Gangster In A Suit. (Book 1)

Chapter 21

Torin and I approach the bar. I seat myself on the stool. He signals the bartender. He deserts his customers to scamper over to us like his job depends on it.

"Mr Moon." He bows his head and runs a smooth hand down his gelled back hair. "Belvedere?"

 He nods at me pointedly. "Two."

Torin swivels around, his back leaning against the bar table, resting his elbows on the edge. I look up at the third level, to the private lounge but it's completely unseeable from here. I guess that's the point. I drop my gaze and just ahead there's a gaggle of gorgeous girls grouped together, giggling to each other, blatantly checking out Torin. One of them even snaps a few pictures with the flash on.

I turn to the side, facing him. "Fan club?" I make a gesture with my eyes. "Want to go make some friends?"

He tosses a glance at them and snorts dryly. Then he looks directly at me. "As if they could compare. I prefer the current company."

"Aww," I drag out derisively. "You'd choose your captive over all those Asian Kendall Jenners?"

The bartender returns with a frosty bottle of Belvedere vodka. Set with two glasses served on a velvet blue tray. He pours one for us both.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?"

Torin dismisses him with a jerk of his chin.

"You drink?" His eyes inch down to my neck. "Or are you the religious type?"

"That a problem? My head tilts to the side. "And mind you, the one I serve turned water into wine."

He smirks. "That's not wine."

I don't drink. Rarely. Barely. But today, at this moment, I'm making an exception.

I take one glass. "Compromise." I throw my head back, gulping it all down in one go. Silky with a creamy mouthfeel. Floral notes and hints of vanilla. Well, that was unexpected.

I pour myself another glass. A liberal amount.

"Easy there, Miss Moor," Torin shouts over the booming music. "Orian will not be happy when I get you back and you're wasted out of your mind."

I take a generous sip. "Doesn't he drink?"

He shakes his head.

I allow the vodka to swish in my mouth before gulping it down. "He owns a club but doesn't drink?"

"He sells it. Doesn't drink it." He pivots and picks up the other glass, sipping on it well-manneredly. "Not always."

"Who's the man he's dealing with?"

He looks back at me curiously. "Why?"

I shake my head, taking a long swig. "Looks familiar is all."

Torin frowns and lifts himself upright to fetch his phone, drawing it from his back pocket. His face blanches. He looks at me then back at the screen with bewildered panic.

"I need to take this." He eliminates the space between us, towering over me, speaking into my ear, "Our men already established the perimeter, securing every point of entry. So don't try anything. After what happened the last time, you shouldn't want to."

I don't know what gave me the gall. But I find my finger hooked into the front part of his pants, tracing the inner hemming. Torin looks down slowly, then raises his gaze. Our eyes locking for one intense moment.

"Third times a charm."

A lawless look glints in his eyes. "Stay here."

He answers the phone, rotates and melts into the masses. I pour myself a refill. Then another one. Tolerance eroding. The alcohol driving away thoughts of perilous consequences. Not too long after, I feel a timid tap on my shoulder. I spin on the stool. A cute guy. Dusky brown hair tied into a low bun, dressed in a simple white short-sleeved top, denim jeans, and white Nike Air shoes. Something about him just screams European.

"No one should ever drink alone."

My brows billow. "That's it?" I ask sarcastically. "All you got?"

He chuckles bashfully. "I'm sorry. I just kinda lose focus when I talk to beautiful women."

"And I'm not alone," I correct. An idea sprouts in my mind. "I'm actually with a... friend. Waiting for her. But she hasn't shown up yet and my phone died. Could I use yours to call her?"

His hand goes for his pocket but then decides against it. "Sure... for a dance," he bargains.

"We negotiating, mystery man?"

He barks out a laugh. "That's my offer, ma'am."

"And if I said no?"

He smiles sincerely. "I'll still give you my phone."

"Just for that." I hop off the stool.

And that's when it hits me in palpable waves, one after the other, threatening to knock me off balance. I steady myself before I look over at the guy, nodding him over. Buoyed by the opportunity, he takes my hand and leads me to the dancefloor, holding our hands above moving heads. Suddenly, he twirls me around, bringing me to his chest. His hands on my hips, swaying them to his delight. He bends over, his nose trailing down the side of my neck. His hands cemented to my body.

"I'm such an idiot," he says humorously. "Forgot that I left my phone in my hotel room."

I look at him from over my shoulder. "Really?" I say jadedly.

"No," he says guiltily. "Can't blame a guy for trying." He reaches into his pocket. "Here—"

And in seconds, we're ripped apart. I stagger back. Orian emerges like a molten flash of lightning, scarring the darkness. He hurls one fist, and it sends the man sliding across the floor, people springing sloppily out of the way.

Possessed by rage, Orian stands there seething like a hellhound. He motions to him. A few of his men I recognise spill from behind him. Two of them seize the man, heaving him up to his feet, a bruise already beginning on his face. They start leading him away, Orian follows. Another guard grips my arm, lugging me out with him.

They crash through the back doors, entering some enclosed back alley. The man squirms, caged by the guards. Orian says nothing and just starts hailing punches, unleashing a fatal beating.

"STOP!"

Deaf to my cries, he continues to release a volley of punishing strikes. I lurch forward, but the guard holds me back without effort. Orian stops, glancing at something in the distance, then instructs one of them.

 "Ushirokara gasorin o tori ni iku."

The one guard vanishes.

Orian dips into a small squat to be face-to-face with the man. "You shouldn't touch what doesn't belong to you."

"She—a person," he spits out, his mouth spewing blood, his eye swollen shut. "Not property."

Orian mutters something. The guys carrying him drag his deadweight to a nearby pole, then they bind his hands around it. The guard he sent away returns with a gas can. Orian outstretches his hand, taking a cigarette from another, and sticking it into his mouth. The guy starts pouring a waterfall of gasoline on him and the man screams because he knows what's going to happen next.

"Orian... Orian, I'm begging you, please. Don't do this."

From the same guy that passed him a cigarette. He gives him a lighter.

Orian cups his hand over the cigarette as he lights it up. Lit. He drops his other hand, inhaling deeply before he releases a plume of smoke. The lighter alive in his grasp, he pitches it at the man—he explodes into an inferno of flames. Engulfed by fire. Horror mounts inside me, breaching a new tier of trauma.

The man holding me lets go. I drop to my knees, gawking at the man devoured by fire, his petrifying screams penetrating me through and through. Orian flicks the cigarette away, strolling to me peacefully. He stands over me. I look up at him, my vision glassy. His dark double eclipsing him. I shake my head, unable to see straight.

He hauls me up to my feet, and I fight back, thrashing, punching and scratching. He fixes my wrists together and bends down to slide me over his shoulders, clutching my wrists. His other hand planted on me, walking away from the scene, flames roaring behind us.