Chapter 5.
1692 Words
Chapter 5: Hostile Harassment .
Devon Drawson.
It was a beautiful Friday evening—the kind of evening where the city looked like it had overdosed on caffeine and decided to show off. The skyline glittered with glass towers, neon signs flickered with desperate charm, and the streets pulsed with noise. Cars honked like aggressive geese, music spilled from every open bar door, and the people… oh, the people. They swarmed the sidewalks in heels too high, shirts too tight, and cologne strong enough to fumigate a stadium.
The traffic lights glowed red, yellow, green, like they were inviting everyone to a rave. It felt as if the city had swallowed a shot of espresso, chased it with tequila, and now refused to calm down.
And there we were.
Delly had just parked his ridiculous black sedan outside one of the newest clubs in town—Neon Ember. A place so obnoxiously trendy that people queued up just to take selfies with the entrance sign. It wasn’t a club, it was a statement piece: metallic flames sculpted into the doorway, LED strips running up the walls like veins, and a bassline that could probably wake the dead from three boroughs away.
Delly killed the ignition and turned to me, his grin already mischievous. “C’mon, Dammy. You’ve been brooding for weeks. We’re going in, ordering ridiculously expensive cocktails, and pretending we don’t hate people.”
I slid him a flat look. “I don’t hate people.”
“Right,” he said, unbuckling. “You just strongly prefer them silent, still, and nonexistent. Totally different.”
I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. The bass from inside rattled through the pavement, vibrating up my shoes and into my bones. The second I stepped out of the car, the city assaulted me with a cocktail of scents: spilled gin, perfume heavy enough to choke a horse, and that sharp tang of bad decisions marinated in sweat.
That was when I saw her.
Not the neon sign. Not the line of influencers perfecting their poses for t****k. Not even the bouncer who looked like he ate bricks for breakfast.
Her.
Stumbling, heels wobbling, confusion clouding her face like she had just spun three times and tried to walk straight. And of course, she was wearing a red bodycon dress. Not just any red dress—the kind of red that made car alarms go off. Tight, sleek, unapologetic. The kind of red you wore only if your mission was to distract, destroy, and detonate.
Miss Daunting Dream.
I froze mid-step.
“Who?” Delly followed my line of sight, brow furrowed.
“I’ll explain later,” I muttered, already moving forward, faster than I realized. My pulse kicked. My instincts screamed. And then I saw what had stopped her path.
Two men.
No—two predators.
One tall and pale, jittery like he’d snorted three lines of coke and still thought he needed more. His eyes darted, his jaw ticked, his movements crackled with chaotic energy. Power Pharaoh Pike. Yes, that was really his name. And yes, it was as ridiculous as it sounded.
The other leaned with greasy confidence, slick hair, slimy smile, and the air of a man who’d sell you a fake business seminar before vanishing with your wallet. Slither Samson Smith. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
They had her cornered against the grimy brick wall of the alley beside the club.
“Hey!” I barked.
They turned. Dream swayed dangerously in her heels, looking like she was halfway between asking for water and teleporting to another planet.
Delly cracked his knuckles, his grin feral. “Back off,” he growled, striding forward, rolling his sleeves like some movie hero about to demolish skulls.
Power Pharaoh Pike sneered, nostrils flaring like a threatened raccoon. “This ain’t your girl, bro.”
“No,” Delly said, voice casual, almost cheerful. “But I’m about to become your chiropractor.”
And just like that, he swung.
The punch landed with a crack that echoed. Pike staggered, clutching his nose, blood already leaking between his fingers.
Meanwhile, Slither Samson lunged at me with all the grace of a drunk motivational speaker charging a stage. I ducked, my body moving on autopilot. One quick pivot, a sharp counter, and my fist connected with his stomach. The sound he made—half wheeze, half dying lawnmower—was almost impressive.
He doubled over, gasping.
“Next time,” I growled, leaning down just enough for him to hear, “try harassing something without bones. Maybe a worm. You’ll relate better.”
Delly chuckled darkly. Pike and Slither scrambled away, tripping over each other like cockroaches caught in sunlight.
And then it was quiet.
Dream blinked up at me, her pupils dilated, her breath uneven. Her lips parted. “Dammy…?”
Dammy.
Nobody called me that. Nobody except Delly. And now… her.
“Yes, it’s me,” I said, my voice was rougher than I intended. I steadied her by the arms. “You’re drunk.”
She wobbled, her words tumbling out in fragments. “Two bottles… lightheaded… the washroom turned into the moon… or maybe… that was the exit?”
I exhaled slowly. “Yup. That’s definitely drunk.”
“She’s all yours,” Delly declared, wiping blood from his knuckles like he’d just signed a treaty. “I’m going in to have some fun. You babysit.”
“Delly—”
But he was gone, strutting into the club like a victorious gladiator, soaking in invisible applause.
I looked down at her again.
Dream. Trouble incarnate. Wrapped in silk and lip gloss. A grenade disguised as a woman. And right now, I'm completely unconscious.
Her legs buckled. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Out cold.
I cursed under my breath and caught her, lifting her like she weighed nothing. People stared, whispers spreading, but I didn’t care. I carried her to the car, lowering her gently into the passenger seat.
Her head lolled to the side. She stirred faintly.
“Where… address?” I asked.
She raised one finger, pointing vaguely downward—toward the earth. “Straight… down.” Her voice was dreamy, absurd. “Home… mole people…”
Then she passed out again.
I stared at her, incredulous.
Perfect.
So I drove her to my place.
---
Inside the Club – Moments Earlier
“Where is she?” Lucy’s voice was sharp, cutting through the music as she scanned the crowd.
“She said she needed the bathroom,” Leo yelled back, his tall frame bobbing above the sea of dancers. “That was twenty minutes ago!”
Lucy pushed through the crowd like a woman possessed. “Davey!” she screamed, though the DJ dropped a bassline so heavy her words vanished in static.
Leo frowned, frustrated. “We’re getting nowhere.”
“Picture!” Lucy whipped out her phone, shoving Dream’s photo at every stranger like an FBI agent in sequins. “Have you seen this girl?”
Responses were mixed:
“Yes, she looks too good for this club.”
“No, I haven’t seen her.”
They kept moving, desperate, relentless.
And then Delly strutted in. His shirt slightly rumpled, his grin smug, brushing invisible dust from his jacket like he’d just fought a war and won.
“Excuse me!” Lucy shoved her phone at him. “Have you seen this girl?”
Leo added, frantic, “We’re looking for her.”
Delly glanced at the photo. Then his grin widened.
“Her? Yeah. Met her outside. She was drunk. Devon took her home.”
Leo froze. “Boss?”
Lucy gasped so loudly heads turned. “Your boss?!”
Leo nodded, almost sheepishly.
Lucy’s arms flew up in dramatic despair. “My poor baby! Would she be okay?!”
Delly smirked, shaking his head. “She’ll be fine. That silly friend of mine acts all cold and robotic, but he’s really a sweet soul.”
“A sweet soul?!” Lucy shrieked, scandalized. “The man I met was a MONSTER.”
She stormed off in a whirlwind of glitter.
“Lucy!” Leo sprinted after her, panicked.
Delly watched them go, utterly confused, faintly amused. Then he shrugged and disappeared deeper into the crowd, whistling.
---
Devon’s Apartment – Later That Night
My apartment was quiet, dark, a fortress of solitude compared to the chaos of the club. I unlocked the door with one hand, still carrying Dream against me.
I laid her down on the couch, her red dress catching the dim light like fire. Slowly, carefully, I removed her heels—like disarming glass grenades that could explode if handled wrong.
She murmured in her sleep. “Cheese fries… betrayal…”
I stared. Then I shook my head. “You’re a menace.”
Her lips curled faintly. “Don’t… call me… menace. I’m a legend… with legs.”
Of course she was.
I covered her with a throw blanket, sitting down beside her with a long, tired exhale. She looked so peaceful now, so quiet. Nothing like the firecracker who’d sparred with me in daylight.
My phone buzzed. Leo.
Leo: Boss is she safe?
I texted back: Found her. Safe. At my place. She’ll need aspirin and forgiveness in the morning.
He replied instantly with three fire emojis and a coffin.
I rubbed my forehead.
Then another buzz. Delly this time.
Delly: Did she puke in your car? Asking for science.
Me: No. She passed out before that honor. Why?
Delly: You’re catching feelings, bro. I can hear the slow violin music.
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
I wasn’t catching feelings.
I was catching… concern. Basic humanity. That was all.
Right?
Beside me, she stirred. One eye opened. She gazed at me with lazy, unfocused warmth.
“You… have a nice voice, Dammy. Like velvet and violence.”
I froze. “…Thanks?”
Her smile tilted. “Don’t make it weird. I’m drunk.”
Then she slipped under again.
I let out a low laugh, leaning back, staring at the ceiling.
Friday night, huh?
What a beginning.
- Writer
