by Sienna Evans
Just like that, without a request or fight, Brendan had some kind of pull. Sure as hell wasn't me. He was the good one, living freely in the limelight. I was the tragic one, forced to remain in the shadows while everyone else thrived openly.
Don't get me wrong. I survived. Not in the way I should've, but exactly how I was expected to. I've lived as best as I could. From year to year, the plans never changed until recently. I finally got a chance to make a difference for the good guys. Imagine that―me, a good guy!
When in town, I used to climb to the rooftop of my old Midtown apartment to gaze into the midnight sky and wonder what was missing from my life besides redemption. I’ve since moved out of the city in hopes of having a real life with real family, someday.
Maybe even with Celeste.
I haven’t been able to maintain a relationship for more than a year at a time. I’ve tried half-heartedly. No woman wanted a man who was afraid to open up. Hell, I've always had a difficult time standing myself for that fact. Precisely why I could spend nights out, drinking my life away.
And tonight, taking a break from all of the bull, in order to protect Celeste, was the biggest step I'd taken to do good for someone. But this club made me doubt myself. Brendan made me question remaining here.
Deep in the shadows, further into the lounge, pockets of rooms supplied men with exclusive girls. I could tell. I knew this type of place. This life was never meant for me. Never. I still made the decision to stay, even after we'd confirmed that Celeste wasn't here. Made me uncomfortable as hell!
"Loosen up, man," Brendan barked. He smiled wide. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how to have a little fun."
"It sure seems like you haven't." I slammed the empty glass onto the counter that stretched across an entire wall. I positioned myself in a corner while facing the open space. I knew the proper code of conduct―never turn your back on trouble. "I'm ready to head out," I declared without looking at my brother.
"Grey, you don't come to a spot like this without getting the royal treatment." He pointed further into the club and stated, “The lounges.”
"Back there? You're joking, right?" I walked off, slammed one boot after the other onto the ground. This type of pretentious crap always led down one road―the wrong one.
My brother was not the man he appeared to be. He had friends in just about every city throughout the U.S., and New York was no exception. I've observed his movements and connections but tried to stay in my lane all the same. Brendan was the golden boy of the Michaels clan and a lead detective on most high-profile cases in NYC. I’ve always hoped he wasn't dumb enough to take that for granted, but something told me otherwise.
Entry into this newly refined lounge was now exclusive. Brendan had been welcomed without a glitch. Dark, glowing red lights, black leather chairs and sofas lined the space. Matching tables scattered along the open floor plan, yet pockets of rooms outlined the darkness. This part of the club held businessmen in tailored suits, from Armani to Gucci. Their sleeves were decorated with gold and platinum cuff links; they allowed the entire scene to engulf them. Half-naked women moved about, carrying trays of high-end liquor, while others dangled like expensive chocolates.
"Don't take things for granted, man," I warned. "Please, I'm begging you." I knew enough about the underground life to never underestimate its pull. This has been my life, my fortress, my universe.
"Cut the crap, Greyson. Have some fun." He patted my back, spread his arms wide with a bottle dangling from between his fingers and stepped full circle before leading the way further in. I followed.
A skinny woman with jet-black, straight hair and wide shoulders tiptoed into Brendan’s arms from out of nowhere. Unlike the other women strolling around, she was dressed in full back, more like business wear. After pulling away, she nodded further back. Her fingers interlocked with Brendan’s, she pulled his arm over her shoulders and steered him in front of a sheer, red curtain. I followed closely.
We heard, “My son.” I turned to see an older man. A thick, white mane added to his fatherly appeal. He kept talking but his voice seemed to drop lower, coupled with a gruff tone that worsened a European accent, making him hard to understand. His expressive mannerisms and the top buttons unbuttoned exposed grey wiry hair, but he was in his element.
The broad stepped aside when Brendan replied to the man with a few Russian words before ending with “...Mr. Jacobs.”
They shook hands, with Mr. Jacobs’s free hand resting on Brendan's shoulder.
“Sir, this is my brother Greyson.” Brendan tugged at my arm, while trying to move me forward.
Mr. Jacobs reached for me with a similar greeting. “A brother of my son is also my son. Welcome, Greyson.” His skin was pasty. He had a clammy feel to his fingers. And when my gaze lifted to meet his, even with the familiar darkness looming all around, my gut soured. I got a better look at him. This man’s pupils had secrets most would die from holding. I knew the type.
And I was a pretty good judge of character.
My antennas sparked like hell.
I sized up the man without being too obvious. From the opposite end of the hallway a tall, bulky male trailed close by as we paced into a nearby room. Once inside, Mr. Jacobs directed us to take one of two the large, leather seats. We were anything but small, still the chairs dwarfed us. Drinks were soon delivered by women in high-waist black skirts that showcased red can-cans underneath. They modeled black, diamond-shaped fishnets and stilettos.
Brendan held an intense conversation with the older man as they sat closer. I tried to listen in, but between the music and loud chatter all around, it was pointless.
“Forgive my rudeness, Greyson,” Mr. Jacobs said with a thick, heavy Russian accent that seemed to rest on his tongue like a brick. He signaled behind us. “I believe Natasia has a treat for you.” He winked at the girl, and then me. “She’s good, huh?”
I started shaking my head from left to right, but then caught attention of Brendan’s upward nod. Natasia curled her fingers into mine before directing me from the room. She was short and boisterous. Her skin glowed, even in the faded lighting. There was little doubt that Natasia was young, though her silky, dark brown hair was wound up and around into a humongous bun with silvery designs. Honestly, I was mesmerized by her innocence.
She led me further into the club and up a winding staircase with mirrored walls. As we climbed the stairs, I tried to avoid looking up under her skirt that spread wide and dared me to swipe at her. I’ve always been a man with an appetite for women―now, only for the one I've finally claimed earlier this night. Moreover, something rubbed me the wrong way here. Every time a light fell on Natasia’s face, I was reminded of her youth.
A floor to ceiling silver pole positioned on a bright silver platform awaited us at the top. At least it was the first thing I saw when she stepped into the top room. Very little furniture could be seen, otherwise. The room was somewhere between ten to twelve square feet, I assessed. Two benches ran along two of the walls, while the same type of leather chairs from downstairs occupied another wall. She motioned me toward the seat by cupping up her palms, twirling and then bowing toward the seats. Though it seemed too much over the top, I shrugged and sat down.
Natasia reached just below the edge of the stage. The room came alive with the song Radioactive. Instead of getting back up, she placed her palms against the surface and slowly flipped onto the stage. That movement had her mounting the pole, on which she climbed and flipped herself upside down.
She humped along the length of the pole. Her movements were more seamless than anything I’ve ever seen before. She performed as if the lyrics were imprinted on her DNA. And every time her face got illuminated by the light, I couldn’t help but wonder what brought her here.
The song eventually came to an end and transitioned to a foreign piece. She rode the newer tunes in high fashion, legs spread wide. She flung her slender legs outward, eventually closing them and increasing speed. The tiny skirt flopped a
bove and exposed her, all around. I wasn’t sure of how much longer I could’ve endured. I was sure she was legal, though a bit too young, and something just seemed off about her. Moreover, strip clubs weren't my forte. Why allow yourself to be teased if at the end of the night you’d end up alone and horny?
Natasia shared time between the pole and stage for about two more songs. By that point, I had enough. I raised two fingers and motioned her over. Something needed to be said. I wanted her to know she was great; there just wasn't a purpose to it all. But when Natasia stood in front of me, in one quick swoosh she unraveled her skirt and snaked low.
“No,” I mumbled, but then in the distance . . .
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
Gunshots!
The music stopped. No warning. Dead silence for what seemed like an extended second. The air hung heavy all around us, until everything exploded. Showers of screams blasted throughout the lounge. I swear the walls had to have vibrated. I shoved Natasia aside and quickly leapt up. Instead of running away from the shooting, I backtracked to find Brendan. This strategy took me down the steps and into blinking lights.
Once I reached the first level, I got shoved by some of the women from earlier. They rushed around the club, gripping at half naked bodies. All the perfection, every inch of beauty had suddenly disappeared. No one had time to worry about looking cute or sexy when death was a bullet away. I raced through the hallway that was supposed to lead back to the front, back to my brother.
“Greyson,” I heard Brendan shouting.
As I turned, an arm cut into my face. I dodged, as I saw a shadow. Breeze rushed past my temples. My reflexes were everything, so I didn’t feel the brunt of the punch beyond a brush. Nevertheless, my opponent followed through with a fist to my stomach. I lost balance and crashed into one of the mirrored walls. The back of my head smashed into the glass, while prickles shot up from all around me. My ears rang and body instantly ached. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the shards out, though several sharp ones might’ve slashed at my arms.
“What is this?” Brendan rushed up to the one guy who’d caught me off guard and swung at his face.
The man, who was leveled with us, fell back against shattered glass, before grunting in agony. Brendan raised his leg to kick him in his gut. I stood back. Certain my brother could carry his own, I prepared for the unexpected. A short, stocky man hurdled into Brendan from out of the darkness.
Though the lights were flashing continuously, our surroundings were dark enough that no one initially saw him coming. Screams and shouts of terror threw off any real opportunity to hear our opponents. So, when the man took down Brendan, it was easier to pin him down. He threw punch after punch against Brendan’s face. They connected like heavy packages being released on concrete, one after the other.
On one hand, the man who was thrown against the glass was still recuperating, though he tried to roll onto the side and sneak up on Brendan. I had to concern myself with this one first, before I could defend my brother from the other guy. If given the opportunity, he’d cause much more damage. If given the opportunity to recover, he’d become a threat. But I surged on, kicking his side. My boot landed on the right side of his chest and burrowed deep until my victim’s side caved.
CLACK.
Another shot rang in the air!
I’d actually forgotten that only minutes ago shots were sounding off. And now, a single shot flew past my head. I ducked, quickly leaping over the other guy holding down a bloodied Brendan. The man had to have been somewhere close to three hundred pounds of muscle. Brendan whipped around, shifting completely and allowing the guy to shield us so we could run inside one of the rooms. Unlike the other rooms, this one had solid walls. We would probably be protected for a time.
“Vstavat,” a coarse masculine voice demanded. “Vstavat.” The shuffle of his steps trailed close by. Brendan’s eyes rolled back. When he straightened up, I shrugged and inhaled. Couldn’t be sure if he was talking to us or his men. I didn't know an ounce of Russian but didn't need lessons to know we were seconds away from being dead bait.
“Don’t move,” Brendan whispered.
All I could do was plan. I glanced over at Brendan. There was very little lighting, but I saw drops of blood trailing from his nose. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking getting mixed up with these Russians. But that conversation had to wait. We were trapped.
“Come out, boy,” the coarse voice called out. Seems like a paper-thin layer separated us, even though he was on the other side of the wall. He was close enough for us to know that at any minute, something major just might be going down. With the music gone and the waitresses’ cries silent, things got magnified. “You come to me, boy.”
“Greyson,” Brendan whispered. He took two deep breaths and stepped forward.
“Hell no,” I said. There was no way I was going to stand by and watch my brother get gunned down. Perhaps they didn't intend to do so, especially since they had a weapon and he'd left his in the car since he claimed they weren't allowed. If they wanted to gun him or us down, they would've already done it. Right? But this was a chance I really didn't want to take.
“Get in the corner.” I whispered then signaled with two fingers and motioned for Brendan to stoop low. One way or another, this guy was going to enter the room. Brendan still needed to recoup. And if the gunman intended to shoot him, it would have happened already. Hell, the man could shoot through the walls. No, he needed to enter the room. Since they hadn’t fired again, and insisted on throwing punches with the men, I was certain he felt lucky enough to step inside.
I waited, listening to the footsteps draw closer. One set approached, steadily. Further away, I heard people scuttling…running, but this heavier, vibration advanced toward us. When I could almost taste death, I stooped lower against the inside of the wall, counted to three and jumped out of the room. My adrenaline surged. I kicked the gun to another door with a roundhouse.
Brendan slid out and across the ground, capturing the weapon. I grabbed the guy by his neck and shoulders, ramming his head into a nearby wall. He collapsed to the ground like a big sack of potatoes.
“We have to get out of here.” Brendan rushed for the doorway.
“Where’s the gun?” I asked. As soon as the words shot out from my mouth, the sound of sirens screamed in the distance drawing closer by the second.
Brendan used his undershirt to clean the handle before kicking it inside one of the open rooms. We took wide steps, slamming our boots on the shiny marble ground. It was mainly dark, even though flashes of tiny lights along the walls had died down but left just enough light. “The police will be all over this place any minute now,” Brendan shot out.
I shook my head, considering my luck. Instead of debating, I bit my lips shut and continued to follow him through the place. The bits of lights from the wall helped us get around.
“Over here! I think that’s an exit,” Brendan shouted, just seconds later. The door was locked, but after two kicks with my right leg, it flew open. We busted into the moonlit sky. The door led to a fenced-in alley and a helluva lot of brick. Huge black garbage bags lined the fence for about three feet. “Let’s go.”
We jogged in the direction of the open backspace. Luckily, we got out before the police made it to the back. But there was little time to contemplate our actions. A high, wrought iron fence secured the property, in turn, blocking us in. Where one side was only about five feet, this one had to be about seven. It wasn't a difficult task, but this one also had a wooden partition.
“Go, Greyson,” Brendan demanded. “I can’t let you get caught up in my drama.”
“Look at you, you’re still trying to recover.”
“Did you see the size of that son-of-a-bitch?”
“Look, Brendan. At least let’s try to get you over the fence first. If we get split up, somehow, we’ll meet up back at my place. You can take the car. I know this town. I’m good with the subway or whatever.”
Just as we prepa
red to make a move, additional shots sounded off from inside of the club. The good ole boys moved from the inside of the building. Brendan and I found a break in the fence that was big enough to slip through and ended up landing in a darker alley, like a hidden street, with headlights beaming down from the other end. All of a sudden, some guy rushed out from the driver's side. I felt eyes on me from the passenger end, but the glare from all angles was a bit much.
“Who are you?” a male voice demanded. His command seemed to echo through the dead air. Sent a chill up my spine.
Before I could reply, Brendan stated, "Police, hands in the air. Step away from the car." He pulled out a gun. This blew me away as I searched his face for some sort of explanation. He hadn't brought one in and as far as I knew, he'd tossed aside the one he’d grabbed inside.
“Fuck!” The guy retreated in the blink of an eye.
Something was eating away at me. A nagging feeling kept telling me to check the car. But I let my brother take the lead as I waited for this to play out. We were out of range from the club, with the barrier right behind us. So, I didn't necessarily care about that. I felt confident enough that Celeste wasn't inside, either. Wherever she went, it wasn't here. God knows, she bruised my ego in the worst way by slipping out like that.
But then...
The driver reappeared, this time pulling someone out of the vehicle.
“I'll kill her,” he promised. I couldn't see his victim yet, not with the light still on and the shine from the street lamps in the alley. I blinked a bunch of times until they came better into view.
Celeste... My Celeste! The only woman I could finally admit to loving more than life. My Celeste was his victim and he was holding a knife at her throat. Her pupils spread wide and overflowed with tears, and her hair stuck out like a halo all around.
“Celeste?” Brendan called out.
“Who the hell is Celeste?” the stranger screamed. His fingers crushed into her arms. He pulled her closer to his body like he owned her.