Fault Line

Chapter 7

The streets are different at this hour. More alive. Already less watched. Cars are louder, people argue in the streets, deals happen in the open. I keep my head down.

The bar’s louder than the floor. Not music—people. Impatience, voices stacking over each other, glass hitting wood too hard. The kind of noise that builds pressure instead of energy. Sam cuts straight through it. No hesitation, no build—just sharp, loud, and final. Everyone near the counter shifts half a step back without thinking. Not because they respect her. Because they’ve learned.

I don’t step in. I just lean in enough to catch it. Contained chaos.

She clocks me and stops mid-rant. Doesn’t soften—just redirects. Leaves the line hanging without a second thought and moves over, already reaching for her drink like she earned it.

I laugh, low.

She plants beside me, shoulder angled, weight dropped into the bar behind her. Takes a long drink like she’s trying to get ahead of something that hasn’t happened yet.

“Gunna be a big night, can feel it.”

I scoff. “Where, in the bottom of your glass?”

That gets her.

Small smirk, nothing dramatic. Just enough.

“Maybe once I get to the bottom I’ll make sure it’s a big night, the way these cunts are going.”

I follow her line of sight. The people at the bar are watching again. Not bold enough to say anything now, but not backing off either. Waiting. Pushing without pushing.

Same pattern.

Sam doesn’t move. Lets them wait.

Behind me, the room shifts slightly. Not obvious. But enough.

The bass tightens, crowd density ticks up, voices carry a little sharper. The kind of change that doesn’t matter to most people.

But it registers.

Sam exhales through her nose, short.

“Already over it,” she mutters, not really to me.

Then, quieter—more focused:

“Security’s thin tonight. Sammy's already had to step in twice.”

One of the guys at the bar leans forward again, pushing his luck. Not whistling this time. Helping himself instead. Sam doesn't even react. Neither do I.

“When aren’t you over it? I think you hate this place more than anyone.”

She grins, leaning in. “Well, we can’t all be Ivy’s favourite. We’re not all as useful as you.” She leans on the word.

I scoff. Automatic. “Yeah, right. Try not to burn the place down before I get paid." I push off the bench.

“Rachel and the guys are playing at The Smoke tomorrow. She wants us there." She puts her drink back down. "You coming?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” I throw it over my shoulder as I walk off.

I cut across the floor. Sam-Boy almost clips me, already moving toward something kicking off near the bar.

“You might wanna wrangle your girlfriend,” I half-shout as I pass.

He scoffs, eyes narrowing.

I just smile. Keep moving. Across the floor. Up the stairs. Into the back corridor.

Two hours.

I head to the last door, beside the exit, and push it open. Cold hits first. Concrete. Dust. Still air. An iron support beam runs through the middle of the room. Something drips in the corner—slow, irregular. I don’t look at it.

Lights on. One. Then the next. Then the last. Each one flickers before settling.

I cross to the radiator and crank it. It rattles, fights it for a second—then gives in.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out. It's Joney.

Be there in 45.

I type a quick reply.

Back entrance. Next building to left. I'll meet you at the door.

I pocket it again.

The storeroom's next door. I unlock it. The lockbox sits in the back, on a shelf, the fold out table leans in front of it. I take both. Leave my jacket. Back to the big room.

Table folds out, locks in. Lock box on top. Empty. I leave the the door open.

Back out of the corridor, past my usual table, up the stairs to the second floor balcony. The highest balcony.

My skirt rides up as I take the stairs. I let it.

Its different up here. Quieter. More restrained. People are dressed a little nicer.

There's a bar on this level, with someone nicer than Samantha, a little more polite. I take the tray from a bottle girl, and send her back to the bar.

I beeline for the largest booth in the middle. Button-downs instead of baggy shirts. Not suits—but close enough for Harley. Didn't matter how they were dressed—they were just as loud as the boys downstairs. This isn't their first bottle.

They see me coming, see the bottle. I don't smile at anyone, just place myself in a seat in the middle of the lounge, lean back, and cross my legs slowly.

"Order up." I speak low, stretching the words just enough.

They all turn.

"You boys in for some extra fun tonight?" A beat, some glances exchange, I let them draw their conclusions, get their ideas, before I stop them.

"I have an event running. Soon. Cash only."

That lands different.

The man in the middle speaks. Blue shirt, tan trousers, rolled twice. Short Sandy coloured hair. "What kind of event?" He doesn't look as eager as the others.

"Something with a bit more kick." I smile. Small. Turn my head away, pretend to look over the room. "Something more exciting than whatever this is."

Murmurs spread over the group. "Where?" Another asks.

"Down the stairs, first door to the right." I wave one of the girls over, barely any clothing, copper hair swishing behind her. "Cassie will show you the way."

I move before they can ask any questions. On to the next table.

By the time Joney texts me again, I've half filled the room. I leave the rest to the girls, and head back down. Through the back door. Into the next building.

This building's quiet, too quiet. Smells like wet concrete. Conveyor belt down the middle. Packing rooms. I follow a narrow corridor around, passing the support beams that separate it from the main room, and unlock the door for Joney. His coach is standing behind him.

He glances down at what I'm wearing, then back up again.

"Com'on." I move so they can come in, and lock the door behind them. "You ready?"

"This is pretty sketchy Indie." He follows anyway.

I lead him into a room by the exit door, the one leading to the club.

"You backing out?"

"I didn't say that," he runs a hand through his hair. "Who am I fighting?"

"His name is Rafe. Bad record. I reckon you've got him covered though. Just don't let him choke you, 'cause he might not stop." I pause after.

Joney looks at me. Really looks at me. "You say that like it's happened before."

"It has." A beat. "Are you going to do this or not? You need to decide now."

A moment passes.

"Yes, I'm going to do it."

"Get ready."

I sit on the cold bench lining the wall. I wait.

I sit until it's time to go. I get the text. I stand. "Joney."

He stops, looking up at me.

"There's no protective gear. No gloves. No wraps." A beat. "Bare knuckle."

He huffs out a laugh at me. Shakes his head. "Of course it is."