Friday nights at Nox are a wet dream for any reveller.

While Nox is one of the finest and the most exclusive nightclubs, located in the heart of New York City for the gentry, Fridays are the only nights it allows the common folk to gain entry without pulling any strings or through connections. Sort of like an open night.

Premium liquor, tasteful music and a wild night to remember–wild enough for the hangover to last for a good few months for anyone and everyone before they go back to the soul-sucking and demanding lives of the white-collar demographic.

The neon blue, green, and red strobe lights illuminate the dark room, moving in sync with the beats of an EDM song, drinks flowing like there is no tomorrow. The dance floor in the middle of the room is slowly filling up, indicating the party is about to reach its peak in an hour or so.

The ice cubes clink against each other when I slide two glasses of whiskey across the counter. A man dressed in a navy blue suit sans jacket picks them up, looking me up and down before returning to his conversation about some kind of investment with a man dressed identically.

I exhale through my nose, muttering cuss words under my breath and hoping no one notices my twitching eye. People here–no, the upper class doesn't take it well when you serve their drink with anything but a flirty smile and suggestive eyes.

I wonder how much of a snob do you have to be to act like people only exist to kiss your ass and do your bidding.

I feel my skin tingle with annoyance for two reasons.

The heavy bass resonating through my entire body, the booming music vibrating off my ribs.

What are they trying to do? Blast the fucking speaker?

The black turtleneck and jeans that are sticking to my body because of the sweltering heat despite the air conditioning and early September chill don't help either.

I really don't want to be here tonight.

Working behind the bar was supposed to be an easy job.

People order, I serve.

That's it.

Just tonight. Endure it and get the job done.

I can feel the shoe bites forming from being on my feet all night and it isn't ending anytime soon.

The reasons for my annoyance crank up a notch when I feel eyes digging into the side of my head.

I look around, trying to find the reason for my crankiness, but come up short.

I hated not knowing things.

I get plenty of blatant looks on an everyday basis, but I have always been hyper-aware of those around me, so I knew who and where they were coming from.

Not this one.

This isn't the first time I have felt them. I noticed them for the first time a few months after I opened this club three years ago. Sometimes I don't feel them for months on end and just when I begin to think that's the end, they're back.

They know I am trying to find them and they are hiding purposefully like it's a game to see who wins.

With people gathering on the dance floor, the bar area gets pretty tame, allowing me to have a moment to myself as I arrange the glasses behind the counter.

Just then, two guys take a seat in front of me, trying to catch their breath from dancing. Without a word, I place two bottles of water on the counter and they give me a thankful nod. I go to clean the counter on the other side when I hear their conversation which has me halting in my place.

"Are you sure it's okay to be here, Sam?" One of them questions hesitantly.

"It's an open night at Nox. What are you even worried about?"

"I know, but haven't you heard that it's a hub for gang meets? And do you not know who owns this place?"

"What?" His friend laughs. "You really believe that shit? They are rumours, Nate. Think about it. If it was, wouldn't the police be barging in through those doors this very second?"

"As if the police have any say in what goes on in this city," Nate says, taking a sip and then continuing. "Look, if it was just us, it would have been fine. But Celia and Maya are here, too. I don't care if they're just rumours. If you want to stay, you can. But I'm leaving with Celia."

"Come on, Nate, don't be like that," Sam chides, but Nate is already standing up from his seat and turning to leave when Sam grabs his arm, halting him.

"Is that...is that Micah Romanov over there?" My ears perk up at the name and I look around to catch sight of him.

When I do, the glass in my hold almost slips.

Micah Romanov was a notorious man, definitely not someone you would want around. If his involvement with the Russian mob isn't enough to throw you off, the rumours surrounding him will do the job.

I am already regretting taking over this shift.

Micah at Nox is rare, but even those visits make everyone feel like a fish out of the water.

"Are you fucking with me? He's here? Right now?"

"No need to make it obvious. Look there." He points in a direction behind his friend and he follows it. I see him going stiff in his place and when he looks back at his friend, his face looks like he has seen a ghost.

"I told you it was a bad idea to come here. You even had the girls tag along with us. Have you lost your mind?!" he bursts out at him, frantically looking around the dance floor to catch sight of his friends and Sam follows suit.

They aren't wrong.

Nox is frequently visited by the many gangs that reside in the city. Rivalry isn't an unknown concept to the underworld, but Nox is one place where they couldn't act on it because it is a neutral ground for them.

It's a risky thing to do. Mixing the elites, plebeians and the underworld. But to keep the unwanted noses far away, it's necessary. I couldn't say for myself that the business that went down here was always of the legal kind.

You would think putting the elites and the plebs in the same room might establish a middle ground for both of them to have fun together for a night.

Wrong.

Unfortunately, the upper class doesn't take it quite well when an outsider invades their space.

Club fights aren't a common occurrence here at Nox, but the probability of them happening increases relatively on open nights. And the responsibility to take care of those matters quietly fell on whoever was working the bar that night.

The air smells strongly of good liquor and a somewhat tolerable blend of perfumes and colognes. The heated argument happening in the VIP sections of the club floats over the loud music blaring through the speakers which stops playing when people form a crowd and back away from the area.

My gaze flits over to the scene just in time for the two guys to break through the sea of people. A man holding one of the waitresses by her arm–nothing about that hold seemed gentle–her trying to pull away from him while yelling at him.

The man in question? Micah Romanov.

Just my fucking luck.

"Make sure the people don't record this and check everyone's phone before they leave," I say into the Bluetooth earphone and untie my apron to go take care of the situation before it gets worse.

The two guys get there before me and I watch them back away from the scene, now accompanied by two girls. The security gets there with me, but I gesture for them to stand back and get rid of people within earshot.

"Let her go."

Micah's eyes turn to me. Even in the dark, I can make out the beady brown eyes, scanning me from head to toe. I hate the way it makes my skin crawl from remembering just how much cruelty those eyes have witnessed, most of it inflicted by himself.

"Not until she apologises for disrespecting me." His voice carries that accent, that warning, making it more obvious he's a part of the Russian mafia.

"Fuck you!" the girl spits out. "You groped me, I won't apologise for slapping you."

I hear people murmuring behind me and I do a quick once-over of the girl. She's new here, probably in her early 20s. The standard black shirt and dark jeans outfit mandatory for all the staff looks like it has seen better days on her. The front of her shirt is wet, and so is her face and hair, probably from a drink which no doubt Micah threw at her.

A crunch under my boots has me looking down–a broken glass. I close my eyes to take a deep breath, telling myself to hold it in.

Inhale...1...2...3...Exhale

"I didn't stutter when I told you to let her go." I look directly at the man who is holding the girl. They look at me, then at their boss who's still keeping his eyes on me.

"Neither did I when I said I will when she apologises."

My heart thumps against my chest like a drum. The chants that volunteering to cover this shift today was a bad idea plays in my head on repeat.

I take a step towards him, the closeness already making me feel suffocated and wanting to peel my skin off with a rusted knife.

"This is your last warning. You know what will happen if you get handsy with anyone here. I doubt you would want to meet the boss so early on in your life, Micah," I speak quietly, the underlying warning screaming with every syllable that leaves my mouth. I see his nostrils flare with anger, lips curling in a snarl.

The club is owned by the leader of Eternos. They are considered to be a myth, a figment of imagination to keep people on edge since no one has truly seen them. But they exist. They rule over the city and far more. Crossing them is equivalent to a death wish.

Which comes true.

Always.

He scoffs. Of course, he doesn't like a woman half his size threatening him. "Do you know who you're talking to? Go back to serving drinks. Don't poke your nose in matters you have no business with." He gives me a hard shove, earning gasps from people around as I almost lose my footing.

Keep calm. Don't do anything reckless.

"You have 30 seconds to leave this place before I throw you out myself. Get lost, right now." My voice, although composed, rings out loud in the quiet room.

"You fucking bitch–" Before he can even finish his sentence, I see a fist flying towards me from the corner of my eye. The security breezes past me, but they are a second too late in intercepting the attack. Me? I have no choice but to take it. I can't do anything right now.

It connects with my jaw, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip upon impact, and I just know what a nasty bruise I'll be sporting for the next few days. It hurts and throbs like motherfucker. I clench my fists by my side. The red-hot rage simmers through every cell in my body, threatening to boil over any second now.

Quietly. I need to do this quietly.

Everything happens in a flash after that. Without breaking a sweat, Micah and his men are all restrained by the security as they practically pick them up to escort them out, their shouts of protest drowning in the loud music which is already backed up. The crowds disperse and people go back to partying as if nothing happened.

The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention when I feel someone watching me. Those fucking eyes again. I want to look around to find that gaze but first...

I wipe the blood off from my lip with the back of my hand, take a deep breath and face the waitress, one of the security guards holding her up.

"Are you okay?"

She gives me a nod, her eyes flickering to my bloodied lip. I wave her off and her eyes move down to look at her feet. The way her body slumps against him, I can sense the adrenaline wearing off and the reality set in when her lips start trembling.

"Am I going to lose this job?" she questions shakily and my brows furrow. She looks pretty out of it, so I signal the guard to follow me to the bar.

"Sit," I say when she keeps staring at me. "You can go. I'll take it from here." I tell the guard and he gives me a nod before leaving. She thanks me when I give her a glass of water, downing it in three big gulps.

"You won't lose your job, so you can stop worrying."

"B-but I–"

"You did the right thing so don't beat yourself up for something that isn't your fault. If anything, you'll be compensated for what you had to go through. This isn't a common occurrence. I sincerely apologise on behalf of the owner."

"What if he comes after me? I know who he is. I really need this job. I can't quit." She looks close to crying by how her eyes well up with tears. I intentionally dig my teeth into my cut lip to stop myself from hunting down Micah myself.

That fucking bastard.

"This was the last time you saw him, so you don't need to quit to avoid him. You won't have to worry about him ever again."

"You don't—"

"Know that? I do. Go home and get some rest. You have had a long night."

I catch the unsure look she gives me, before nodding hesitantly. I turn my back to lean against the counter when she leaves. She doesn't believe me and I know from experience she's still contemplating whether or not she should quit.

It's understandable. Why should she believe a stranger at work whose job is to serve drinks at the bar? Still, if she doesn't believe me now, she will when she wakes up tomorrow.

No one is going to see Micah after tonight.

I feel the same eyes from before burning a hole in the back of my head. I look around to find the culprit and find a lot of people whispering amongst themselves while looking at me. Even now, I can't spot the one out in the mass of people, fueling my frustration. I ignore it, too wound up to care and pull out my phone from my pocket. It connects on the first ring.

"Micah Romanov. He's the target tonight." 

And so it begins!

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