Located within the outskirts of New York City lies a gang of the most deadliest, badass group of men no one should ever dare to cross. A tight-knit band of brothers bound together by blood and centuries of loyalty. Their love for battle fuels their...
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The Lair
Lower Eastside, New York
Caleb
God what a night. I couldn't wait to go home. I changed out of my outfit and wiped off the beads of sweat from my face before grabbing my jacket off the wall. I said goodnight to my fellow dancers as they tried to persuade me to stay a little while longer and have a drink or two. Slipping out the door down a short hallway that would take me straight to the alleyway behind the club, a hand tapped on my shoulder as I stopped dead and muttered under my breath. Sergei, the club manager, held up two fingers as he wiggled them in front of my face. Which could only mean one thing. Money.
Asshole.
I reached around to my backpocket and pulled out the wad of cash after a hard night's work. Business men, construction workers, lawyers, and even cops were always my best clients. Not wanting to get into an argument with him, I took out two hundred dollar bills from the stack and shoved them into his palm as I brushed past him and bolted right out the door. The sounds of New York City so early in the morning were always a comfort to me. Though I don't know why. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the list of contacts until I found the number for the local taxi service. The line rang twice before a female voice appeared, sounding pleasant.
"Big Apple taxi service. How can I help you?"
"Yes. Can I please have a taxi sent to 3321 Oceanside?"
"Certainly. I've already dispatched a driver and they should be arriving to you shortly."
"Thanks very much."
When the call ended and I snapped the phone shut. I ran my fingers through my auburn brown hair and yawned softly as I stretched with a low groan. Then I heard the sound of footsteps walking up behind me as I spun around and reached for the expandable baton I kept on my person at all times out of fear of being attacked or worse killed. The man dressed in a suit approached me still, smoking a cigarette as he looked me over from head to toe.
"Hey, sexy boy. How much?"
"Excuse me?"
"For a blowjob? How much?"
I scoffed. "You're out of your mind. Get lost jackoff."
That got his attention. In a fit of rage the man lashed out to try and grab me but his movements were a bit sluggish from the heavy alcohol plaguing his system. He even smelled drunk. I pulled out the baton and threw out my arm as the steel rod extended. Changing my body into a makeshift fighting stance, I was ready to defend myself. I just hoped the taxi was on its way soon enough. Catching himself against the wall, the man grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground before putting it out with the heel of his patent leather shoe. Grabbing his crotch, the man continued to reveal himself to me by unzipping his slacks and putting his hand inside, pulling out his cock.
