After Midnight - IN THE PROCESS OF BEING EDITED
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
15,551
Reviews:
109
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
2
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
15,551
Reviews:
109
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. Visit us at our site www.aisylum.com
Chapter 5
Chapter Five: Jake & Janet's
Soundtrack: The Dead Weather, "I'm Mad"
Jake & Janet's was as crowded on a Thursday night as it was on a Friday night which was both good and bad. Good because it meant that there were enough people around that no one would be focused too specifically on what Gordon was doing. Bad because between the sound of The Dead Weather blaring loudly in the speakers and the loud din of club goers, he could barely hear anything anyone was saying to him ever unless he was indecently close to them. And shouting out his business was generally a bad idea, especially around several scores of nosy ass people.
He leaned against the bar and shot Carla a sideways glance. She was reapplying lipstick in a compact mirror and looking hot enough to attract way more attention than they needed. It appeared to irritate her to no end that "men always thought she dressed up for their benefit" but Gordon didn't see how she could blame them. Between the skintight leather jeans, deep v-neck shirt and stilettos, she looked like any hot blooded heterosexual man's wet dream. He was nearly 95% sure they'd be a couple if he swung the other way and he'd be the envy of every other dude in the room. "You're causing a lot of traffic to redirect our way," he observed blandly, downing his shot of tequila and arching one red eyebrow at her. "Maybe you should put your tits away for the night. Here- go get my jacket."
Carla shot him a withering look and shut her compact with a snap. "Fuck yourself."
"I do. Every night. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't be so bitchy." The withering look turned into an outright glare of pure evilness. "For your information G, I'm bitchy because my ass has been grabbed more times than a football during the Super Bowl. And I stupidly promised Chance that I wouldn't beat the shit out of anyone tonight unless it's absolutely necessary. He doesn't want me starting fires."
"Ah. Sucks being you. Must be hard being so irresistible and lethal all at the same time. I sure am glad that people don't want to grope me so much. Then I could do absolutely nothing in my own defense since I'm a fucking failure at fighting, anyway."
Gordon made a face and looked around the room. Women were fucking ridiculous sometimes. Why was it so bad to have a dozen men wanting to touch your goods? Shit, some of them had been so hot that Gordon would have paid a couple to grab his.
"Feeling bitchy tonight, are we?" Carla asked, finishing her own drink as she watched him over the rim of the glass. "Did your period come early?" He flipped her off without bothering to reply.
She was in rare bitch form herself and had little room to talk. But he couldn't deny that her constant whining about "boo hoo it is so hard being so attractive, all men want to just jump my bones, and that is so sexist and also rude," irritated the living fuck out of him. Why was it that beautiful people always whined about the attention they got? He'd give a testicle to have even a percentage of her sex appeal. He wasn't exactly an ugly duckling but the whole pale skinned ginger look on a man didn't appeal to that many.
And while he was on the subject of that- it also irritated the living fuck out of him that all of these random dudes had the balls to step up to her while they were sitting together. For all they knew, he was her boyfriend. But did that stop them? No. Obviously they didn't think he was impressive enough to deserve such a hot piece of ass or else they thought they could beat the shit out of him if he tried to say anything about it.
It was all bullshit and it pissed him off to no end. It was one of the reasons why he hated coming to Jake & Janet's with Carla. Some way or somehow, he got annoyed by the entire scenario that always played out.
Coming alone wasn't quite as bad. When he wasn't standing next to perfect specimens of humanity like Carla, Marquis or even Chance, other people actually seemed to find him attractive. On those nights, he never left J&J alone. If the club was good for one thing, it was good for picking up a one night fuck. Sometimes even a quickie in the basement which was like Sodom and Gomorrah poured into one dimly lit room with music so loud you couldn't really hear the moans.
"How are we doing tonight anyway?" she asked. It was an obvious, "can we leave yet?" type of question. Who knew enforcers for drug dealers could be clock watchers on the job.
"Not bad considering."
"I don't even know what that means," she replied, uninterested. She never got herself too involved with the specifics of day-to-day Pandora dealing. Unless it was a big deal operation she generally hung out in the background waiting for someone to get stupid with him so she'd have an excuse to whip out the Mixed Martial Arts skills she had.
"It means we're doing okay considering it's the start of the fucking night. It's only midnight, Carls. It closes at five in the morning."
"Augh. Don't remind me." Carla scowled and ran a hand through her long black curls. They hung down her back, brushing her ass. "I hate this place. I feel like I'm going to get an STD just from touching the wall."
"Tell me about it. And I'm the hypochondriac, so how do you think I feel?"
"Oh please, G. I know you've been down to the basement. I even saw you down there before with some big blond guy."
Gordon thought about that. "The one with the tattoos or the one with the hair?"
"Tattoos," she replied tartly, giving him a disapproving look. "I hope you use condoms. I do have to fuck you for the website sometimes." "What's a condom?"
Carla scoffed at him and turned her attention elsewhere, seeming to lose interest in their argument. She was really no fun tonight. Maybe she really was irritated by the order to keep it civilized or maybe it was the fact that they'd arrived with Marquis.
Chance had finally made peace with the fact that Marquis really hadn't been in on the plot and had let the rich man back into their little group. It likely had more to do with the fact that Marquis brought them a lot of rich customers than anything else; Chance wasn't about to risk being shunned by the elite group that Marquis had given them access to. But Carla hadn't been happy about apologizing and Marquis hadn't accepted gracefully either. Gordon didn't know who'd been bitchier on the way over but he'd stayed out of it. He was tired of getting his burn with Marquis and had told himself that he wouldn't bat an eyelash if Carla chucked the other man out of the moving car.
She hadn't, likely due to the non-violence edict, and Marquis had disappeared into the writhing crowd as soon as they arrived. Gordon had tried to swallow the bitter jealousy that had followed only half successfully. Being largely ignored by Marquis hurt more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He'd ended up popping half a cap just so he could calm down and stop scanning every corner for the tall blond obsessively.
But that had been hours ago and now he was a little bit high, a little bit drunk, and getting a whole lot bored as he debated going upstairs. Sometimes it was more crowded because the DJ up there focused more on top forty music which people generally preferred to dance to. This floor was more laid back and the DJ played a lot of house, rock and trip-hop. He preferred this floor for purely selfish reasons like actually enjoying the music but he knew realistically that he'd probably get a lot more profit upstairs.
By now most people recognized him as the go-to-guy for PD by the description of his flaming red hair and they'd definitely approach him. Maybe torturing his ears would be worth it if he could get the fuck out of here faster. He'd had enough of Carla's whining and bad attitude for one night.
"That dude over there bought this for you," the bartender's voice practically shouted at them suddenly.
Gordon looked up at Xavier and saw that he was addressing Carla. No big surprise there. He was pushing a large mug of something red at her.
"What the hell is it?" she asked dubiously.
"Cherry bomb," Xavier shouted again, either being obnoxious or completely deaf because of the speaker that loomed above his side of the bar.
Carla arched an eyebrow. "And what the hell is in it?"
"Vodka," he called.
"Jesus, Xavier can you tone it down?" Gordon complained, leaning back. "-grenadine and a shot of Red Bull!"
Gordon grimaced. There was spit flying in his face and everything. Carla was starting to look intrigued and she took a dainty sip, paused, and then chugged the drink down.
Xavier grinned at her. "Good call, I guess!"
"Which one is he, again?" she asked, peering around, suddenly all interested just because she'd discovered a new drink. Gordon rolled his eyes.
"The guy on the end! In the gray shirt!"
She searched around before her eyes zeroed in and she perked up considerably. "Hmm, he's kind of gorgeous."
Resisting the urge to make another face because she always scored the good ones, Gordon pointedly didn't turn to look. Instead he slid off the barstool, downed the newly replenished shot glass and jerked his head towards the staircase that wound its way upstairs in the middle of the room.
"I'm going up to make the rounds. Behave yourself."
Carla jerked her gaze from whatever swooning admirer she'd procured effortlessly and arched a dark eyebrow. "Do the same. Be careful. For real. The twins are up there somewhere. I saw Blake coming in earlier but he hadn't noticed us yet."
Gordon made a face and adjusted the fitted black shirt he wore beneath his jacket. It was short sleeved and collared but adorned by metal epaulets and studs in the collar. "Fun."
Without another word, he slithered effortlessly through the throngs. People didn't exactly dance to the type of music that the DJ was playing but they were swaying and writhing enough
to become obstacles in his way. But years of dodging through crowds in the city had taught him the art of pedestrian navigation well.
He was going up the twining staircase within a moment and assailed his ears as soon as he reached the top. A loud rap song was playing at the moment, bass making his ears want to cave in on themselves. The music and beat itself he didn't mind but Gordon fancied himself a weekend writer and the lyrics in these songs always made him want to stab himself in the eyeball. These people actually made millions of dollars spewing complete fucking garbage. It was completely unfair and stupid.
The upper floor was darker than the lower and at first he had to let his eyes adjust. The room was large, taken up mostly by a dance floor lined with plush lounge sofas. The DJ booth was set up in a far corner and the bar on the opposite side. He made his way to the bar to get another drink and simultaneously staked out the room to find a corner to situate himself in. He wasn't the type of dealer to approach people; people would find him.
Gordon picked his way around the mass of gyrating bodies and after what seemed like forever, found himself at the bar. The bartender up here was a woman who could rival Carla in the breast department. She was gorgeous with midnight colored hair and deep blue eyes but a little too tattoo-covered for his liking. He was too gay to come on to her regardless but he could appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw one. He also noted that she was new because he'd never seen her up here before. Or maybe he just never ventured to this part of Jake and Janet's enough. One or the other.
"What do you need?" she asked over the music, leaning over the bar so she could be heard.
"Gimme a Long Island," he called back, digging a bill out of his pocket. She nodded her head and turned away from him to prepare the drink. He watched her for a moment, satisfied that she was filling it in a glass that was both wide and tall. It was his excuse for sitting around and he needed something he could nurse for the rest of the night.
Gordon turned away and looked over at the crowd. They were younger up here and more energetic. The dancers seemed almost frantic to enjoy themselves and to entice the people around them. PD would be really welcome in this crowd.
The Long Island was set beside him and he carelessly gave her a twenty, telling her to keep the change. She eyeballed him for a long moment after that, probably wondering if he was flirting with her and likely then wondering if he was loaded. Ultimately she shrugged it off with a "thanks." The taste of the drink was disgusting but it was the best thing to order to get trashed quick and without wasting money on a number of weaker drinks. He didn't want to get trashed but he couldn't deny that his mood was pretty fucking rotten. It had been consistently ever since the Incident three weeks ago.
He'd started mentally referring to it as that to correlate it to the incident in Glass Town as well as the near set up in Annadale Beach. Both events had intersected to make his life more irritating than it had ever been as he constantly watched his back for cops looking to swoop in and arrest him or Mr. Greek, changing his mind and swooping in for a kill.
But it had been three weeks since he'd heard anything from Adam and he liked it that way. It made him wonder if the other man had given up. It seemed unlikely after the threat he'd made the last night they'd seen each other but Gordon hoped. It was more likely that Adam was busy doing whatever he did and would keep an eye, or ear, on Gordon in the meantime.
He'd been too freaked out in the jeep to really put the dots together but afterwards, Gordon had realized that either he'd been bugged or Marquis' penthouse was. He'd stripped every piece of clothing he'd been wearing and searched for a sign of something but had found nothing. It frustrated him to no end and he was left watching everything he did or said, even in private, for fear that someone was listening in.
He'd even been too afraid to do real research in his apartment on the Glass Town thing. What if there were cameras as well as audio bugs? Not only was that an embarrassing possibility but an infuriating one as well. Once again he'd scoured his apartment in the search for one but had come up empty. Not trusting his own skills of detection, he'd decided better to be safe than sorry.
He didn't want Adam knowing about any research he did on the situation. It was better if the man thought Gordon wasn't going out of his way to dig up anything at all.
So he went to Lincoln Square one afternoon to go to Grover Books. It wasn't the biggest bookstore he'd ever seen or the most well kept, but he'd heard from Marquis that all of his intellectual friends went there. Gordon had quickly seen why. They had everything anyone would want to know about anything to do with current or past world events.
He'd gone through the paper archives and found the articles about the incident from the week prior. Erin DuPont, a poet and UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador, had been assassinated after attending a banquet in Glass Town (or Financial South as the article properly called it, as it was the wealthy commercial neighborhood directly below the Financial District). Gordon didn't know if Adam had actually been the triggerman or if he'd been in the proximity for some other purpose, but he'd definitely been involved. The thought made Gordon's blood run cold.
He didn't know what poor Erin DuPont had done to warrant an assassination but it just proved that Adam really was a killer. If he'd blown some poor lady's brains out in cold blood, he could definitely do the same to Gordon. The other night Adam had seemed frightening but not too frightening, because the other man obviously had a conscience.
Murdering Erin showed otherwise. But then again, considering the crap Adam had revealed about his life, it was likely that if he had been the triggerman, not doing it would have led to his own death. Gordon couldn't imagine Adam's bosses letting him off the hook for a failed assassination if they'd kill him over letting Gordon go.
It was complicated and he went back and forth with it in his mind. Was it wrong to kill someone if it meant saving your own life? He didn't think so but then again, he didn't think he'd be able to shoot another human when they were unaware and enjoying a fancy gourmet meal.
It didn't seem right. Especially not when she was so young and cute.
For some reason he'd wanted to find cause for the action against Erin. Thinking of her as a perfectly innocent victim disturbed him too much and as fucked up as it was, he needed a cause. Or maybe he wanted to justify Adam's actions. It didn't make sense that someone who confessed to having a soft spot for civilians would have no problem shooting a French poet chick.
So he'd enlisted the aid of one of the clerks in Grover Books to help him find articles or books on the woman herself. In the end, he and the clerk (Fival, a punk scene kid with a half shaved head and tattooed face) had unearthed a long editorial on Erin DuPont in Vogue magazine of all places. It had celebrated her style, beauty and generosity while also hinting at a darker note: Erin's alleged ties to some French terrorist group.
Then of course they'd looked up the group (Revoluci n) and groups they were tied to (Nouvelle Ligue des J suites also of France, Di Zh of China and Janus, originally American but now a melting pot of false democracy haters everywhere). All of it got to be so complicated that for about four hours he and the kid had sat in the middle of the sales floor with books spread around them as they got themselves caught up on the shit that didn't get talked about on the news.
Ever since the war's end and the bullshit Three Treaties that had followed, everyone who had half a brain knew that some kind of rebellion was coming. If people hadn't hated the government before the war, they certainly hated them after the Three Treaties had been signed.
After years of fighting and millions killed, the three sides had basically patched things up and called a truce because it had become clear hat no one would win without the world being completely fucked in the process. Like, the actual world. Not the political or economic world.
The environment had taken an ass kicking that it was still trying to recover from. Portable nukes had been the weapon of choice during the war.
People had been pissed to find out that it had all been for nothing. Petty fights between big politicians that had amassed a lot of dead people. Insurgent groups had sprung up like wildfire internationally. Quick to paint them as terrorists instead of revolutionaries, the media only reported stories about some open act of rebellion or terrorism that the different groups performed.
Despite the lack of information in the news, wheels had been churning all over the world. Janus, the biggest group internationally, was amassing followers and swallowing up smaller groups to create a huge international army. The French groups were mostly talked about in reference to them but Gordon probably could have dug deeper if he'd had the time.
It had been more politics than Gordon had paid attention to in a good, long while but he'd been glad to read up on it all. The Journalist Guild, an underground mag full of despotic views and straight facts written by anonymous authors, had been really helpful. He'd walked away feeling a lot smarter but also a lot more intimidated.
Adam was involved in shit like this. He made moves against people that Gordon had read about in these magazines. He probably knew way more than anything that was reported- he probably worked for one of those really covert organizations that Gordon usually thought only existed in movies. Or maybe, more likely, he was in one of these groups himself. Maybe he was a Janus dude. Or someone working with them. Maybe he was in another group that worked against them.
Anything was possible. The possibility was at once alarming and kind of thrilling. Gordon didn't want to be sucked into political intrigue and dark plots but at the same time he couldn't deny that there was something... exciting about having someone like Adam have interest in his own piddly existence.
"Heavy thoughts?"
Gordon started and looked over at the girl who had sidled up over to him. She was wearing a skintight black leather jumper with a neckline that plunged nearly to her waist and short shorts that exposed her ass cheeks. And once again, she had way too many tattoos. What was it with people and this obsession with desecrating perfectly good skin? Being pasty and white made him envious of anyone with a little olive in their complexion but this girl had gone and fucked it all up with ink that covered her arms and some of her chest.
"Huh?" Gordon raised his eyebrows at her. "What?"
She smirked, flipping back dyed violet hair and leaning against the bar. "You were looking pretty serious there for a minute. And I've been standing here for about five."
"Am I in your way?" he asked cluelessly, having no idea why this woman was talking to him.
"Did you want to get to the bar?" He shifted out of the way to give her more room.
She laughed at that and the piercings in her face glinted under the light. "I was trying to get you to ask me for a dance."
"Oh." It came out more dismayed than he'd actually intended. "Er. I'm not much of a dancer. I'm more of a... lurker."
"That's a shame. I love your hair. Is it natural?"
"Uh, yeah." Gordon picked up his drink and took a healthy gulp. Why didn't hot men ever think his hair was something to fawn over? It was always women who wanted to pet it and goggle over it. "True ginger and what not."
She nodded, eyes narrowing as she sidled closer. "We could just skip the dancing and go to the basement, if you want," she murmured.
He looked at her again, incredulously. Jake & Janet's was pretty much the place to be to get fucked but even this was a little hurried. Gordon eyeballed her for a minute, suspiciously, and got a good look at her eyes; they were dilated. He also noticed that her skin was flushed and damp with sweat. She was wetting her lips more than was necessary and her fingers were clenched on the bar. "Riding on Static?" he asked with a smirk.
Static was like a generic form of Pandora. The food stamp, broke-ass, store brand version (and what he'd planned to sell to the toons down in Annadale before he'd found out they were cops). It had been created in an attempt for gangs and small time pushers to break in on the exclusive PD market but it wasn't anything close to the real thing.
Static made all of your emotions more intense but you typically got stuck on one until it became unbearable because no matter what you did, you couldn't shake the feeling. If you were angry, you stayed pissed no matter what until you craved violence. If you were horny, you wanted to fuck constantly but the craving was never satisfied and it just became a source of extreme agitation which then eventually became the manic anger. The comedown from it was epically awful too.
And violet lady was showing all the signs. She looked like she was going to rip her hair out if she didn't get off soon. He wondered how many people she'd been with already tonight or if this was the start of the high.
"Yeah," she breathed. "I have more if you want to get on with me first. You'll be able to fuck all night."
Yeah and then he'd want to blow his brains out ten hours later when he still wanted to do it.
"No thanks, sweet pea," he said smoothly. "I got the real thing."
She stared at him blankly. "What?"
"PD, sweetness."
She did a double take, eyes goggling and mouth falling slightly open. The shocked expression disappeared in a moment and was replaced by one more assessing. "Where'd you score that? That shit's expensive."
Ah. Here we go again with the wondering about his financial status. People were so fucking single minded.
Gordon raised his eyebrows and briefly scanned the area around them. No one was paying attention or no one appeared to be. Everyone was too drunk or focused on their next potential conquest to give a shit about a lanky redheaded guy and a strung out chick with badly dyed purple hair.
"Ever tried it?" he asked instead of answering. "It's twenty times better than Static, sweetness. I guarantee you."
She raised doubtful eyebrows. "My name's Carry, not sweetness," she replied tartly but still edged a little closer to him, anxious to get physical but intrigued at the same time. Even so, she felt obligated to defend her lame ass drug. "And my friend Mac told me that PD isn't really all that. He said rich people just buy it and try to build it up just so it seems all exclusive and amazing. He said it's pretty much the same shit as Static but weaker, 'cause it wears off faster."
Gordon laughed out loud at that, his face breaking out in a huge amused grin. "Seriously, babe? The fact that it doesn't keep you fucked up forever is part of the benefit. You feel like superman for a couple of hours and then can get up and go to work without worrying about your boss noticing that you're a little messed up. And it doesn't have that fierce fucking aftermath like Static where you're depressed as shit and a zombie for a day afterwards."
Carry eyeballed him. "I guess you have a point there..."
He smirked. "I know I do. Seriously, I'm a fucking connoisseur of mood stimulants. PD is the best thing on the market, babe. It relaxes you to the point of all bullshit media-fed insecurities and anxieties disappearing. It's pure. Totally pure. You feel everything without the extra crap getting in the way. Everything is just completely clear and your body is fucking completely in sync with what your brain wants you to do. It's like being Modified temporarily," he said, speaking of the black market gene splicing craze that had grown popular in the last decade.
"If you feel like you can run a marathon barefoot in the middle of winter, shit you just might be able to do it."
Gordon realized that he sounded like he was talking about the love of his life but he didn't care. Carla always gave him shit about the moony obsessed diatribe he spewed when he got on a Pandora rant but he couldn't help it. A lot of people did it just to feel good for a few hours or have some amazing sex or something. He did it because it made him feel like someone he'd always wanted to be and could never be while sober.
Even the retarded way he'd acted with Adam wasn't entirely enough to make him want to call it quits for real. His decision to lay off the PD had lasted all of four days before he'd started popping caps again. The personal negotiation had been not doing it all day like he used to.
"What would happen if I took it now?"
Gordon raised an eyebrow. What did this chick think he was giving away freebies?
"I dunno. It's probably not the smartest idea but I'm not sure."
Carry frowned at him and leaned close to be heard over the music. Her lips brushed his ear, her breasts sliding against his arm as she pressed against his side. "Don't be selfish, Red."
He nearly recoiled from the touch. Her hands were sticky and she smelled like sweat and alcohol. Gross. Gordon backed away an inch and started to offer her a cap half price, just to let her test the waters when someone thumped him on the shoulder hard.
Irritated, Gordon turned. "Can I fucking help you?"
"Sure hope so," Alex Samu replied with a rakish grin.
Not entirely surprised by this turn of events, Gordon made a face and turned his back rudely on Alex and his brother Blake. He could feel their hulking presences just over his shoulder, as formidable and dangerous looking as ever, but with the Pandora still swirling in his system he didn't feel nervous at all.
"I'll give you a cap for twenty bucks," he said coolly to Carry.
She didn't answer at first, gaping at the two Indian brothers standing behind him. He didn't blame her for looking dumbstruck. They were fucking huge. Both were at least 6'4" if not a little taller and were thickly muscled. He was pretty sure that Blake could bench press him with one hand. He was even more massive than his brother.
"Uh."
Gordon cocked an eyebrow. "Like you said sweetness, that shit is expensive. I'm not in the mind--"
"Excuse me little lady," Alex said smoothly, elbowing Gordon out of the way abruptly.
Alex leaned close to Carry's alarmed face. His short black hair stood up in spikes, dozens of silver earrings glinting beneath the flashing lights. His lips broke in a charming white toothed smile although there was no mistaking the savage quality of it.
"Would you mind fucking off? We have business with the G-Man here."
Irritation spun into icy anger and Gordon glared at Alex. "Wow. Really?" He turned to Blake accusingly.
Blake shrugged, expressionless and eyes hidden by the reflective, gold aviator sunglasses that covered the top half of his face. He never took the damn things off. Even the few times that Gordon had tripped and found himself falling onto the other man's cock.
Rumor had it that both of the twins were on steroids but people whispered that the infamous Blake Samu was also illegally Modified, and all of the gene splicing had done something weird to his eyes. Gordon liked to imagine that Blake had spliced genes with some kind of panther and now had cat eyes just because it amused him.
"Why don't you two piss off?" Gordon demanded as Alex shoved Carry forcibly and sent her flying into a group of people across the bar. The group grumbled and glared for all of a minute before they realized who had sent the purple haired girl tumbling into them.
Alex tilted his head, smile widening invitingly as he eyeballed the other patrons. But they backed down instantly. As usual. Everyone who lived in the south side of the City knew the Samu twins as did anyone who frequented Jake and Janet's. They were lieutenants in the city's largest street gang: the Outlaws. No one fucked with Outlaws. No one smart anyway.
"Am I witnessing 'roid rage first hand or is this just pent up aggression over having such a small wiener?" Gordon asked drolly. He was obviously not included in the smart group of people.
Alex opened his mouth to retort but it was Blake who replied in his low ponderous way.
"That ain't nice, G. You should know better by now."
If it weren't for the PD, Gordon was sure he would have flushed as red as his hair. But now he just smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Just because you're twins doesn't mean your cocks are identical too. And I hear steroids have a chance of doing unfortunate things to a guy's fun parts."
Blake leered and Alex made a face as if he was going to vomit. "God, what the fuck did I do to deserve a fag twin who has a hard-on for little smart ass twerps?"
Despite the irritation, Gordon couldn't help wanting to laugh out loud. It was a pretty ironic state of affairs. The situation with the twins, he and Chance was a tense one. The twins worked for the Outlaws who were the main distributors of Static as well as the more conventional drugs while Chance had the monopoly on Pandora.
The Outlaws wanted in but Chance wasn't having any of it and they all knew that it was only a matter of time before the leader, Fender Aulds, started trying to strong arm his way into it. The only thing stopping him now was that he had no idea who Chance's chemist was, and Fender had no inside connections with anyone who could make it.
People weren't lying about PD being exclusive shit. The twins were the go-betweens who generally got nowhere. Chance wasn't budging. It had been that way for several months now. And somewhere along the line Gordon had realized that Blake was gay, horny, and hot for him, and they'd fucked randomly on several occasions. It was stupid and destructive; he knew Chance would be pissed.
He also knew that he was giving the impression that he was the weak link for them into Chance's inner circle, but when he was really fucked up he couldn't help it.
When he was drunk or high and lonely or horny, it felt good to have someone really want him specifically. Even if it was a fucking Modified meathead who would likely start a turf war with Chance one of these days.
The important thing was, the sex tended to be amazing. When he was feeling reckless and bitter and just wanted someone to fuck every single thought out of his mind, Blake could give him the hard usage he needed. A particularly vivid memory of Blake pounding him mercilessly in the back of his truck strolled across the landscape of Gordon's mind and he had to look away.
He knew Alex was talking but he couldn't hear the words over the sudden roar of arousal that was taking over his senses. Gordon swallowed and wiped a hand over his face, narrowing his eyes and trying to rip his mind away from the desire he was starting to feel intensely. A quick glance at Blake told him that the other man was having similar thoughts. Gordon couldn't see his eyes but the way Blake's white teeth dragged over his lower lip as he stared was telling enough.
"Jesus Christ are you paying attention?" Alex growled, grabbing one of Gordon's arms and shaking him.
"Not really," Gordon replied blandly, tearing his eyes away from Blake and snapping back to his senses. Alex's grip was painful and the impatient glare on his face wasn't exactly a sign of good things to come. It meant that they were getting shit for making no progress and he was looking to take it out on someone.
Gordon Frost, everyone's favorite whipping boy.
"Look, tweedle-dee," Gordon snapped, shaking Alex off irritably. "I can't make Chance do anything. I don't see why you're always busting my balls about this shit. Go knock on his door and leave me alone."
Alex grit his teeth, jaw clenching visibly. His fingers were clenching into fists at his side and he looked less patient than usual. He adjusted the collar of the red shirt he wore and glanced around briefly. For all that Blake was the larger of the two, he was definitely the more mellow.
Alex looked like he was always on the verge of having a psychotic meltdown.
"Let's go downstairs and talk," Blake suggested idly, moving closer to Gordon. He raised one large hand and slid it down Gordon's back, nudging him forward. "Where it's quiet."
Gordon looked at Blake sidelong. Even if Blake was hot for his bod, it didn't mean he was going to let that interfere with his nefarious Outlaw shit. And his suggestion sounded a lot more ominous than Alex's outward explosions were. So the smart thing to do would be to stay up on the top floor surrounded by witnesses. The smart thing to do would be to excuse himself at least, and go text Carla.
But Gordon was on Pandora and once again, the fear and anxiety that would have propelled him to make those moves were absent. Now he just felt confident that whatever happened, he could handle it.
"Fine," he said flatly, heading to the stairs.
Alex scoffed and shoved him forward for no real reason. He probably just wanted to feel like he was controlling the situation even though Gordon was already being cooperative. The agitation was practically roiling off of the man in waves. He was the type of person who didn't need mood stimulants. His reactions were extreme enough without them.
As they wove their way through the room, Gordon found himself being pulled to the side or tapped on the arm by various patrons. Smiles were exchanged as were handshakes as he palmed small vials of Pandora in exchange for cash. Even the seething face of Alex couldn't keep him from doing his business.
The flashing lights and blasting acid-rap swirled around them as bodies gyrated and the bass made the room feel like it was shaking. It was an environment that Gordon thrived in- slipping in and out of big crowds had always been his thing and no other dealer was known to slide into a mass of dancing bodies and get out four hundred dollars richer from quick deals.
By the time they finally made it down to the first floor, Alex was gripping his arm violently. It had taken thirty minutes and his patience had worn paper thin. He was practically dragging Gordon out the door. No one appeared to pay attention- it wasn't the type of crowd to look too closely at anything that went on. Too many illegal things went down at J&J and no one really wanted to get involved.
But also by this time, the PD Gordon had popped was starting to abruptly fade away. He still wasn't exactly in his normal frame of mind but the unaffected confidence was starting to ebb slightly away as adrenaline mixed in.
He knew something bad was going to happen. It wasn't really amusing anymore that Alex was so mad. Now it was just really unfortunate that he was being dragged into the alley behind the club by two big dudes who were basically paid to kill and maim people who didn't go along with what they wanted.
Alex shoved him hard into the closed gate of the neighboring store. The force of it caused Gordon's head to slam back against it violently and for a moment he saw stars.
"Relax," Blake murmured quietly, crossing his arms over his chest as Alex loomed over Gordon. "He can't talk if he's broken."
"You're wasting my fucking time, kid," Alex snapped at Gordon, ignoring his brother.
Gordon shook his head back and forth, trying to get the lights to stop bobbing in front of his eyes. His head was ringing from the force of his head snapping back against the metal. After a few seconds he finally cleared his head and stood up straight again, fixing his shirt and discreetly looking around. They were alone in the alley.
"Yeah? Well maybe you should have called and made an appointment. I'm on the clock."
"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. How long do you stupid fucks think you can keep this going? The only reason Fender ain't moved yet is because he don't want to scare off the backers."
"Mmm." Gordon made a mock understanding noise.
"Don't be stupid, G," Blake rumbled quietly. "It'd be a lot better for everyone if he just stopped being a ball breaker and worked with us before we take it over without being so nice to ask first."
Gordon stifled a fake yawn. He just couldn't take these guys seriously. Alex made another grab for his arm but Gordon quickly evaded, backing away.
"If you want to keep this conversation going, you're gonna have to learn how to keep your hands to yourself, buddy. Unless you're just trying to cop a feel and using that as an excuse."
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Gordon knew it had been a pretty dumb idea. Alex was probably the most violently homophobic person he'd ever met. It was probably in response to his identical twin being gay. It made him defensive in the most extreme way and he'd knocked Gordon around on more than one occasion for the gay jokes. It didn't help that he was already in a foul mood. But being a smart ass had always been Gordon's strong suit, but it was exactly conducive to survival.
So when Alex's lips curled in a grimace and his fist cocked back, Gordon squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. But the punch never made impact.
Gordon opened his eyes just in time to see a flurry of movement and a mass of long black curls. Carla had slipped between them and caught Alex's fist before it made contact with his face. The element of surprise was in her favor and she used it to slam her free fist into Alex's throat.
He gagged, stumbled backwards, and she released his fist only to open her own palm and slam it upward into his nose. There was a crunch and blood erupted from his face as Blake's mouth dropped open in surprise. He moved to react just as Carla was finishing Alex with a kick to the balls.
Gordon winced. He couldn't help it. Seeing another man get his testes squished was never a
pleasant thing.
Alex was on his back moaning in pain as Carla stood over him with a stiletto poised over one of his eyes. She gave Blake a challenging stare and looked all hot and deadly in the process. Gordon was pretty jealous. She'd torn up one of the most dangerous Outlaws in a span of three seconds and without breaking a sweat or fucking up her outfit. It just wasn't fair.
Gordon could never think on his feet like that. Whenever he got in a fight, it was a panicked one.
"Now, now," Blake said with a grim smile, moving closer to Carla. He always looked like that when he was about to do something bad. Like he felt guilty about it. Gordon bet that he went home and prayed after smashing someone. God forgive me for being a ruthless enforcer type who is full of gross animal genes and what not.
"That was uncalled for, little girl."
"I thought you were the smart one," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. "You should have stopped him from getting handsy with G."
It occurred to Gordon that this entire situation was his fault. And Carla wasn't supposed to have beaten anyone up.
"Uh."
Carla looked at him with annoyance. And of course, that was all it took for Blake to react. He was tackling her in the same instant that her line of sight had shifted. And no matter how good of a fighter she was, Blake still had about a hundred pounds on her. It was more than a little alarming to see his bodybuilder form taking her relatively slender one down to the dirty concrete. All the martial arts skills in the world wouldn't matter if he got her pinned.
The adrenaline screamed through Gordon's system and he didn't know whether to thank the PD for allowing him to be calm enough to quickly look around for a weapon (if he was sober, he likely would have just jumped on Blake's back or something equally girly and embarrassing), or hate it for allowing him to have come down here so cockily in the first place.
Whatever the case was, he spotted a wooden shipping crate sitting with a bunch of garbage and grabbed it. Gordon swung it fast and hard, crashing it over Blake's head. It was big and sturdy enough to have temporarily stunned a normal person but when Gordon allowed it to fall to the ground he remembered that Blake was not a normal person.
Real panic began to rise inside of him as Blake dropped Carla unceremoniously and whirled around. His sunglasses were crooked and there were thin lines of blood sliding down his face where he'd been splintered by the crate. But he wasn't stunned. He just looked really really pissed.
"Shit."
Gordon did the smartest thing he could think of in that moment. He ran like hell.
He had no idea if Carla was okay or what she was doing as his boots slammed against the concrete. The club flew by him as he sprinted down the street and he was aware of Blake chasing him down like a linebacker.
The streets were dark, the lights dim and barely giving any relief as he scrambled around a corner and dodged through a group of stumbling drunk people. Gordon nearly lost his footing as one of them latched on to him, but he managed to stagger away without falling.
Gordon could dimly hear Blake barreling through the group after him over the roar of adrenaline and fear that was now fully consuming him. He ran across the street, twisting out of the way of a speeding cabbie, and ran like he was being chased by the fucking grim reaper himself. Although that's basically what Blake was. Gordon had no doubts that the man was pissed enough to beat him to a bloody pulp. Blake was slow to lose his temper but once he did, he completely exploded and had rage blackouts.
His breath was fast and labored. It burning in his chest as Gordon struggled to running. With the PD winding out of his system, every out of shape muscle on his body was slowing him down. He could hear Blake gaining on him- despite his size the man was fast. Alarmingly so.
As Gordon jumped ungracefully over a mound of garbage bags that were spilling over from the curb to the sidewalk, a thought popped into his freaked out head. Maybe if he tried to reason with Blake--
"I'm going to fucking kill you!"
Well, maybe not.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Gordon panted harshly, red hair whipping around as he frantically scanned the streets for somewhere to go. Or a cop. Too bad they were only around when he didn't want them to be.
He spied a bike leaning against the next corner and threw it down frantically behind him as he scrambled past. He did the same thing with the next few mounds of garbage and a large stack of what appeared to be metal shelves. Thank God the next day was trash day.
His movements got sloppier and more panicked as Blake dodged but the last time- it actually worked. He heard Blake trip over the shelves that had splayed out unceremoniously across the sidewalk.
Gordon pumped his legs faster, ignoring the furious burn in his chest and turned another sharp corner. They were in his neighborhood now even though Blake didn't know that and he identified the street quickly.
He could still faintly hear Blake swearing and fumbling with the metal shelves as Gordon slipped into an alley. He flattened himself against one darkened wall and raised his arms, feeling for the fire escape that was crowded against the side in the darkness. It was rickety and small but the lack of a street lamp hid it completely in the darkness of the alley. He lifted himself up and climbed it with agonizing slowness. It creaked with every movement but he'd stilled it and himself just as Blake went charging past the alley.
His heart was pounding so fast that the sound filled his ears. Sweat was pouring down the sides of his face, and his hair felt sticky and disgusting as it clung to his forehead. But he kept himself completely still and held his breath until a couple of minutes turned into five and five turned into twenty.
Gordon didn't know how long he would have stayed up there on the rickety fire escape if Carla hadn't appeared in the alley a few moments later. Her hair was disheveled, shirt torn and there was blood smeared across one cheek but she looked otherwise composed.
Gordon jumped down from the fire escape and stumbled slightly before regaining his footing.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
Relief washed over Carla's face and she leaned forward to embrace him quickly. He returned it whole heartedly, having only just begun to feel terrified that Blake had done something horrible to her in the minute it had taken Gordon to distract him.
"Are you okay?" He demanded, pulling back and wiping the blood from her face. It seemed to be coming from her mouth; her lower lip was split and slightly puffy. He also saw that there was a blossoming bruise on her jaw.
She nodded as he smoothed the hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry,
seriously. I'm so fucking sorry, Carla."
Carla looked up into his face for a moment longer before shaking his fussing hands off of her abruptly. She turned away. "You don't have to be sorry. They would have started trouble regardless," she grumbled, tucking hair behind her ears.
He belatedly wondered if she'd really run the whole way in those thin ass heels.
"Yeah but, I went down with them and you weren't supposed to fight and now they're seriously going to want to fuck our- shit, did you see Blake?"
Carla walked to the mouth of the alley and stared out. "That's the weird thing. I scouted around the neighborhood for a little while, following the trail of thrown around shit. I didn't see him anywhere but I found his sunglasses on the ground up near Lincoln Avenue." She held them up as evidence.
"Maybe they fell off when he was running?"
"Maybe." Carla didn't look convinced. "But I doubled back after awhile to look for you. I know you have all kinds of hiding places here. We hid up there when the cops chased us that one time from Jake and Janet's, remember?"
"Yeah."
Gordon took a deep breath. "Let's get the hell out of here. I don't want to go back either- we'll pick up your car tomorrow."
"Cab?" She asked hopefully.
He shook his head, running a hand through his unruly hair. It was sticking out in every direction. "Nah. Can't afford to have anyone knowing our direct destination or where we came from. Subway."
Carla groaned but didn't disagree, and they set off in a hurried paranoid race to the nearest station.