Page 2 of We The Depraved

My club manager Yasmine instantly starts talking. She’s a tall leggy blonde from Chicago that wears her blonde hair in a ponytail that reminds me of that old black and white show about a genie.

“You’re not going to believe this shit!” Immediately, Yasmine starts yapping away.

I’m in traffic swerving because it has started to rain, and people seem to lose their shit when it starts raining in Houston.

Cold and rainy, I think. No one wants to dance or get a dance in the cold or rain.

“Carla broke her fucking leg,” Yasmine is pacing, I can hear her high heels clicking into the floor of the back office.

“When?”

“Last night,” Yasmine starts yapping again.

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what she said,” Yasmine repeats.

This sounds like a lie,I think. I want to question everything after my encounter with the scary graveyard guy, even if he was attractive.

“Tell Gio to meet me out front,” I speak.

“Who are we getting to cover Carla’s shift tonight?”

Rolling my eyes, I hit the brakes narrowly avoiding hitting the car in front of me. The brake lights glare red and angry. It feels like a warning of some sort, but I shake the thought away. The second I do, the man from the cemetery invades my head.

“Yasmine, you’re the fucking manager. Manage! Have Gio the fuck outside and waiting when I pull up.”

She huffs. “Okay! Okay!”

“Do your fucking job.” I tell her and hang up.

When I finally pull into the parking lot of The Crescent, I spot Gio. He’s waiting, with a leather jacket on. I roll the window down, with the rain beating down hard.

“Get in,” I holler.

He does as I ask and slips into the comfort of the Mercedes with ease. Gio is a big motherfucker shaped like the hulk. He’s extra security for not only the club, and dancers but for me as well.

“Where we going?”

“Carla’s house,” I speed away from the club.

Gio Krasnov doesn’t talk much which is fine with me. I turn on the radio and rap music blares through the speakers. I love the City Girls. Their music gets me through many workouts and long nights at the club.

I watch as Gio’s finger thumps against his jean clad legs. They look a little bruised and swollen. Luckily, I won’t be using him for fighting. He just needs to be able to squeeze the trigger.

Swinging the grey Mercedes into traffic we stop at a stop light.

“Check the glove box,” I say and never remove my eyes from the road.

There’s two Glock 19’s there. One is brand new and just purchased a week ago. After moving out of my father’s house guns became a hobby of mine.

“Nothing more beautiful,” Gio says with appreciation in his eyes.

He’s a crazy motherfucker. The minute someone gets too rough in the clubs, a switch gets switched in him. He lives for the fight. There is just something in him that is so attuned to violence. It makes him a perfect bouncer.

“Yeah, shame we’re gonna waste a bullet on this motherfucker,” I say.

The part of Houston we’re heading into is a little rough. Carla has lived in this area her whole life. She’s beautiful, and easily one of the club’s best dancers. She’s sweet, but also naive. You could tell her the sun was made of gold and she would believe every word of it. This also makes her a target for her shitty abusive fucking boyfriend.