

  “Hurt an innocent civilian, and you’ll find out just who the dumb dick is,” he warned coldly, turning towards the man fully. “Unlike your so-called Pops, I don’t believe in letting innocent people suffer. Like I told you, arm this shit up and do it right. Can you handle that?”

  Seymour had the grace to look offended. “Of course I can. Akumu’s not the only mutha’ that knows how to handle things around this joint.”

  “Then prove it,” he snapped, tensing further, just the music switched beats. It thumped too hard and could easily mask gunshots. A bloody, gruesome situation was something that they had to avoid. Fortunately, already, more guards were amassing around the perimeter, and that brought some relief. “Where in the hell are they?”

  “The Quarters---somehow, they managed to get that far in.” The guard stepped closer to him. In his hand, he carefully clutched the semi-automatic pistol. With ease, he passed the weapon to him. “Thought you might need that.”

  “Well, well, well. There’s hope for you yet,” he quipped tightly, slipping the gun beneath his waistband. “Perhaps you are deserving of more responsibilities.”

  After casting another surreptitious glance around, he departed.

  Moments later, he arrived at The Quarters.

  Tensing, he grasped the door knob before pushing the door open.

  The room was bathed with dim lighting, but no music played.

  As he stepped in, he spied three men: Pascal Velasquez and two goons.

  Standing off to the shadows somewhat, the goons waited close to the bar area.

  But, he didn’t focus on them outright.

  Instead, his attention was on the man standing before him.

  Of Columbian descent, around age 58 or so, Pascal Velasquez was dressed in a startling white business suit, and even his shoes were a fine highly polished white. In perfect waves, his glistening black hair fell, and thin streaks of gray lined it. But, his visage carried nothing but pure open hatred and venom. His hand shook violently as it curled along the black walking cane. It did even more so as he raised the cane and pointed it at him. “Where in the fuck is your old man, Titan?” Pascal Velasquez demanded icily and leveled the cane evenly with his chest. “He’s the one that I want to see, not you. You’re the pitiful and pathetic washed down version of him, so you won’t do.”

  “Well, good evening to you, too, Pascal,” he uttered with all charm. Carefully, he closed the door behind him before venturing insid
e. Stopping several inches from the man, he issued a cold smile. “How kind of you to be so warm and welcoming---”

  “Cut the bullshit, puto,” Pascal seethed. “Real business is all that I want or need to talk about.”

  “Whatever happened to the days of chivalry? You know where you greet one another with pleasantries before releasing the real bullshit?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Now, everything is fast, mechanical, and emotionless. Guess we really are living in the times of Generation Z. seeing as that you were already all those things, I guess that you were living before the times.”

  “Funny,” Pascal harrumphed, narrowing his eyes. “Where’s your father?”

  “You mean Vitali?”

  “Who else, puto? Know what? You kinda look put off whenever I mention his name. Things still suck between you dysfunctional bastards, don’t they? What a shame---the poor pitiful throes of a father-son separation.” The drug kingpin’s laugh was less than pitying. “Usually, it’s one of the most valued relationships in the family. But, in your case, that’s not the point, right?” Coldly, the man ran his eyes down his long form. “Can’t say that I blame Vitali for being disappointed. I mean, spawning such a losing creature could cause only that. Your lack of passion and drive for our type of lifestyle is depressing.”

  “Very astute and on point---not that it’s any of your business. But, seeing as he’s gone and I’m here.” He gave another icy smile. “Well, you said it yourself. You’ll have to deal with the washed down pathetic version of him. So, I won’t bore you, and I’ll make it fast. In case you didn’t notice, business is hopping and clear here, tonight, and I have to get back to it. So, what do you want?”

  “To hell with this sin-infested shit hole,” Pascal spat cruelly, and impatience shone on his face. “Where is Caesar? He’s been missing for weeks. While I have no use for my measly and treacherous cousin, the rest of the family does.” Eye to eye, he watched him. “His last point of contact was with Vitali. A business exchange was made. Only one problem, though, well, more than one,” the drug kingpin quipped tightly, offering another smile devoid of feeling. “The drug shipment went missing, and that has caused some considerable issues---one of them being me not getting paid.” The man edged forward a bit. “I’d say that we have a huge mutha-fuckin’ problem on our hands.

  Arching a brow, he kept his features straight. “And this is my problem---how?”

  “Where’s my white powder? I want every perfectly wrapped and drug-inducing stack. Then, I’ll receive my just revenue---millions of paper green.” Pascal rubbed his thumb against its closest finger, and then passed an unfeeling look. “As for Casear, pack his drunken ass in a pine box and send it back to Columbia. Like I said, he’s useless to me. But, his old craggly widow will find some solace in that at least.”

  Inside, he grew uneasy.

  Or perhaps, was it niggling guilt?

  While he hadn’t actually killed the man, he did know what happened to him.

  But, to confess that, it would only open more problems.

  Problems that shouldn’t be aired with some many innocent people close by…

  So, he had to tread carefully and lightly…

  “Oh, come on, Pascal. We both know that your cousin was unpredictable, and surely, he lacked loyalty on all points. Wouldn’t it be possible that he’s ventured off on some tangent that’s not even remotely related to us here?”

  “That’s possible,” Pascal shrugged, eyeing him close again. “But, it’s not what went down. Word on the street is that your pops had a score to settle. He lured him into a business deal that he never intended play out. Then, presto, he snuffed him out.”

  “A wild conspiracy theory never has real legs. It just meanders around while suckers latch onto it.” His smile was tight. “In two words, it’s fake news. Unless you have something really substantial to lay on the table, I suggest that you get the hell out.”

  “You know what would be awful?” Pascal threw a casual glance around the place. Then, his frigid gaze landed on him again. “If I were to call a few people and ask for a favor, and then this snuff place out. I’ll kill you, your crowd, and all of these naked bitches.”

  “Sounds like a threat to me. Trust me, Pascal.” Stiffening like rigid stone, he stepped forward, bringing himself dangerously closer to the drug kingpin. “No one is dying here tonight, not on my watch. Not me. The crowd. Or the women here.” He flicked his eyes over the man. “In your case, you won’t be that lucky. Try one thing, and you’ll find your guts splattered on this floor.”

  “Wow, have I grossly underestimated you?” Pascal probed, stilling across him. “You know what? I don’t appreciate your tone or demeanor.” Keeping his gaze steady on him, he called out to his goons. “Where is that bitch? Bring her forward.”

  What?

  He tried not to let his unease show.

  Had they actually kidnapped one of the dancers?

  But, Seymour had said ‘high ransom’.

  What or who could be of such caliber----

  The air left his body as the woman was lifted from the floor.

  Stunned, he stayed silent.

  Motionless, almost lifeless, Bella was cradled in the goon’s arms.

  “What have you fucking done to her?” he asked in a dead quiet whisper. An unbridled energy surged threw him and was replaced with dangerous anger. “I swear on my life, if you hurt her----” He met the man’s eyes squarely. “I’ll kill you and then ram that cane through your dick and straight out of your ass.”

  “Whoa, what a passionate and violent reaction! But, coming from you, it’s downright puzzling.” Pascal raised a brow. “Isn’t she supposed to be Vitali’s girl?” he looked towards the bar and whistled. “Damn, she’s a stunner. Look at that fine ass and that thick black glossy hair.” His eyes fell on him again. “Don’t tell me that the two of you are caning that cheap ass bitch--”

  “Shut your filthy mouth.” Trying to hide the deep concern on his face, he looked towards the goon and Bella again. The light blue dress shirt dress clung to her limp body. Suddenly, groaning, she showed signs of stirring. Inside of him, the relief was past compelling. He switched his attention back to Pascal again, and a searing violence simmered within him, one that was volatile and uncontrollable. Then, he slowly and coldly minced his next words. “Tell him to put her down.”

  A calculating smile stretched across Pascal’s face. “Or you’ll do what?”

  “Do you really want to test me?” he quipped tightly, and an equally challenging smile stole his features. On Pascal’s white suit coat, the small bright red dots gleamed directly on his chest. They were clear signs that he was a clear target, and that Vitali'’s men were in defensive position. “Look down.” As the man did as directed, he continued with his threat. Carefully, he extracted the semi-automatic pistol from his waistband and aimed it at the man as well. “One wrong move and you’ll become nothing but a bloody spectacle. All it will take is one firm direction from me. Trust me, Lionel is one helluva sharp shooter, and he won’t miss. I’m not so bad myself at releasing straight shots. While he’s filling your chest with lead, I’ll be unloading some in you as well.” His eyes turned chillier. “So, I’m going to say this one more fucking time. Put. Her. Down.”

  A hard silence hung for several seconds.

  Finally, Pascal acquiesced with a quiet demand, and it was apparent that he was put-off by his own lack of effort. “You heard the man. Put her down.”

  Staying silent, still on edge, he watched as the henchman placed her on the chair. As her body met the plush chair, she groaned softly, and it was obvious that she was trying to fight her way out of the slurred state. Again, he was consumed with concern for her safety and nothing more.

  “Now, move the hell away her,” he ordered the other two goons. “Nice and slow. I swear on my life I’ll fuck you up if you try something.” Another round of exceedingly intense seconds ticked off while the men slowly ambled towards their boss and finally stopped beside
him. Then, he called out. “Seymour, why don’t you escort these fine gentlemen out of here?”

  Suddenly, the guard and three others materialized from the secret compartment near the stage, the very area where the dancers always entered. Quickly, they approached with their own weapons in hand and each one of them apprehended Pascal and his goons.

  “You’re making a big mistake Titan---” Pascal started.

  “Save your idle threats,” he snapped quickly. “They hold no bearing for me. But, let me give you a warning. Stay the hell away from her. If you so much as even think about touching her ever again, I’ll hunt you down and then kill you.” He zeroed his hostile stare on the man. “I know where you live. I know how you operate. Try something again, and you’ll learn that I’m not a pathetic washed up version of Vitali. Instead, you’ll find out the kind of man I really am. Trust me. You don’t want to see that version of me.” He switched his gaze to Seymour. “Why don’t you show our guests their way out? Then, I want you to follow them for an x number of miles and make sure that they make it to the airport.” As he looked at the drug kingpin once more, the dead cold smile froze on his face. “Guess what, Velasquez? I’m even paying the fare. Don’t get lost and accidentally find your way back here. It’d be the mistake of your life.” He paused for a tense second. “Get them the hell out of my sight.”

  A stony silence lingered as the men were escorted out.

  When the door finally closed behind them, he rushed towards her.

  Quickly, he knelt down before the chair and grappled her into his arms. Hands shaking badly, he cradled her against him real close. “Baby, baby, wake up,” he whispered frantically, caressing her face gently. Again, the deep concern shattered any calmness that he’d have felt. “Come on…come back to me…”

  Groaning again, she attempted to stir, and a helpless look crumpled her beautiful features. “B---braden…” she whispered, still partially drugged. “Braden…help me…”

  “Shhhh…I’m here, baby,” Hugging her close, he rocked on the floor. “I’m here.”