Page 13 of Sawyer

Fights in clubs like this aren’t just chaotic, they are deadly.

They aren’t billionaires looking for a good time on the weekend or sweet betas who stumble down the wrong block and get curious. The men who frequent Haven are those who do drug deals in the middle of the night or run cartels.

“Afraid I can’t let that happen,” Roger says, his confidence waning a fraction.

Rumor’s smile has me taking a step back. His arm darts out, and his hand grips my bicep. Dragging me close, he tucks me under his shoulder without looking at me.

“Get yourself a new pimp, Lotus?” Roger chuckles. “Knew you didn’t get to the top on your own. How many alphas did you have to fuck to get that position of yours?”

Anger rips through me, hot and fierce. My breathing stutters in my chest until it’s hard for me to get in a breath. Not once did I fuck someone to get where I am. Not. Once.

Before I can bother to lash out, Rumor lets go of me and draws his gun. The pop-pop of the pistol rips a scream from my lungs, and I slap my hands over my ears a moment too late.

Roger’s screams become muffled by the sound of the gun and my hands over my ears. The large man drops to the ground, blood gushing from his legs.

Holy shit. Trembling, I take a step back as Rumor crouches before Roger. He grabs his collar and shakes the beta, his gun already back in his holster.

“Apologize.” One word. That’s it. But it’s full of so much command that I forget he is a delta for a moment.

Tears bead and drip down Roger’s face, and snot bubbles from his nose. Never in the five years I worked here did I ever see this man brought to his knees. Not by a single person.

“How long do you think you have before blood loss kills you, Roger?” Rumor smirks, the crazy leaking out of him like sweat. There isn’t even an ounce of remorse in his actions, only a palpable sense of excitement. “One, maybe three minutes tops. Better apologize and find someone to patch you up.”

“Sorry, Lotus,” he grinds out, surprising the absolute hell out of me. He isn’t sorry, not at all. I know it, and he knows it.

So does Rumor. “Now, Roger, why don’t I believe you?” He shoves Roger forward, causing the other man to stumble backward like a domino.

My eyes dart to his legs, where Rumor shot out his kneecaps. I’ve spent a long time strengthening myself against this world and the disturbing and macabre. Shootouts here were a common thing during the week, yet seeing this bouncer, one who hurt me so many times in the past, bleeding on the filthy sidewalk, sparks something inside of me I don’t dare delve into.

Most of all, why swirls in my head over and over. Rumor doesn’t know me. Hell, he just met me.

“The fuck is going on out here?” The door to the club slaps the opposite wall, and out steps Tomi.

Shorter than the average man, Tomi stands at eye level with me in heels. His beady eyes stare at me in shock, and his cruel smile twists his dark mustache. He also has a balding patch of hair on his head hidden by thin strands of black hair, adding to his sleazy appearance.

“Well, well, well,” Tomi sneers, looping his thumbs in his pants pockets, his pot belly popping out. “Look who came crawling back to me after all.”

“I suggest you hold your tongue, Beta.” Rumor stands to tower over Tomi. His expression is like stone, hiding any and all emotion from view.

Tomi’s head jerks toward Rumor, his nostrils flaring. “Alpha,” he grits out. “I am an alpha, and you’d better remember that.”

“Act like it, and I will.”

Clearing my throat before anyone else’s blood stains the sidewalk, I say, “Tomi, Cherry is dead.” I sidestep the trail of blood inching toward me. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Something akin to real emotion crosses his face, deepening the wrinkles on his forehead. “So that’s why you’re here. Just another fucking story.” He snorts and turns around, walking back into his club, ignoring the whimpering Roger splayed out on the ground.

The door slaps shut, and I just glare at the patchwork of chipping green paint and stickers from all the local businesses.

“Sawyer,” Rumor calls, providing an anchor in my turbulent emotions.

“Right.” Again, I clear my throat and press my palms against the door, dislodging more paint as I push inside the building. Almost immediately, the scent of stale tobacco slaps me in the face, nearly making me choke on the scent.

It’s still early, not even prime hour, yet Haven is mostly full. Men in suits litter the sticky tables to the right, while a long bar stretches to the left. A single female bartender slings drinks behind the safety of the counter, which is probably the best job in the club. I search for Tomi. He rushes through the bar, heading toward the back, probably trying to hide from me.

My gaze pauses on a young gamma swirling around a pole. As she spins upside down, her abdominals tighten and flex, and her hair sweeps the stage below her. She’s barely old enough to enter this building, and she stares out at the crowd with broken, sad eyes.

“Come on.” Rumor grips my elbow, leading me to the back and Tomi’s office. His grip is unyielding, and part of me wonders if he just dragged me here as torture for finding that vial. As music pounds against my ears, Rumor pushes through the door to Tomi’s office and slams it shut, muting the music and the thumping bass.

---