Page 39 of Pistol Whipped

The sunglasses and hoodie I’m wearing are meant as a slight disguise for others, but for Dax, I lower the glasses so he can see me wiggle my eyebrows at him suggestively. Then, I brace my hands on either side of the open door frame and lean in toward my best friend, “I’m here to drag you out of your cave, my friend. Let’s go out, party, maybe even get you some…”

The word pussy is on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t ever leave it. Not because I don’t think Dallas can get any. With his long blonde hair and big blue eyes, the girls at our shows are always screaming his name. The guy could get any girl he wanted. He just…doesn’t.

He looks me in the eye. Our faces are just a few inches apart. His cheeks are pink, right before he groans and I know I’ve won, before he even steps back, letting me into the apartment.

“Give me five minutes to change,” he calls out on his way to what I presume is his bedroom. I follow, bouncing on my toes because I’m itching to get going, ready for the music, the lights, the thrum of the crowd. I get off to it, even if it’s not for us. I flop onto Dax’s bed and wait while my weirdo best friend collects his clothes and then takes them to the bathroom to change. I say weirdo, but I mean it affectionately.

Dallas has scars that he doesn’t want people to see, ever. Not even me. I’ve only seen them a handful of times in all the years we’ve been best friends. But I know a little about their source, so I would never, could never tease him for it. The only time I’ve ever even mentioned them is after I found out, from Rain, that he let her touch them. My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked if I could touch them too. His whole body lit up with goosebumps, so in the end, I told him I was joking, and that was the end of it. Like I said, weirdo, but my weirdo.

True to his word, he’s in the washroom for barely five minutes when he comes out in his typical V-neck T-shirt and black skinny jeans.

“Let’s go,” he says, resigned to his fate.

“Don’t sound so down, my man, you know I’ll always show you a good time.” I spring from the bed and throw my arm around his shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, we’re standing outside the back door of our favourite club, partially because the owner is Lou’s friend and we always get special treatment.

Sure enough, after a quick series of knocks, Bruce is there to greet us, “Mr. Brady, Mr. Kelly. Lou told me you’d be making an appearance tonight.”

He leads us through the packed club. It’s barely gone eleven, and already the dance floor is full. Music pulses and there’s a hard bass line under the melody that has both Dallas and me nodding our heads. Bruce escorts us to our usual table. The one up near the corner of the club’s VIP lounge. There’s already a bottle of my favourite vodka chilling in an ice bucket at the centre of the table, and I reach for one of the rocks glasses as I slip into the seat.

I expect Bruce to say his usual spiel and then fuck off, but he lingers, beady eyes darting between Dax and me. Choosing to ignore him, I don’t bother with ice and pour what’s gotta be at least a shot’s worth of vodka into my waiting glass. I’m about to toss the whole thing back when I’m stopped by Bruce leaning over our table. His shadowy presence is ruining the vibe since Dallas can never relax around strangers.

“I take it Ms. Gamble won’t be joining you tonight?”

There’s something about the way he says Rain’s name that I don’t like, and for the first time, I am kinda glad she isn’t here. He takes my silence as confirmation.

“In that case, would the two of you be interested in some special party favours?”

I assume he means girls, which is both gross and totally unwelcome.

“No, Bruce. No girls,” I say harshly.

“Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Brady, I mean party favours,” he explains what he means by pressing his nostril closed with one finger and giving a good, hard sniff. Drugs. He means drugs. “There would be a price, of course, but for my favourite regulars, I’ll even give you the friends and family discount.”

From the other side of Bruce’s looming frame, I see Dallas violently shaking his head. I’m not opposed to that kind of fun tonight, or ever really, but I’ve already dragged my best friend out here; I don’t want to force him into yet another situation he won’t like.

“Thanks for the offer, Bruce,” I reply much more congenially this time, “but I think we’ll stick to vodka.”

“Suit yourselves but let one of the girls know if you change your minds.” He gestures to the server currently dropping off a bottle of top-shelf whiskey at the table next to ours.

The two men in that booth each accept a glass from her and wait as she pours the amber liquid for them. They look familiar, but I can’t quite place them until I see the clearly older of the two lean in and suck on the other’s neck. They are the same guys from a year ago. Only last time there were two girls with them.

As if they sense my eyes on them, they both look up, but their eyes skim over me and land firmly on Dallas. Dax is staring back, and despite the low light of the club, I swear I see his cheeks turn pink again.

“Care to join us, handsome?” The younger man beckons Dallas with two fingers. His eyes are a haunting shade of grey. Neither of them says anything else, but there’s something in the way the older man looks at Dax that I don’t like. Or maybe it’s that the one with those damn eyes won’t stop licking his lips, like they want to devour him.

Can’t they see how uncomfortable he is? He’s practically shaking as I tug his sleeve and pull his attention back to me.

“Ignore them,” I snap. Thankfully, that does the trick. I catch the two men shrug and then slide from their booth. Still, my best friend watches them go with an expression I can’t quite read beyond the downturn of his lips.

“This is lame. I say we take Bruce up on those party favours.” I smile and run my tongue over my teeth.

We’re young rockstars and well on our way to being rich. So why not? Coke is a common party drug in the Kitty Kat Club. Pills are also popular, especially the kind that make you want to fuck like bunnies. I’m not sure which it’ll be, but I snag the next passing waiter and tell them I’d like Bruce’s current “party favour.” The man himself accompanies that same server when he returns.

“Glad you decided to partake, boys.” He gestures. His eyes are wider, glassier than before. Judging by that and the slight slur in his words, he’s partaken as well.

“It’s called Magic. And the rush is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. Have fun, boys.”