I showed up early at HTDK and in hindsight, I should have known something was wrong. I was early, and they were still getting started for the night. The velvet rope wasn't up yet for the non-members, and the hostesses were idly chatting and laughing. Jina gave me a look but then just shook her head and waved me through. For a second I was tempted to try for upstairs, but it really didn't seem worth it. Besides, Otis was downstairs, and he told some killer jokes as well as being a top-notch wing-man.

The club was just settling into the evening routine, the lighting tech and the D.J. still messing around in their respective booths. The waitstaff were all gathered around a booth over in the VIP area, no doubt having the nightly staff meeting before things got going properly. I glanced upstairs, but no other vampires seemed to be there yet. There was a shadow of a single person looking down through the glass, but I couldn't get a good look and truthfully, I didn't care who it was.

There is something to be said about a club or a restaurant that is empty. It feels so wrong when all of the house lights are up, and the music is at a low volume instead of the dull roar that will come later. Instead what you notice is how sound echoes and travels through the space. You can hear every scrape of a chair, every clink, and clank of cutlery and bottles being moved, every sizzle and thud from the kitchen. These were the sounds that were always there of course, but once people start to fill the room, they turn it into something different, something more energetic and alive, something that has its own rhythm and ebb and flow.

I walked toward the main bar, and it was almost as if I could taste the air. There was something already cooking in the kitchen, perhaps an early dinner order for the shift manager or for someone upstairs who I was utterly failing to see. I glanced up again and I wondered for a moment if it was Harry himself looking down at me, judging me.

Did I get a sense of foreboding? Hell no. This story might have turned out a hell of a lot less interesting if that had happened.

I settled in at the bar and watched as the staff meeting broke up and Otis appeared, walking towards the bar. I grinned, deciding to ask him if he had seen any Russians hanging around, but I never got the chance. When I saw his face, the words shriveled and died in my mouth.

Otis' left eye was swollen shut, a huge purple and black bruise across half of his face. There were cuts across his eyebrow, and the bridge of his nose and his lip had been split in two places, now held together by stitches. His usually well-tailored white shirt seemed a little too big for him, as if he was wearing someone else's shirt; his knuckles had been wrapped in a number of bandaids, one of them seeping blood right through the brown fabric. The worst part of it was the flat look he gave me that said quite clearly that no he hadn't walked into a door, or fallen down the stairs, no matter what he said. Oh and by the way: I was the one somehow responsible for his "not-falling-down-the stairs."

"You should run," he whispered and there was real fear in his eyes. Wait, I'm sorry, that was the wrong word. Did I say fear? No, what I meant was terror.

Oh, fuck no...

"Who did that to you?" It was the only thing I could think to ask, the only way to fight back the sickening nausea of impending doom that was creeping up on me.

"We did that to him," a voice whispered in my ear, and I closed my eyes. The Ugly Twins had finally caught up with me. Something had gone horribly wrong and now they were here to kick my ass. For a moment I wondered if Claude's Russians had anything to do with it, but that was just a fleeting thought.

I tried to buy some time.

"Any chance I can get a running start?"

"Are you kidd—hey! Get back here!"

I was faster than I had expected and a lot more difficult to catch than they had expected. As far as I was concerned, I was running for my life and I was good at running, so believe me, I was slippery as fuck. I had some vague idea that all I had to do was make it out of the club onto the streets and that I would be safe there, like it was some fucked up game of tag or something. I just knew that getting caught in the club was going to end very badly for me.

I almost made it you know.

Almost.

When I slammed through the huge door to the foyer, it was like the entire world went into slow motion as terror, utter pants-shitting terror, grabbed hold of me and made me its bitch.

The Gentlemen were walking towards me like a long-forgotten nightmare.

***

When they come for you, it is always a nightmare.

It's the kind of nightmare that lurks in the corners of your mind, so that even when you're awake, it's always there with you, teasing and swearing at you, reminding you that you're weak and that you're going to die.

Mr. Flynn leads the way, his long black coat flaring out behind him with the appropriate sense of drama, his eyes deep and intently focused. Is he surprised to see me or is that sheer delight in the pain that he is about to bring on me?

Mr. Bryce and Mr. Sinnel are directly behind him of course, flanking Mr. Flynn to the left and to the right, like the world's most terrifying and middle-aged boy-band. The Hackstreet Boys. Boys to Murderers. Fuck Your Life. That sort of thing.

These are the panicked thoughts that fly through my skull in the space of a millisecond, the ramblings of a mind about to be stricken by terror and the blind panic that comes with it.

My body reacts first, its self-preservation mode taking over completely and forcing me to a complete skidding stop, my feet flying up from under me, my body crashing to the ground and my feet desperately trying to run the other way, trying and failing to tell gravity to go fuck itself.

I'm somehow moving backwards and it is like swimming in invisible maple syrup, I seem to be moving so slow. And all the while I'm unable to look away from the Gentlemen and their implacable, unstoppable advance. I know for certain that there is no escape and that I'm about to die and there is nothing I can do about it--

"Oh stop that," Mr. Flynn says. "We're not here for you."

***

Reality returned with a thud, which was instantly followed by me slamming into the floor at full speed, slow motion be damned. That took the wind out of me, along with any momentary relief I was cautiously considering beginning to feel. I did have a moment to feel betrayed by any sense of drama and by my own fears, before a pair of meaty hands clamped onto my ankles and the Ryans started to drag me across the floor away from the door and my failed escape.

"You're getting off lucky, Bob!" Ryan #1 hissed.

"Don't care!" I yelled. "Let me go!"

I fought back, kicking and screaming and caught Mr. Bryce's eye as the Gentlemen made their way to the elevator on some terrible errand which didn't involve me. This time. Mr. Bryce mouthed something at me, which might have possibly been "See you later" or even "Beat you later" but it all depended on interpretation.

The Ryans dragged me by one leg all the way through the club. Fighting them was next to impossible since they both had the same density in body and brain as that of an 800-year-old tree. And was I glad it was them and not the Gentlemen? Maybe just a little, but not much. My attempts to dig my fingernails into the concrete floor, or to grab hold of any furniture in reach, were all in vain.

The rest of the staff just stood aside and pretended not to notice as I was dragged past them. The only person who looked at me was Otis and he sure as hell wasn't going to help me. I wish I could have told him that I didn't blame him, I mean the poor guy had just taken a beating for hanging out with me and that was seriously fucked up.

"What the fuck did I do?" I managed to yell as Ryan #1 literally threw me across the alley. It was an upside-down flight, and I had a brief moment to notice the black garbage bags piled up next to the dumpster and to hope that they weren't filled with bricks or a random set of knives or otherwise sharp objects. Otherwise, this flight was going to be more painful than I had thought it was going to be. My question was almost cut off when I hit the wall at speed and of course, still upside down. My ears rang as I slumped to the ground, gravity welcoming me with open arms, always ready to be a friend. I somehow managed to miss the pile of bags, so that was a plus I guess.

Ryan #1 was saying something to me. "You're not welcome here anymore."

"Fuck you!" I said as defiantly as I could. I tried to scramble around so I could at least protect myself from the inevitable beating that was coming, but my head decided it didn't like that at all and I sunk down on one knee instead like I was making the worst marriage proposal ever.

"I followed the rules!" I stammered. "I did everything I was supposed to! I kept my goddamn head down!"

Ryan #1 grinned cruelly. "What can we say? The rules changed."

Ryan #2 leaned in. "You pissed off one of the Family, and you fucked with the Bleeders," he tsk-tsked at me.

For a second there I was drawing a blank. Who the hell had I pissed off? I hadn't even seen any of the family in the downstairs area at all, so what the fuck was going on? Then the other part of the statement hit me. The Bleeders? Seriously? All of this was because I pissed off one of the hangers-on at the bar that allowed us to drink their blood?

"You didn't even get their names man," Ryan #1 said with disgust.

"These girls--"

"And guys."

"--give their blood freely to us. In return, all they ask is to be treated special. They get access to our kind, and we all treat them well. And you don't even know their names."

"You bled one of them dry, you know."

"Monica," Ryan #1 said and made the sign of the cross.

"Left her for dead."

Panic seized me then as I processed this bit of information, searching desperately for some fragment of memory that would tell me that the Ugly Twins were seriously fucking with me. The problem with blackouts is that they're often complete blackouts and there was no way I knew what the truth was anymore. Anything I might or might not have done was hidden from me, and they knew it.

"That's a goddamn lie," I meant to yell, but it came out as a hoarse whisper. I had the panicked thought that if it were true, then it would have been Mr. Flynn and the Gentlemen spending quality time with me instead of these two assholes, but that was immediately followed by a very cynical thought: Suppose they only care if it's other vampires you're supposed to have killed?

"We should take his fangs," Ryan #2 said way too conversationally, and he actually started rummaging through his coat pockets. You want to know who the hell just happens to carry around pliers with him in case a random act of torture came along? Yeah, you got it right: that guy.

"You kidding?" Ryan #1 gave him a look, ignoring how my hand instantly went up to cover my mouth. "Nobody's done that since Roderick, and you know how that turned out."

"Listen to him!" I pleaded from behind my hands. "I don't want to be like Roderick!" I watched with rising panic as Ryan #2 continued his search. I searched desperately for an escape route but the two men were a wall and were definitely much faster than I was.

Ryan #2 grinned evilly as he pulled out shiny metal pliers. "You should get this on camera, man. I bet he screams like a little girl."

"No cameras! Or pliers!" I protested. "Look, they're not even worth it. They're tiny, barely pointed. It's genetic I think. My dad has the same tiny incisors."

The Ryans looked more amused than they really should have. Ryan #1 shook his head mournfully and pulled out his iPhone to record the assault. Of course, he held it vertical. Fucking savage.

"Look, I'll apologize to the girls! I'll apologize to everyone. Make a list and I'll go on a goddamn apology tour. I'll even apologize to your made up dead girl if you want!" I pleaded, but I knew it was too late. Still I had to try. "I'll even get to know their names! Most of them at least. I promise!"

The Ryans weren't moved in the slightest. If you've ever met a bouncer for a strip club, you have a pretty good idea of how protective they are of the girls. Some of them get tipped a little extra, but most of the time they've actually become good friends... the kind of good friends who were ready to rip the head off of that one stupid customer who always has to take things too far.

Damn, I hate being the stupid customer.

The heavy metal door creaked open behind the Ryans and I looked over, hopeful that it was the cavalry coming to save my stupid ass. It was just an empty doorway for a second and then a hand snaked out and a finger beckoned to whoever was looking. It was a well-manicured finger and the arm to which it belonged was wearing what appeared to be a white suit, so it had to be a vampire. It was a male vampire, just in case the manicure threw you off. Rich, metrosexual and vampire seem to go together almost as much as you'd assume. It was most likely the vampire I had pissed off, who was definitely not Harry.

"Um, I think somebody wants to talk to you," I said helpfully.

Ryan #2 turned to look, almost convinced I was trying to pull a fast one, but then he saw the hand beckoning. He nudged his partner in crime.

"Don't start without me," he said and slipped away to the door.

I made a run for it, but Ryan #1 was ready for me. He lazily backhanded me and I flew backward to make a re-acquaintance with the wall and then the ground. I was welcomed like an old friend. My ears rang as I somehow stumbled to my feet, my body apparently way too stupid to stay down.

"Who was that?" I mumbled as Ryan #2 returned and whispered something to his partner. I saw that the door was solidly closed now, the white-suited vampire gone. From the shared expression on the faces of the Ryans, they had not liked or agreed with their orders.

They beat the hell out of me.

I didn't even see the first blow coming. Something that felt like a Mack truck slammed into the side of my head and I crumpled, wondering where the fuck that had come from. I was distantly aware that I was being pummeled, blow after blow slamming into my poor body. I had the thought that maybe I should pull myself in a ball and just wait for it to be over, but control of my body was only a distant concept at that moment.

After a while, it was over and I could move again. My body screamed at me that moving was not a good idea, but I told my body to go fuck itself and moved anyway, glad that the Ryans had at least focused the beating on my body. By all reckoning, my face should have been a disfigured lump of broken bone and swollen flesh, but for some reason, the beating had only been to my body. Surprisingly, none of my arms or legs seemed to be broken.

The Ryans leaned against a wall, looking very disappointed. They shared a sole cigarette between the two of them.

I spit out blood and slumped over onto my back. I somehow found the energy to raise my hand and gave them the one-finger salute. It hurt like hell, but I did it anyway, just to be a defiant asshole.

"Thanks for not killing me, you fuckwits."

My arm collapsed onto my chest, the muscles feeling more like jello than actual flesh. Bruised jello.

The Ryans weren't bothered by me.

"Do you know the staff is running a dead pool on your sorry ass? Nobody thinks you're going to survive on your own."

Well, that sucked. I was on nodding terms with a couple of the guys and I thought they'd kind of liked me. Typical junkie thinking right there.

"Upstairs has a deadpool on you too. I've got five grand riding on you lasting four days," Ryan #1 said. "Ryan here's betting ten grand that you last at least a week. Do me a favour and kill yourself in four days, okay?"

Ryan #2 kneeled down in front of me, so we were practically nose to nose. His fangs snapped into place with deadly precision and goddamn they were huge and by the way, how the hell did he even do that? He definitely had my attention.

"The only reason you aren't dead right now is because Sebastien asked us not to kill you."

Who the fuck is Sebastien? I wanted to ask, but I kept my mouth shut.

Ryan #2 continued: "If we ever see you in here again, we're going to cut your throat and hang you upside down to bleed out. And then we're going to start cutting off body parts. You understand me? It would take a hell of a lot for Madame Vera to bring you back from that one."

"You killed that girl Bob. Melanie--" Ryan #1 smirked.

"I thought her name was Monica," I corrected without thinking.

"Whatever man: I didn't kill that bitch," Ryan #2 said dismissively. "I don't have to remember her name. You killed her: you remember her name."

When they left, they slammed the heavy iron door behind them, and just like that, I was exiled from the Hall of the Drunken King.

******** AUTHOR'S NOTE **********

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