Horns lumbered back into the VIP booth, a sheen of sweat on his brow and his chest heaving slightly. He plopped down onto the plush seating, clearly winded from his trek around the club.
"Well, boss," he began, his voice a touch breathless, "the answers came back deadlocked."
Fang raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. "Explain," he prompted, his tone calm but expectant.
"Half the managers are all for the idea of regular days off," Horns elaborated, "while the other half are vehemently against it. They're worried about staffing shortages, decreased productivity, and potential disruptions to the club's operations."
He paused, taking a deep breath to catch his breath. "It's up to you to break the tie, boss. You need to make a decision."
Fang's frustration simmers beneath the surface, his voice a low growl. "Who thought it was a bad idea?" he demanded, his amber eyes scanning the faces of his companions.
Horns shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the table. "Reepia, Asmodeus, and Rex were all against it," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fang's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Rex and Reepia, I understand," he mused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "But Asmodeus? He was against it?"
Horns nodded. "He squawked up a storm," he explained, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Said a day off of practice would devastate his musicians, ruin their rhythm, and lead to a cacophony of missed notes and sour melodies."
Kev, who had been listening intently, couldn't help but interject. "But just because they're off work doesn't mean they can't practice at home, on their own time," he pointed out, his voice filled with conviction.
Horns shruged, his massive shoulders rising and falling in a gesture of helplessness. "That's what I told him," he admitted, "but you know Asmodeus. He's a bit... dramatic."
He turned to Fang, his expression serious. "The decision is yours, boss," he says. "You have to make the call."
Fang drummed his fingers on the table, his expression thoughtful. "This is bigger than just my opinion," he said, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility. "I don't want to create a divide among the staff, giving some employees this benefit and withholding it from others." He looked at Horns, his gaze firm. "We need to have a meeting with all the managers. Let everyone voice their concerns and opinions. We'll make a decision together, as a team."
Horns nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "Consider it done, boss," he said, rising from his seat. "I'll set up a meeting for tomorrow afternoon, before the club opens."
Fang stood and reached across the table, clapping a hand on Horns' shoulder. "Thank you, Horns," he said, his voice sincere. "I appreciate your hard work."
Horns chuckled, a tired but genuine smile spreading across his face. "Don't mention it, boss. Just be prepared for a lot of gossip in the meantime. Once word gets out about this meeting, the rumor mill will be working overtime."
Fang waved a dismissive hand. "Gossip isn't against the rules," he retorted with a shrug. "Let them talk. It'll build anticipation for the meeting."
Horns smiled and gave a weary "Yes, boss," before turning to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kev," he said with a friendly nod. "Try to keep the boss out of trouble until then."
With a final wave, Horns disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Fang and Kev alone in the VIP booth once more.
A playful smile tugged at the corner of Fang's lips. "The work never ends," he sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. "See what you've done, Kev? You've stirred the pot, and now I have to deal with the consequences."
Kev's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You could have said no if you thought it was a bad idea," he countered, his tone light and teasing.
Fang's gaze softened as he looked at Kev. "True," he admitted, a warmth spreading through his chest. "But ideas don't sound bad coming from you, even if they are a bit... unconventional."
He checked his watch, a frown creasing his brow. "I'll be right back," he said, rising from his seat. "I want to check out the entertainment lineup for the evening. Make sure everything's in order."
He paused, his gaze lingering on Kev's face. "Stay here," he instructed, his voice firm but gentle. "I don't want you wandering off and getting lost in the crowd."
With a final reassuring smile, Fang made his way towards the stage, his powerful presence parting the sea of patrons as he went. He stopped briefly to speak to the closest bouncer, a burly grizzly bear-man. The bouncer nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd before settling on Kev.
Kev, feeling a bit self-conscious under the bouncer's scrutiny, offered a tentative wave. The bearman's expression softened slightly, and he gave a curt nod in return before resuming his watchful surveillance of the room.
Kev leaned back in the booth, a sense of contentment washing over him. He was starting to feel more at ease in this strange new world, his initial anxieties replaced by a growing sense of belonging. The club, once a daunting and unfamiliar place, was slowly becoming a second home, its vibrant energy and diverse cast of characters a constant source of fascination.
Kev settled back into the plush booth, his gaze drawn to the dance floor where a mesmerizing spectacle unfolded. Couples swayed and twirled to the rhythm of the music, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, a testament to Asmodeus's masterful orchestration. The energy in the room was palpable, a heady mix of excitement, anticipation, and uninhibited desire.
He reached into his new cigarette case and pulled out one of the joints Horns had rolled for him. He lit it, inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of the herb calming his nerves and heightening his senses. As he exhaled, a cloud of smoke curled lazily upwards, blending with the hazy atmosphere of the club.
Kev's thoughts drifted to Fang's earlier promise to show him the nightly entertainment. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of acts the club hosted. He doubted it would be anything Asmodeus would allow to upstage his own performances. The toucan's ego was as grand as his musical talent, and Kev couldn't imagine him sharing the spotlight with anyone else.
He knew there were private rooms and play areas throughout the club, spaces where beastmen and beastwomen could explore their more primal desires. But he highly doubted that was what Fang had in mind. The wolfman had been nothing but a gentleman so far, his every action and word conveying a respect and consideration that Kev hadn't experienced in his previous relationships.
Kev's mind wandered back to the men he'd dated on Earth, their fleeting connections and shallow promises a stark contrast to the depth and sincerity he felt from Fang. Regardless of Fang being his boss, his patron, the wolf's chivalry and old-world charm were qualities that Kev found undeniably attractive. He hadn't realized how much he craved that kind of respect and attentiveness until he'd experienced it firsthand.
Kev's contemplation was interrupted by a sudden commotion on the dance floor. Two hulking beastmen, their faces flushed with anger and alcohol, were locked in a heated argument. Their voices, raised in a torrent of insults and threats, cut through the music, drawing the attention of nearby patrons.
The crowd parted, forming a circle around the escalating confrontation. Kev watched with a mix of fascination and apprehension as the two men began shoving each other, their aggression threatening to boil over into violence. The bearman bouncer, his gaze briefly meeting Kev's, sprang into action, his powerful strides carrying him swiftly across the room. With a roar that silenced the music, he intervened, his massive arms separating the combatants, trying to restore order.
Kev took a nervous drag from his joint, his heart pounding in his chest. The sudden burst of violence, though quickly quelled, served as a stark reminder of the primal nature that lurked beneath the club's polished facade.
Just as he was exhaling a cloud of smoke, a voice from behind him startled him. "Mind if I have a hit?"
Kev turned, surprised to find a rabbit man perched on the velvet rope, his back to him. The rabbit man's ears twitched nervously as he waited for Kev's response.
Kev hesitated for a moment, considering the request. He'd never shared a joint with a stranger before, let alone a beastman in a nightclub. But something about the rabbit man's demeanor, his quiet presence amidst the chaos, intrigued him.
He stood up, carefully maneuvering around the table and approaching the velvet rope that separated them. The rabbit man turned, his gaze meeting Kev's. His fur was a pristine white, a stark contrast to the dimly lit surroundings, and he wore a tweed suit that seemed oddly out of place in the club's atmosphere.
"You're quite an odd one, ain't ya?" the rabbit man remarked, his voice a soft, raspy whisper.
Kev shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Who isn't odd in a place like this?" he countered.
The rabbit man chuckled, a quiet sound that barely registered above the din of the club. He turned back to watch the bouncer, who was now expertly escorting the two brawlers out of the club. "Hope they'll be alright," he mused, his voice tinged with a hint of concern. "Probably a fight over something stupid."
Kev took a drag from his joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. "It's the first fight I've seen here," he admitted.
The rabbit man's ears twitched, and he turned back to Kev, a curious glint in his eyes. "Guess you haven't been here for very long then," he observed.
"You guessed correctly," Kev confirmed with a smile. "I'm Kev, by the way. And you are...?" He paused, his gaze lingering on the rabbit man's unusual attire. "Are you an employee here?"
The rabbit man's ears twitched, and he turned back to face Kev fully. "Hello, Kev," he said, his voice still a soft whisper. "And about that hit..." He gestured towards the joint still clutched in Kev's hand.
Kev hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "I'm not big on sharing with strangers," he replied, his tone polite but firm. "Who are you, exactly?"
The rabbit man's demeanor changed in an instant. He lunged forward, his movements surprisingly swift for someone of his small stature, and grabbed Kev's arm in a vice-like grip. Kev yelped in surprise, the joint tumbling from his hand and falling to the ground.
"VIP or not," the rabbit man hissed, his voice now a menacing growl, "I'm not gonna let some punk smoke that shit in my city."
"Where's your ID?" the rabbit man demanded, his grip tightening painfully on Kev's arm.
Kev winced, trying to pull away, but the rabbit's claws had dug into his shirt, leaving painful scratches on his skin. "Are you a cop?" he asked, his voice laced with fear and confusion.
"Not a damn cop," the rabbit snarled. He flashed a badge, a silver insignia emblazoned with the city's emblem. "City Enforcement," he hissed. "And you're in violation of ordinance 32-B, possession of a controlled substance."
Kev's heart pounded in his chest. He looked around frantically, hoping to catch someone's attention. Dale was behind the bar, but he was swamped with customers, his back turned to the commotion. Fang was nowhere to be seen.
The rabbit man, his grip unrelenting, began dragging Kev towards the exit. Just as they reached the door, a raccoon man, his fur a mix of gray and black, rushed up to them, his voice a hushed whisper.
"Bryan, what the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, his eyes wide with alarm.
"This punk was smoking that shit right in front of me," Bryan retorted, jerking his head towards Kev. "Caught him red-handed."
The raccoon man's eyes widened in terror, his voice a panicked whisper. "Bryan, you idiot! You can't do that! You're gonna get us all killed!"
The rabbit, undeterred, continued to drag Kev towards the exit, his grip tightening painfully on Kev's arm. Kev's heart hammered in his chest, his gaze darting around the room, desperate for a familiar face, a lifeline in this sea of chaos.
The raccoon man, his voice rising in desperation, pleaded with Bryan. "Please, let him go! He's with Fang! You don't want to mess with Fang! Don't you know anything!"
Bryan scoffed, his grip on Kev unrelenting. "I was hired to clean up this cesspit," he snarled, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "This is just the first of many."
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Kev's eyes locked with the owl man valet driver. The owl's eyes widened in alarm, and without a word, he turned and sprinted back into the club.
Kev's stomach churned with fear. He was being dragged across the courtyard, his protests falling on deaf ears. The rabbit man's grip was like iron, his claws digging into Kev's skin, leaving bloody trails in their wake. He felt a sense of helplessness wash over him, a realization that he was utterly at the mercy of this deranged enforcer.
The raccoon man, Abe, trailed behind them, his voice a desperate plea. "Bryan, this is a bad idea. You're going to regret this, I swear."
But Bryan, his face set in a grim mask of determination, refused to listen. "Abe," he snapped, his voice sharp and unforgiving, "if you're not cut out for the job, then quit. But don't slow me down."
They reached the edge of the courtyard, and a vast parking lot stretched out before them, illuminated by the harsh glare of security lights. Rows of gleaming cars, a mix of sleek modern vehicles and vintage classics, lined the asphalt.
Abe's gaze met Kev's, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and apology. He seemed to want to say something, to offer some reassurance, but the words died on his lips.
With a final shove, Bryan pushed Kev into the backseat of a nondescript sedan. The car's interior was dark and smelled faintly of stale cigarettes. Kev's heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare. The door slammed shut, trapping him.