The strippers twerked on the poles, their bodies moving rhythmically as money rained down around them.
Gun grimaced, his discomfort evident. He didn't want to be here, but he was sure she was. That rebellious little troublemaker.
The club reeked of smoke, sweat, and expensive liquor. Fat men with gold chains and overpriced drinks threw cash in wild abandon.
One man, his teeth and wrists glittering with diamonds, poured bourbon over a stripper's curves, slapping wads of money onto her. Gun sighed in exasperation as he spotted her, the person he'd come for.
Clarice.
She stumbled in her impossibly high heels, cackling as she accepted another handful of notes from a patron. Gun grabbed her wrist. "Oh, hell no! What are you doing here?" he shouted over the music.
Clarice jerked her arm free, almost falling. "Would you relax? We're not even fully related," she slurred, her words dripping with intoxication.
Gun's jaw clenched. "Are you trying to kill my mother with a heart attack? What is wrong with you?"
She rolled her eyes, rubbing at her nose. "Please, that woman's gonna die from poverty anyway. Why should I stick around to go down with the ship?"
Gun narrowed his eyes. "Are you high?" he asked, his voice rising.
Clarice smirked, leaning into him and rubbing her nose against his. "Yeah, and it's some good shit too," she laughed, stumbling back into the arms of a massive man adorned with gold chains.
The man draped a heavy arm over her shoulder. "Is this guy bothering you, Clarice?" he asked, his voice low and menacing as he stuffed cash into her waistband.
Clarice grinned, biting her nails coyly. "Yeah, get rid of him for me," she purred.
The man turned to Gun, sizing him up with a cold smile. "Well, look at this. Ain't he a cute one," he sneered. "Yo, Snuup, we got ourselves a little good boy in the club."
Gun's stomach twisted in unease as another man, Snuup, flicked a tobacco between his diamond-studded teeth. "Oh, hell yeah. I bet we could stuff some bills up his tight little asshole."
Gun took an instinctive step back, his eyes flickering to the gleaming shotgun slung casually over Snuup's shoulder. "I don't want any trouble," he said quickly, raising his hands. "I just want my cousin."
The first man snorted. "Trouble? Nah, I just wanna play. What d'you say, pretty boy? Feel like testing my pow-pow?" He tapped the shotgun with a sinister grin.
Gun swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "No, thanks. I'm good. Really."
The group burst into laughter, their mockery echoing in the smoky air. As Gun turned to leave, the first man called after him, "Don't worry, kid. I know where you work."
Gun didn't wait for another word. He bolted, adrenaline surging through his veins. Behind him, Snuup's gravelly voice sent a shiver down his spine.
"Yeah," Snuup said darkly. "He's my type."