As Pedro racked the balls for the third game, he leaned closer to Kev, his voice low. "Let's raise the stakes a bit," he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Make it a good show for Mr. Fang. Fifty dollars this time."
Fang, who had been observing the exchange with amusement, snorted. "Fifty dollars?" he echoed, his voice laced with a hint of disdain. "That's hardly a challenge. Why not make it a bit richer?"
Pedro's smile faltered slightly and his ears twitched. "I... I don't have much more than fifty on me," he admitted, his voice a touch hesitant. "Perhaps we could wager something else?"
Fang's eyes narrowed, a predatory glint flashing in their depths. He leaned forward, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Kev's spine. "What do you have that's worth betting, Pedro?" he inquired, his tone laced with a hint of menace.
Pedro fidgeted, his long neck craning nervously. "Not much," he mumbled, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness.
Fang's gaze raked over Pedro's form, lingering on the tailored suit that clung to his slender frame. "Your clothes," he finally declared, his voice a soft purr.
Pedro gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "My... clothes?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fang nodded, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "What would you like in return?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Pedro, after a moment of hesitation, regained his composure. A sly grin spread across his face. "I'll tell you what I want," he said, his voice regaining its usual confidence, "right before I sink the eight ball."
Fang's growl reverberated through the room, a low, menacing sound that sent a shiver down Kev's spine. "Are you a llama or a shark, Pedro?" he growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Trying to pull a fast one on me in my own club?"
Pedro's tone changed and he held his ground. "Will you accept the bet, Fang?" he challenged, his voice surprisingly steady. "The human wins, you get my clothes. I win, I'll let you know what I want."
Fang's lips curled, showing his teeth. "Alright, Pedro," he said, his gowl displaying his displeasure. "Let's do it."
The tension in the room was palpable as Kev stepped up to the table, his cue chalked and ready. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. The stakes had suddenly risen, and he knew that Fang's pride, and perhaps even his own future at the club, rested on his ability to win this game.
With a determined thrust, Kev broke the balls, sending them scattering across the green felt. The game had begun. After sinking three striped balls in a row he felt confident, this was his best start so far, he stepped back and let his opponent take the table.
Pedro, a mischievous glint in his eyes, stepped up, his long neck gracefully arching over the green felt. "If I win," he declared, his voice a confident purr, "I want a dance with the human."
Fang's bark echoed through the room, a primal sound that sent a shiver down Kev's spine. "Don't you dare make a fool of me in my own establishment, Pedro," he warned, his voice laced with barely contained fury.
But Pedro, seemingly unfazed by Fang's threat, calmly lined up his shot and sank the first ball with a satisfying click. A wave of nervous laughter rippled through the onlookers, their eyes darting between Fang and the increasingly confident llama. Another and another went in, displaying much higher levels of precision and skill than in either of the previous games.
"A bet's a bet, Fang," Pedro retorted, his gaze never leaving the table. He sank another ball, his movements smooth and precise.
Kev's heart pounded in his chest. He could see the anger building in Fang, his fur bristling, his tail stiffening. The wolfman was on the verge of losing control, and Kev feared the consequences for Pedro if he dared to win this game.
The tension in the room was so thick it was almost palpable. One of the onlookers, a timid-looking deer woman, scurried out, unable to bear the mounting pressure.
Pedro, oblivious to the escalating situation, focused on his final shot. The eight ball sat tantalizingly close to the corner pocket. "Corner pocket," he called out, his voice steady, and with a swift stroke, sent the cue ball flying.
But before the eight ball could disappear into the pocket, a large, furry hand snatched it from the air. Fang, his face contorted in a snarl, held the ball aloft, his amber eyes blazing with fury.
"Don't be a poor loser, Mr. Fang," Pedro challenged, his voice surprisingly calm despite the situation. "That was my shot. I won."
Fang growled, his grip on the eight ball tightening. He stalked towards Pedro, his movements predatory, and grabbed the llama by the front of his shirt, lifting him slightly off the ground.
"Have your dance," Fang hissed, his voice a low rumble, "a bet's a bet."
He released Pedro, shoving him back onto the pool table with enough force to send the remaining balls scattering across the felt.
Pedro, though visibly shaken, straightened his suit with a practiced air of nonchalance. He turned to Kev, extending a hand with a forced smile. "This way," he said, forcing himself to appear composed.
Kev hesitated, his gaze darting between Fang and Pedro. "I... I just wanted to play some pool tonight," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Dancing wasn't really part of my plan."
Fang's growl echoed through the room, silencing the few remaining onlookers. "Kev," he commanded, his voice firm, "go dance with him."
Kev's eyes widened in surprise. "But... I thought dancing was against the rules," he protested, his gaze pleading with Fang.
Fang's ears flattened against his head, a clear sign of his displeasure. "And bet is a bet, Kev," he retorted, his voice cold and unforgiving. "Pedro won." He looked around at the remaining patrons, his eyes daring anyone to challenge his authority.
"I don't back out of a bet," he declared, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. He turned back to Pedro, his gaze piercing. "But don't get any ideas, llama," he warned. "This dance is all you're getting."
An awkward silence hung in the air as Pedro led Kev back towards the bar. Fang trailed behind them, his gaze fixed on Pedro's back, a silent threat simmering in his eyes. Kev felt a pang of sympathy for the llama, who seemed oblivious to the weight of Fang's unspoken disapproval.
The barroom throbbed with life, a sea of bodies swaying and grinding to the infectious music. The stage now held a small jazz ensemble, Asmodeus still leading from the piano. The air crackled with energy, a heady mix of sweat, booze, and the intoxicating scent of desire. Kev, despite his initial reluctance, couldn't help but be drawn in by the vibrant atmosphere.
Pedro navigated the crowd with surprising ease, his slender frame weaving through the throng of dancers. He stopped near the center of the dance floor, a space miraculously cleared amidst the chaos, and pulled Kev close, their bodies brushing against each other.
Kev glanced back over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Fang engaged in an intense conversation with Twitch and Skippy. The wolfman's anger was palpable, his gestures sharp and animated. Kev felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was the cause of Fang's distress, he shouldn't have agreed to play that game.
As the music shifted to a slower, more sensual rhythm, Pedro swayed gently, pulling Kev closer. The llama's height advantage was evident, his head towering over Kev's. Kev, feeling a mix of awkwardness and amusement, allowed him to lead, movements mirroring Pedro's.
"This was a bad idea, Pedro," Kev whispered, his voice barely audible above the music.
Pedro looked down at him, a surprised expression on his face. "Why would you say that?" he asked, his voice soft. "I won this dance fair and square."
Kev blushed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I think Fang would say you stole this dance with me," he mumbled.
Pedro chuckled, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through Kev's chest. "That's the price you pay for gambling," he retorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Kev looked up, meeting Pedro's gaze. "I didn't gamble," he pointed out, a hint of defiance in his voice. "And I'm paying the price now too."
Pedro laughed, his body swaying to the music. "That's ridiculous," he said, his voice filled with amusement. "You're a natural. Light on your feet, graceful movements… Your boss will be begging me to join him at that VIP table after we finish dancing, you'll see."
Pedro's gaze shifted towards the VIP section, and Kev followed his line of sight. Fang was sitting alone in the booth, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on them with an intensity that sent a shiver down Kev's spine. The wolfman's expression was a mask of barely contained fury, his jaw clenched, his muscles coiled tight. He looked ready to pounce, a predator guarding his territory.
"I hope Fang isn't too rough with you for this," Kev said, a genuine concern in his voice.
Pedro chuckled, but there was a hint of nervousness in the sound. "He might try to scare me a bit," he admitted, "but I've done nothing wrong… A bet's a bet."
"I hope you're right," Kev replied, a worried frown creasing his brow. He couldn't bear the thought of Fang hurting this oblivious llama, even if the dance made him uncomfortable.
The song ended, and Kev gently disengaged from Pedro's arms. "Good luck," he said with a small smile. "I'll see you over there soon, I guess."
He made his way back to the VIP booth, Twitch holding the velvet rope open for him with a quiet nod. As Kev slid into his seat, Fang's gaze locked onto his, a mixture of possessiveness and relief in his amber eyes.
"Sit," Fang growled, his voice a low rumble that brooked no argument.
Kev slid into the seat beside Fang, the wolfman's presence felt so safe, so much more secure than the swirling mass of beastly bodies on the dance floor. Fang's arm immediately snaked around Kev's shoulders, pulling him close.
"What did he say to you?" Fang demanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through Kev's body.
Kev leaned into Fang's embrace, his voice a soothing whisper. "Leave it alone, Fang," he urged. "He's probably just a thrill-seeker. Let's get another drink and forget about it."
"What did he say to you?" Fang repeated, his grip tightening slightly on Kev's shoulder.
Kev, a bit startled by Fang's insistence, looked up at him. "He... he said you would invite him to come talk with us in the VIP booth," Kev admitted, his voice hesitant. "He didn't really say much else."
A dark chuckle rumbled in Fang's chest. "That llama's right," he said, a predatory glint in his eyes. "I do want to have a little chat with him."
He raised a hand, signaling to Skippy, who was standing guard nearby. The kangaroo bouncer approached, his posture alert.
"Skippy," Fang instructed, his voice a low growl, "go get him."
"Yes, boss," Skippy replied, his voice a deep rumble. He turned and disappeared into the crowd, his powerful legs carrying him swiftly through the throng of dancers.
Skippy returned moments later, Pedro trailing behind him with a sheepish grin. The llama man entered the booth, his demeanor a careful balance of confidence and deference.
"What a surprise to see you again, Mr. Fang," Pedro began, his voice a smooth purr.
Fang's response was swift and cutting. "What," he growled, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury, "is so important that you'd risk your fucking life to mess with me?"
Kev straightened, his body tensing at the raw anger in Fang's voice. He hadn't realized the depth of Fang's rage until this moment. Pedro, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, his smile unwavering.
"It was a way for me to prove my skill to you, Mr. Fang," Pedro explained, his voice calm and collected. "I'm the best pool shark in the entire city. I wanted to show you what I'm capable of."
Fang scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. "Is that it?" he sneered. "The best pool shark in the city? That's all you have to offer?"
Fang leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. "So what's your big idea, Pedro?" he hissed. "Split the profits? You get to use my establishment to hustle my very own customers, and you pay me some measly rent money?"
Pedro shuffled uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the booth. "No, I..."
Fang cut him off, his voice rising in anger. "Or maybe you want me to run tournaments that you can enter, attract some high-rollers, and then fix the outcome?"
Pedro tried to interject, but Fang's words tumbled out in a torrent of accusations.
"Or maybe you're going to teach lessons here, start a pool club, build your own little empire under my roof?" Fang snarled. "I think your a fucking sneek, Pedro. Not playing with your full skill is a coward's tactic."
Pedro's face paled, his usual confidence replaced by a look of genuine fear. He fidgeted in his seat, his long neck craning awkwardly as he tried to avoid Fang's piercing gaze.
"Tell me, Pedro," Fang's voice was a low, menacing growl, "why should I let some deceptive little grass-chewer come in here and make a fool of me in front of my own guests?"
Pedro's resolve seemed to crumble under the weight of Fang's anger. "If you don't want to be business partners, that's fine," he stammered, his voice trembling slightly. "But it's not my fault you took the bet. I could have asked for a million dollars, or even ownership of the club. I could have asked for something important."
Fang's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You did ask for that, you fool," he hissed. "You asked for something worth much more than that cheap suit."
He nodded towards Twitch and Skippy, who had been silently observing the exchange. The two bouncers moved forward, their imposing figures casting long shadows over Pedro.
Pedro's eyes widened in alarm as they approached. "Wait, Mr. Fang," he pleaded, his voice a desperate whisper. "Please, reconsider. I'll do anything..."
But Fang was unmoved. "You won the bet, Pedro," he said, his voice cold and final. "Now live with the consequences."
Skippy and Twitch, their expressions impassive, grabbed Pedro's arms and began to escort him out of the bar. Pedro struggled, his voice rising in protest. "I won fair and square!" he shouted, his cries echoing through the now-silent barroom. "This isn't fair!"
Kev watched in stunned silence as Pedro was dragged away, his heart pounding in his chest. He'd never seen Fang so ruthless, so unforgiving. It was a side of the wolfman he hadn't witnessed before, a glimpse into the darkness that lurked beneath his charming exterior.
Fang, sensing Kev's unease, turned to him with a forced smile. "Now, where were we?" he asked, his voice a strained attempt at normalcy. "How about those drinks?"
Kev sat in silence, trying to process what had just happened, he didn't even notice the big horse-man bartender walking over.
Dale, holding a small tray with two drinks, his usual smirk replaced by a curious frown. "What was all that fuss about, Fang?" he inquired, setting the glasses down on the table.
Fang snatched his drink, downing half of it in one gulp. "Just another punk who thinks they can use this place as their own personal stomping ground," he grumbled, his voice a low rumble. He reached over and rubbed Kev's shoulder reassuringly. "We got rid of that little issue, didn't we, Kev?"
Kev, still a bit shaken by the encounter, nodded and took a sip of his Cape Cod. "Mmhmm," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid in his glass.
Dale leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "What did he do, Fang?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"He insulted the club," Fang growled, his eyes flashing with a lingering anger.
"The llama man was a pool shark," Kev interjected, his voice soft. "He just won a dance with me… it could have been worse."
Dale's eyebrows shot up, a look of disbelief on his face. He turned to Fang, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. "Fang," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "this can't happen every week. You can't go around throwing people out for winning bets, no matter how ridiculous they are."
Fang's jaw clenched, his anger reigniting. "It'll stop happening when the world stops putting brave idiots in front of me," he retorted, his voice a low growl.
Dale sighed, shaking his head. "That's not going to happen anytime soon, boss," he said, his tone resigned. "You're a magnet for trouble, always have been."
Fang took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I know, Dale," he admitted, his voice softening slightly. "But I won't let anyone threaten what I've built here. Not the city, not the enforcers, and certainly not some two-bit hustler."
Dale chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you should stop taking bets with customers, Fang," he suggested, a playful glint in his eyes.
Fang scoffed, a dismissive wave of his hand. "Stop trying to take away my fun, horse," he retorted.
Dale grinned. "Find a hobby you're better at, then," he quipped, before turning and heading back to the bustling bar.
After finishing their drinks Fang turned to Kev. "It's getting late again, my dear," he said, a hint of concern in his voice. "You should head to bed."
Fang stood up, offering Kev his hand. "Let's get you back to your room."
Kev took his hand, a warmth spreading through him at the familiar touch. As they reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Kev paused, turning to face Fang. "Will you come in for a glass of water?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
Fang leaned down, capturing Kev's lips in a tender kiss. "I apologize, but there are things I need to catch up on from last night," he murmured against Kev's lips, his voice a husky whisper. "But I'll try to come by in the morning before I go to bed."
He pulled away, his gaze lingering on Kev's face. "Sleep well, my assistant… my dear," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.
With a final squeeze of Kev's hand, Fang turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kev to make his way upstairs alone.
The apartment felt both familiar and foreign as Kev closed the door behind him. He lit a cigarette, the familiar ritual grounding him in the present moment. He sat on the couch, his thoughts drifting back to the day's events. Fang sleeping peacefully in his bed, Horns' panicked arrival, Reepia's unexpected coffee, Asmodeus's musical brilliance, Cindy's maternal concern, the pool hall's tense atmosphere... It had been a whirlwind of emotions, a kaleidoscope of experiences that left him feeling exhausted.
He didn't even bother lighting the lantern, content to let the moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminate the room. He savored the quiet solitude, the gentle breeze that drifted in through the open window, the distant sounds of the city humming in the background.
After a while, he stubbed out his cigarette and made his way to the bathroom. The cool water on his face washed away the lingering scent of smoke and the day's accumulated stress. He climbed into bed, the soft sheets a welcome embrace. As he drifted off to sleep he dreamt of wolves chasing llamas.