Club Fang

Fang led Kev past the grand staircase, their destination the elusive West Wing. Horns, having seemingly materialized out of nowhere, fell into step beside them, his presence a reassuring bulwark against the throng of revelers.

They navigated the labyrinthine corridors, the flickering torchlight casting dancing shadows on the walls. The sounds of music and merriment grew fainter as they ventured deeper into the wing, replaced by a hushed stillness that spoke of exclusivity and secrecy.

Finally, they reached the VIP room, its heavy wooden door guarded by two imposing bouncers. Rex, recognizing Fang, nodded respectfully and opened the door, revealing a dimly lit, luxurious space.

The VIP room exuded an air of classic elegance, its ambiance a stark contrast to the main club's vibrant energy. Rich wood paneling lined the walls, and a plush red carpet cushioned every step. A gleaming pool table occupied one corner, while a large dining table, set for an intimate gathering, dominated the center of the room. A small but well-stocked bar, manned by Dale in his usual crisp attire, stood along one wall, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of countless candles and a crackling fireplace.

An otter-man, his sleek fur glistening in the firelight, rose from a comfortable armchair to greet them. "Fang, my friend," he said, his voice smooth and welcoming. "Welcome. And congratulations on this magnificent establishment. Truly impressive."

"Warlock," Fang acknowledged with a nod, a hint of respect in his tone. He gestured towards his companions. "This is Horns, my manager, and Kev, my new assistant."

Warlock's gaze shifted to Kev, a flicker of curiosity crossing his sharp features. He then turned to his two bodyguards, towering bearmen who stood silently at attention by the door. "Your security is so thorough," he remarked with a dry chuckle, "they even found the camera I had Bruno hide in his ass."

A wave of shock washed over Kev. Did the otter really just say that so casually?

Fang's laughter boomed through the room, a deep, resonant sound that momentarily dispelled the tension. "Sorry, Bruno," he said with a playful grin, "better luck next time."

One of the bearmen, clearly displeased by the jest, let out a low growl. The otter, sensing the brewing conflict, swiftly intervened. "Bruno!" he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. "Fang is your superior. If you disrespect him, you dishonor me."

The bearman subsided, his growl fading into a grumble of acquiescence. Kev, unnerved by the otter's sudden outburst, subtly shifted away from Warlock, seeking refuge closer to Fang and Horns. He found the otter's frenzied energy unsettling, a stark contrast to Fang's controlled power and Horns' calm demeanor.

Fang, ever the gracious host, smoothly steered the conversation back on track. "Have you had a chance to enjoy a drink yet, Warlock?" he inquired, gesturing towards the well-stocked bar.

"I don't drink," Warlock replied, his voice a smooth purr that belied the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He gestured for his bodyguards to remain standing as he took a seat at the table. Fang sat across from him, Kev and Horns flanking him on either side.

Warlock's gaze settled on Kev, a flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes. "Please do not consider this rude but… what might you be?" he inquired, his tone polite but probing.

Kev, maintaining his composure despite the already tiring question, replied, "I'm a human."

Warlock's brow furrowed slightly. "A human?" he echoed, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I've never encountered one before. Fascinating." His attention shifted back to Fang. "Well, I'm here, and I'm impressed. Your club is quite the establishment."

Fang nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Thank you, Warlock. We aim to please." He leaned forward, his tone businesslike. "Shall we skip the foreplay and speak openly?"

Warlock chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the room. "Directness is always appreciated, Fang." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the table. "I have two ideas for how we can collaborate, both potentially lucrative."

He steepled his fingers, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "Firstly, we could install hidden recording equipment throughout the club. Discreetly, of course. Imagine the leverage we could gain over high-net-worth individuals, the secrets we could capture. Black mail is most effective when you know the target is already trying to hide."

He paused, allowing the idea to sink in. "Or," he continued, "we could come to some sort of agreement to host events for some… special VIPs. Private gatherings, discreet negotiations in a safe third party space, house an individual who might need protection... The possibilities are endless."

Fang's expression hardened. "The first option is a non-starter," he said firmly. "I will not taint this club with cameras. It's a sanctuary, a place where people can be themselves without fear of surveillance."

Warlock's eyes widened, a delighted giggle escaping his lips. "That's precisely what I was hoping to hear," he exclaimed, jumping to his feet with surprising agility. "You and your people will now be considered part of the family!"

He paced excitedly, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Next week, some foreign VIPs will visit to confirm my recommendation. After that, I can have the local chapter leader officially welcome you."

Horns raised an eyebrow. "Just don't call," he interjected dryly. "We don't have phones here."

Warlock grinned, his sharp teeth glinting in the candlelight. "That's part of the magic of this place, isn't it?" he said, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. "No technology, no distractions. Just pure, unadulterated... business."

Warlock turned back to Fang, his voice taking on a more business-like tone. "And of course," he said, "VIP events will pay VIP rates, Mr. Fang. From the local organization alone, I can imagine you'll have parties booked once a month at least. The privacy and discretion you offer are highly sought-after commodities."

Fang nodded thoughtfully. "That's certainly an attractive prospect," he admitted, "but we can't host very top-tier VIPs if we're open to the public."

Warlock waved a dismissive hand. "This is a big club," he countered. "I'm sure you can figure out a business plan where someone with deep pockets could rent this entire wing of the building for the night. The rest of the club can continue as usual, while your special guests enjoy complete privacy and security."

He snapped his fingers, summoning his guards. "Come along, gentlemen. We have work to do!"

Warlock turned to fang and smiled, his sharp teeth giving him a manic profile, "I'm bringing Bruno down to your private rooms. I'm sure there is someone down there that will teach him how to really hide a camera." Warlock laughed loudly with his hands on his stomach. "Keep an eye out for those foreigners next week." With a final nod to Fang and his companions, Warlock strode out of the room, his bodyguards following closely behind.

Rex re-entered the room, giving a curious look back at Warlock and his whimpering guards before clicking the door shut. Fang let out a long, drawn-out sigh and stood. The tension that had been building within him seemed to dissipate, leaving him feeling drained but strangely exhilarated.

Horns leaned back in his seat, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I don't like that Warlock fellow," he grumbled. "Rubs me the wrong way. Too slick, too... opportunistic."

Fang shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "We don't have to like him, Horns. He's just a middleman. We just need to impress him."

Kev, who had been quietly observing the exchange, couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "What kind of VIP clients are we talking about?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Politicians? Celebrities? Activists?"

Fang chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down Kev's spine. "Oh, we already have plenty of those," he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "The VIPs Warlock is talking about are much higher up the food chain."

Horns' eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice hushed.

Fang leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. "We've just joined the international beastman mafia, my assistant," he revealed, a hint of pride in his voice.

Kev's heart sank. The word "mafia" conjured images of violence, corruption, and danger. He swallowed hard, his apprehension growing. He wanted to voice his concerns, but the sight of Fang's triumphant expression held him back.

Horns, however, didn't hesitate to speak his mind. "What's the reasoning behind this, boss?" he asked, his tone cautious. "I thought we were doing fine recently."

Rex and Dale, having overheard the conversation from the bar, leaned in closer, their curiosity piqued.

"We've been fighting an uphill battle with the city for years, Horns," Fang explained, his voice laced with frustration. "This membership is a way to protect the club, to ensure its survival."

"By threatening them?" Kev finally spoke up, his voice soft but firm. "I'm not a big fan of that approach."

Rex scoffed. "Pussy," he muttered under his breath, but Fang silenced him with a sharp look.

"No, Kev," Fang said, his voice gentle. "It's not about threats. It's about connections, influence. We'll host their events, provide them with a discreet and secure location, and in return, their lawyers will handle our legal issues, their accountants will streamline our finances. We'll save thousands of dollars a month, and we'll have a powerful ally watching our back."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the table. "It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, one that will ensure the club's longevity."

Horns chuckled, shaking his head. "The group name sucks," he remarked. "Who would call themselves a 'mafia' these days? It's so cliché."

Dale, leaning against the bar, chimed in. "I overheard that the group originated in another country," he explained, "and the translation isn't perfect. The original name apparently had more of a... 'brotherhood' connotation."

Kev couldn't help but laugh. "It's still absurd," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "The international beastmen mafia. It sounds like something out of a trashy romance novel."

Rex, clearly disappointed by the lack of immediate action, sighed dramatically. "I thought it was finally gonna get fun around here," he grumbled, his shoulders slumping. "Guess I'll just go back to breaking up drunken brawls." He slinked off, his tail dragging behind him in a display of exaggerated dejection.

Horns, his brief moment of relaxation over, stood up with a groan. "Well, now I've got to find event staffing," he lamented. "This is going to be a logistical nightmare." He gave Kev a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "See you later, Kev. Don't let the boss work you too hard." With that, he lumbered out of the VIP room, leaving Kev and Fang alone once more.

Kev turned to Fang, a genuine smile on his face. "Good job, Fang," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "Sounds like you secured a major deal for the club."

Fang's eyes met his, and a warmth spread through his chest. He hadn't expected such a sincere compliment from Kev, and it touched him in a way he hadn't anticipated. He reached across the table, his hand gently brushing against Kev's. "Thank you, Kev," he said, his voice soft. "It means a lot."

He hesitated for a moment, a playful glint in his eyes. "So," he asked, his voice dropping to a low purr, "how would you like to celebrate?"

Kev's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "It was your win, Fang," he replied, his voice light and playful. "Let's do whatever you want to do."

Fang's gaze lingered on Kev's face, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of the alcohol. For the first time, Kev truly noticed the depth of Fang's interest in him. It wasn't just the predatory gaze of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted; there was a genuine tenderness there, a longing that caught Kev off guard.

"What are you thinking?" Kev asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging in the air between them.

Fang blinked, as if startled back to reality. He cleared his throat, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I was just thinking," he said, his voice turning playful, "that we need to get you to the tailor tomorrow to make you some clothes that actually fit."

Kev laughed, Fang's deflection was perfect. Kev, hoping to capitalize on his good mood, said, "The night is young. We could always play hooky from work."

Dale, still tidying up behind the bar, let out a snort of laughter. "Don't tempt him, kid," he warned, a knowing glint in his eyes. "The boss doesn't take kindly to slacking off."

Fang, however, surprised them both. A mischievous spark lit up his eyes. "Actually," he said, his voice low and seductive, "I have a better idea. Let's go for a little drive."