California!

When you hear the name of America's most popular state, what comes to mind? Celebrities? Theme Parks? Shopping? Historical sites? If you're not into the popular tourist vibes, what about off-beat routes where ghost stories lay. You know they are a lot to be mentioned in that state.

Hmmm?!!!

How about the food and the beaches? What about the places one dreams to visit? Let's mention two. Los Angeles and Hollywood. You've seen them in magazines, online blogs in the news, heck even in catchy songs dating back to the fifties or maybe later.

For some, California is one of the most picked states for small-town kids to rush for big city life. The big-name colleges attract them, better job opportunities, and the dream to become a star. Thousands either run away from home or in the position as this young man presently. Sitting at the back of the cab that smelled like sweat, cigars, and old food, he tugged at the new jacket he received an hour ago and glanced at his companion. After a year of doing errands, this was his first job trying to get closer to the big boss. This chance at earning cash without any long working hours was a golden ticket for him. He will be paid five grand for simply visiting this new club, even though he had a 'co-worker' that pay won't be split up. 

"This isn't a fucking field trip. Do what you're ordered to do," the man beside him grumbled.

"Okay. Yeah." The low country accent tinge his voice, giving away he was not a local. 

The cab driver came to a stop at the address they gave him. Unfortunately, the club they were sent to check out was on the other side of the street. Other cabs were offloading passengers while a few luxury cars pulled up with designated valets attending to them promptly. 
Their driver whistled at the sight before him, then took a peek at the stately three-floor building. 
"Whoever purchased this old place put in some work. A night club huh? Looks like one of those extremely posh places. You boys, be careful and don't step on those rich folks' toes," the man said.

"Thanks."

Both men clambered out of the car and stood on the sidewalk, surveying the club.

This was Pasadena, and old Victorian buildings like this were either remodeled or left as historical sites. 
The club kept the cream color of the brick building and large windows that were now tinted. The perimeter of the club had soft-colored lights glowing against the walls. The architecture was clear to the eye; imposing, elegant, romantic, luxurious were words to describe the building. The name of the club was Le Desir, aptly named. The name was French for lust, longing, and craving. It was stenciled on metal in a beautiful font with soft red and pink lights behind it, showing every guest how beautiful the building was and giving them the urge to go in. Though they were visiting, the young man couldn't help but give in to the feeling of being pulled into a trance. He crossed the street and joined the queue to enter. There was no pushing or wild behavior from the crowd like other clubs; they all stood calmly, speaking amongst themselves; that's when he noticed the similarities. Everyone was dressed either in semi-formal or sophisticatedly casual. He now understood why his boss had him dress this way and gave him a quick lesson in speaking politely. 

This was no ordinary club.

Six months ago, it was opened with big names in the society and the underworld (for those who know) on their guest list. After a month of their opening, they welcomed the general public. So many rumors began to circulate about Le Desir, and it caused a significant shift on the streets. Their boss was one of the few who were annoyed by this and had been trying to figure out who was the owner and what family they were working for. It was clear that the family backing behind the club owner has a lot of power—the renovation and strength to have this effect on the public.

Half an hour went by, and the young man, Wiltshire, now changed to Wil, and his friend, Trent, reached the doorman.
"Identification. Entry cost $40."

"Forty bucks," Wil blurted out in reflex. Trent elbowed him and paid their fee quietly. The doorman didn't spare them a glance, but as they entered the main entrance, they felt the change in the atmosphere. Shaking it off, they stood in awe of the club's interior, carpeted floor of red and gold design, circling an octagon-shaped dancefloor. On the left and right were lounge areas and sleek bar tables with cushioned stools that led to the high-rise bar. Surprisingly, it wasn't crowded, a few patrons sat at the designated seats as they were served, but servers dressed in black. They wore either red or pink waistcoats, were neatly dressed, and had the utmost professional air around them. Wil and Trent walked further in and looked above; the second floor had private booths shielded by purple and red sheer curtains. Shadows of occupants moved around the booth, leaving a lot for guests' imagination on the ground floor. The two found an empty table cleaned previously and gave them a full view of the dancefloor and the other end of the second and third floors. On the third were the DJ booth and three large seating areas that were shielded just like the second floor, but it had other shutters for maximum privacy. Only one was occupied at the moment with people going in and out randomly but that's all anyone could see. Along the rails were plush high stools for either decoration or use. On the second floor was a large screen beneath the DJ booth, this caught the men's attention. Adverts were playing on the screen randomly but not those you can find on your local cable channel.

"Talk about good marketing," Trent muttered. Though the music was blasting around them, Wil still heard him, the sound quality was top notch. 

"Isn't that the exclusive online brand that currently has a waiting list?" Wil asked in awe. The one-minute ad was none other than ARDent Designs. A high-end jewelry store with one-of-a-kind design in earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, anything you request, they will do their best to please you. The materials are authentic, and they can provide the jewels, or you can procure your own. It was Wil's dream to have a piece made by the company but he needed money and prestige. 
The following advert caught them by surprise. They were promoting an MMA match that's about to take place that night.

"I thought we were to miss the match. But, we got an hour to spare." This came from a man who was standing with his friends near the table. Trent and Wil listened intently. 
"Who are you going to bet on? Did the broker make her rounds as yet?"
The men frowned in confusion by that comment. Can they bet on matches here?
"AH! Here she comes! I'm gonna bet on the big man's protégé. He won the majority of his matches, great skills, and on top of his game. But, his challenger came out of the blue, no background info on him."
"You're right. He's lucky the boss allowed it. Probably some internal shit."

"Good night, gentlemen. I'm seeing some familiar faces. Mr. Hough. Mr. Gallan. You wish to be on the floor tonight?" The female broker, the men, spotted afar made her way to them with a warm smile.

"Yes. We've brought some guests who wish to be near the action. So there's no need for a booth tonight." Mr. Hough, who was a regular at the club, answered her amicably.

"Very well. I will have a few seats sent your way near the match time and drinks. Any request from the chef?"

"Whatever he wishes to make tonight."

"I'll relay the message. Are you ready?" she asked, waving a device demurely in their faces. In less than ten seconds the men began to call out their bets. Wil and Trent eavesdropping on the conversation, eyes widen at the sound of the men calling out large sums of money so casually. Making five grand for a simple outing to a new club placed them in high spirits, but hearing numbers like twenty grand and one hundred and fifty grand being said so quickly, they came to terms with their position. 
After the broker left the group, she came to their table. "First time at Le Desir?" she asked kindly after they both became flustered after her initial question of betting. 

"Yes. We passed by a few times on our way home from work and was intrigued by the local word of mouth," Wil returned with a smile he knew affected ladies he once pursued. 

"Thank you for your patronage and welcome." She continued with a small smile and gave them a brief introduction to the club, not once did she mention the owner or any affiliation to any big names.
They did their little probing but felt the wall the young woman built. She was on her toes for these types of questions, which meant this was a normal occurrence. When the broker left, a male server came by promptly to take their drink order and light meal if needed. Carefully they took photos of the design and exits, along with their operating style. After completing everything that was needed and sent to their boss, they felt that heat on the back of their necks. That feeling of being watched but came off as paranoia when they saw their surroundings with no suspicious persons.
A text came in on Trent's phone. 

'LEAVE! NOW'

                               >Third Floor<

Seated at the back of the main booth, surrounded by not only his lavish furnishings but by the men he called his close friends and bodyguards was the owner of the most talked-about club. On his left were four monitors and two devices on stands, placed in his peripheral and accessible. Legs crossed at his knees, dressed in a tailor-made suit, Eros Delacourde played a mobile game on his phone with his friends chatting with each other and simply goofing off. The now twenty-two-year-old had the current image of a rich man's spoiled kid with his head buried in his phone but he's far from that misconception. Two alerts came from the setup beside him. Glancing at the monitors, he touched the flashing white circles around two of his guests. Their information and affiliations menu overlapped the real-time surveillance, giving the young boss a quick deduction of who sent them. Holding down the files of the two, he dragged them to the right, sending them to the third monitor which had his in-house communication system. Their information was sent to the servers' devices and security to detain the two as 'special guests.' 

"Jhoel."

"What is it?" his friend returned, coming closer to the setup. Eros used his index finger and highlighted a name on both the files and initiated a contact search. 

"A simple greeting will do," he said lowly. 

"Yes, young master." Jhoel was now his soldier and not his friend. They all learned to differentiate their roles under Eros and found no issue with it. 

Ditching his game, he motioned Druex, one of his childhood friends to go ahead with the job he set aside for him. The young man with braids long to his shoulders and a slender frame responded with a nod and left the enclosed booth. Eros said nothing else, those present knew what they had to do by simply reading their boss's demeanor. Tonight he was annoyed and distant. This wasn't his natural quiet façade, something affected his thinking and it was showing. Those closest to him gave one guess silently and became more attentive to the young master. 

Eros was now unpredictable.

Rising to his feet, he sauntered towards the small buffet and grabbed a few non-messy food dishes, and returned to his seat. A cloth napkin was placed on his lap, followed by the attached table on the recliner. A glass of white wine was served to him along with sterilized utensils. His surroundings changed, a few more lights were switched on, a large screen on his right descended from above and the number of guards was reduced. The scene and décor screamed welcoming but underneath it all, danger laid in wait. 
Taking a sip from his glass, his first guests arrived. The two young men were escorted by two female servers who wore shy, seductive smiles and subtly moved their bodies to keep the men in line.

"Good night, young master. As you requested, patrons Wil and Trent are here." The woman on the left of Trent kept her head low and bowed in a very respectful manner, the other on Wil's right mimicked her colleague's position.

"Thank you, Maya. Mr. Wil, Mr. Trent please come in. My name is Jian and your server tonight. Please have a seat, may I offer you a drink? Perhaps something to munch on before the match begins."

Trent was confused by everything that happened in the last ten minutes. Though the man before him was in his twenties, he had an otherworldly air about him and was too courteous to strangers like them. What set his danger alarms off was the man they called young master. Not once did he look their way when they showed up. Instead, he continued his meal while watching a video on his device. The dialogue and sound effects were the only audio in the 'special booth' since he nor Wil answered Mr. Jian's question. 

"Ummm. Uh, a drink will be nice. For the both of us," Trent answered nervously. 

"Any preferences?"

"A cold beer. What do you have to eat?" This unbothered statement came from Wil. He was genuinely happy to be invited to such a great spot, and it was his first time at this club. Fishy or not, he aimed to enjoy every bit of this VIP treatment. He was warned to stay on guard, but he was offered the life he dreamed of, even if it was temporary. 

"Let me guide you to the buffet we have," Jian calmly replied with a smile. 

Trent followed the two but kept an eye on the man who was so detached from his environment yet tied to every movement. Why did the boss order them to leave after seeing a few photos? It was at the same time they got this unbelievable invite. Was it all this man's doing?

"Young master. Mr. Horace and his companions are here."

The accented voice came from the entrance, gaining Trent's attention, but it wasn't the man's arrival but the name he mentioned. He froze mid-step, his mind was trying to do calculations, but it wasn't adding up. So why is Boss Horace here?

The young master said nothing. 

Looking over his shoulder, Trent followed the older man's movement to one of the plush sofas with the two ladies on either side of him. He whispered something in their ears, causing them to erupt in giggles. 
Ignoring the man, he followed Wil, got a food plate, and took the seat Jian led them to. He didn't acknowledge the man who was like a brother to his boss, and the older man did the same. 
Jian and the man who arrived recently stood on either side of the young master. Under his hooded eyes, he witnessed the epitome of being pampered. One man removed the empty dish, while another wiped the table then offered his master a warm towel. It was used to wipe the corners of his mouth then the tips of his fingers. He kept his attention away from his guest and cleaned up in his little world during this time. 

Seriously! Who was this guy? He was living the fucking dream.

Eros, on the other hand, saw this little gathering as a bother. Lazily recrossing his leg at his knee, he slowly raised his gaze to his guests with his head propped on his hand. The ladies gave an audible gasp, ready to do what their boss brought them to do. But, of course, they wouldn't mind spending some time with the unbelievably handsome rich man offered to them. Trent and Wil were taken aback by the look of disdain in the man's eyes while Horace was having a rather unpleasant flashback. 

"Our young master welcomes you to tonight's match. I hope you place your bets; the ring will appear in twenty minutes. Thank you for coming," Jian said with a smile after he took a step forward.

"The apple truly doesn't fall far from the tree. Young Delacourde. The second prince, I believe. Thank you for accepting my offer, as in good showmanship, I brought a little entertainment for us. So, ladies, go say hello to the previous Mafia King's son, Eros Delacourde," Horace bellowed with a wide charismatic smile on his face. But, underneath, he was a nervous wreck. 

The ladies were clad in eye-catching bareback V-neck sequin bodycon dresses. The colors of red and gold showed off their tanned skin as they flaunted their revealing assets. Wil was instantly envious when the ladies walked past him. Their perfume reached his nose along with their seductive aura affecting his body. 
When the two reached close to the young master, two bodyguards stopped them, blocking their view of their boss.

"We must decline. Our entertainment was prepared before this meeting. Thank you for your offer," Jian dutifully stated.

"Ah, it's alright. Ladies, why don't you chat with Mr. Delacourde's guests while I go make a call," Horace said nervously. Eros said nothing. He kept an eye on the older man, silently cursing how disgusting the man was. His actions were of the older mafia generations, using pussy as a goodwill gift. 

Pathetic. 

In the older man's absence, the young men eyed him warily and created distance from him. The ladies were different. Their eyes were shining and Eros silently concluded their hidden motives. Wil and Trent's reaction was a common thing for him and welcomed, as for the ladies, it showed that they were educated through eavesdropping or gaining information their way. As Horace was their backer, it wasn't hard to understand the inner running of the man's little kingdom. He was all the way, traditional. Women are not suited for the men's jobs; on their backs or knees were their greater use. The Five Families didn't find this a problem; most females are either retired military personnel or trained family members under their family names. 

These ladies in Eros' presence now saw him as their golden meal. To live lavishly in the world they were now trapped in, they needed to be tied to power and he, as the second son of the previous Delacourde Devil, was the power.

"Are you sure you don't want to get comfortable before the match?"
"How about a massage? You must be leading a boring life. Let us help you."

"Ladies?! I suggest you back off." Trent voiced this lowly and kept his head bowed, out of respect for the man before them. Wil was stricken with fear, he never thought he would be this close to one of the French Mafia's bloodlines. Going into the gang, he heard of them from his seniors, their advice was simply to stay away from them. Though he was scared, his brain began to function. This was why their boss said to leave and why Horace was here. One was smartly safeguarding himself while the other was willing to fight. Pasadena wasn't claimed by one gang; there was presently a constant struggle amongst the gangs. 

NOW..... a Delacourde has made the city his home.

A threat was on everyone's doorstep.

"Unlike you two, we can do our jobs," one of the girls said boldly walking forward with intention in her steps. 

Eros placed his near golden eyes on the woman. She stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the look he gave. It reminded her of the NatGeo shows of tigers eyeing their prey. She thought she was the one about to make him her prey but it seemed to be the other way around. This didn't stop her. 

Two more steps and she was stopped. 

The guard who placed his hand forcefully on her shoulder quickly brought her to her knees by putting pressure on the muscle. She cried out in pain which lasted for a second but continuously did so to up the sympathy factor. The man who had her in his hold didn't move. Head forward, cold expression, upright posture with his comrade portrayed an identical image. Their actions were scaring the other three.

Easing his leg off his knee, he slowly moved in his seat and repositioned himself; his eyes were filled with disgust as he watched the woman crying with the exaggerated movements to reveal her enhanced breasts even more.

She was pushed forcefully to the ground, her head now on the floor allowing her to be in a prone position. 

"The fuck! Who the hell do you think you are? Horace will skin you alive, you fucking brat!" she yelled raising her head to voice her anger.

"Know your place, arracheur d'argent."

The slow, deep French-accented voice sent a spike of fear down her back and also the others. He didn't have to say anything more, like an alpha disciplining his pack, his presence was now felt by simply breathing. The tension that was initially in the room became heavier. The two men on either side of him stepped back and kept their heads low. They felt their young master's anger, and it was mixed with his earlier annoyance. Things weren't looking suitable for his guests.  To avoid bloodshed on such a lovely night, they silently prayed for some deterrent.

'Thank you for patronizing Le Desir. Unfortunately, the dancefloor is now closed. Please vacate and secure your seating for tonight's match.' This was an automated message that was recorded for the starting of any match. 

'Damn, he has good timing,' Jian thought to himself. He cleared his throat once, the guard grabbed the girl by her arm and shoved her to sit with her friends. Horace returned but instinctively stopped at the threshold. He can smell the danger. His eyes darted to the four young people then the Delacourde spawn.

They offended him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Horace," Jian said politely.

"Y-yes." 

Was it too late to get out of this deal?

On the ground floor, patrons who were visiting for the first time found the scripted message and the instant uniformed movement of the servers oddly satisfying. This was something seen in movies or highly disciplined organizations. In different colored waistcoats, the servers stood at the eight points of the dancefloor. Adhering to the overhead request, the guests left the sleek floor and returned to their seats, and waited for the spectacle. First, the music was switched off; the sound of a long buzz filled the air but didn't deafen them. Next, the sleek rails began to move downwards mechanically; they all heard the firm clank when it entirely disappeared into the floor. The whirring of a motor was next, followed by the sudden moving of the dancefloor. It moved towards the bar area; the guests were surprised when the workers carried on with their duties. Naturally, the structure didn't shake, with no sound of glasses clinking together nor of the numerous bottles of alcohol. Upon completion another floor of padded canvas with the club logo at the center. Replacing the previous rails was a 6 feet black vinyl coated, metal link fence enclosing the padded floor.

Club Le Desir had its own six feet MMA fighting cage. Over the top for a few but it was mind-blowing to most, everything was beyond their imaginations and just placed the club as number one. 
"Thank you for your cooperation. Welcome, tonight's Emcee, last year's International MMA champion, Peter Goldberg."

The house lights dimmed, the floor lights for the paths became brighter, a spotlight was switched on illuminating the host for this evening's match. The muscular blonde with piercing blue eyes made his way through the crowds amidst the loud welcoming cheers. His muscles bulged under his shirt, with every movement the tattoos on his neck peeked out leaving the ladies' minds to wander. As he made his way to the cage, his eyes wandered to the third floor then to the 360 surveillance cameras under each floor. He gave one a slight nod, knowing his 'boss' expects a clean and quick fight. He didn't mind doing this little job for the young master, after all, it was thanks to the five families that he's now in this position. 
A mic was fitted onto his ear and the remote which controls the cage was placed in his hands. Pressing the button at the top opened the single entry into the cage. 

"Once again, welcome to Le Desir. It has been six months since our opening and Pasadena haven't failed us. We strive to bring memorable nights to you as we open our doors five nights a week. Before we move on, let's go over the rules. I know the regulars have been taught them. Anyone wants to help me." The champion's charisma was wide,  his smile and accented voice had everyone at ease but those who saw his matches knows he's a wild bear in the cage. 

"Up here!" Someone yelled from the second-floor balcony.

"Ah, my beautiful guest be careful," Peter said with a chuckle when he spotted the brunette leaning over the rail. A redhead next to her was amused by her antics.

"No discrimination. All are welcomed." She bellowed her statement then showed the linked fingers with her partner. Agreeing shouts sounded throughout the club, turning around slowly Peter laughed joyously upon seeing same-sex couples showing off their freedom and people of color dancing to the background music.

"That's right. We are all welcome. There is one more rule that no one and I mean no one should break. We all know this one. Let's hear it."

"No disrespect to the workers!"

"No disrespect to each other!"

On the third floor, the mood was far from exciting. The ladies were cowering behind Horace who was trying his best to be the intimidating boss the street lackeys know him to be. Trent had his eyes on the large screen ahead of them but he was keeping track of everyone's movements. His friend though was definitely not having a good time. He was frozen in fear and stuck to Trent's side. After hearing the boss's voice, he knew they were in unseen danger. The room was covered in a thick blanket of uncertainty, caution, and awareness. No one knew what's going to happen next.

"No disrespect to the club!"

An alarm sounded in the still booth, Wil was startled and Trent had a bad feeling. Horace's eyes twitched slightly as Eros checked the notification and forward it to his men. In unison, they checked their phones and sharply placed their cold stares on the older man.

"Now, the last one is crucial. Never... Never what?" Peter pushed the crowd below, placing that tone of warning in his voice. 

"NEVER DISRESPECT THE YOUNG MASTER!"

Eros came to his feet and made his way to the group. His tall figure towered over them as he got closer. Trent lowered his head. Wil was whimpering, regretting his decision in visiting this place. The ladies screamed instinctively, falling to the floor after making the mistake of reaching eye level with the second prince. Horace swallowed loudly, his lips trembled when he tried to smile but it was a complete failure. Tucking his hands in his pants pocket, he slowly leaned forward and clicked his tongue in disgust. His hands were itching to grip the neck of the man before him, but he held back. 

"Can you guess which rule you broke, Mr. Horace?"

The slow grin on Eros' face was a result of the man's bad decision-making. What the hell did he do?