Chapter 1
Leaning against the bar, you waited for the bartender's attention. It wasn't too busy, but his focus never fell on you, leaving you to wait for a drink. Just another thing different after The Last Drop's restoration. Vander was quick to serve, and even Silco's chaotic club version of the place had a decent bar flow. After Jinx's tantrum that caused the place to go up in flames, Sevika had set out to rebuild it. Similar to Vander's vision, it seemed warmer and more comfortable, but an offputting rockiness sat behind the operation. It seemed a little too quiet, like everyone was waiting and watching to see who would claim it first. Or who would destroy it first. And apparently, it took twenty minutes to get a fucking drink.
Giving up, you turn away from the bar, accidentally colliding with the person behind you.
"Shit, sorry," you mumble, eyes widening when you realize who it is. Standing in front of you, Sevika raised an eyebrow in amusement. At least a foot taller, she towered over you, casting an intimidating shadow. Her hair was short, the scars along her face and neck displayed by the front half of her hair that had been pulled back. Placing her hands on her hips, her elbows indirectly blocked you from going around her.
"You gonna order something?" she asked, nodding to the bartender who had finally noticed the bar had multiple sides. You rolled your eyes, already having given up on any sort of tipsy relaxation for the night.
"No, I'm fine," you replied, waving a dismissive hand. "This place is too fucking slow, ruined the mood."
"Patience ain't your thing, huh?" she observed, stepping up to the bar to order a drink. She leaned back against the bar as she waited, gently sizing you up. Her broad shoulders moved as she leaned, shifting underneath her jacket. As councilor and leader of Zaun you know she's a busy professional woman, but here she seemed relaxed. Something in the way she looked at you was comfortable, like these couple hours of anticipated post-work recreation were what she really needed.
"Not really, no," you admitted briefly, squirming under her gaze but feeling strangely unjudged. The bartender comes back with her drink, placing her glass on the bar along with an identical one.
"Then what is your thing then?" Sevika asks, offering you one of the glasses. You are slightly intimidated by her, not sure what you would have to say in conversation with Zaun's leader. Actually, you knew exactly what not to say to her. But it was the answer to the exact question she was asking. In an attempt to keep her questioning complacent, you take the offered drink and sit on the stool next to her.
"I...run numbers" you reply vaguely, filling space by sipping on your drink. Lacking surprise and matching Sevika's demeanor, it's a dark musky whiskey. You roll it around on your tongue, it's not your first choice but it's not too bad.
Sevika spots your avoidance, knowing there is something you're hiding. It's not unusual to be vague in the undercity, people have all sorts of jobs they don't exactly want to brag about. But it's also not unusual to be skeptical either.
"Numbers, huh?" she sipped her drink, casually but stared pointedly. Your privacy was respected, but Sevika doesn't exactly like being lied to. "What kind of numbers exactly?"
Hesitating briefly, you wonder if you could distract her to avoid the questioning. You straighten your back, slightly pushing your chest out, and run your finger on the rim of your glass. You lean closer to her, humming softly.
"Big ones," you answer, the slightest bit of sultry undertone in your voice. You aren't being disgustingly outward, but you do have a talent for coxing people into getting what you want. But you had the feeling that Sevika also likes to get what she wants, and is more irritable when she doesn't.
"Big ones?" she repeats. Returning your energy, she leans in slightly closer, her eyes set on your fingers on the glass before piercing your gaze. Her stare holds only a hint of intrigue for your persuasion attempts, holding more determination as she pushes further for the truth. "Maybe I need to be more specific. Who's numbers do you run?"
When you don't respond the last of her small reserve of patience dries out, setting her glass down with snapped annoyance. She grips your wrist, pulling it from your glass to pin it on the bar. It doesn't hurt, but you can feel the authority as she waits for your answer. When your silence persists she growls lowly, closing in on you. Her grip and her stare are practically screaming, don't make me ask you again.
You struggle against her grip, but she keeps you still. Her gaze flicks to your pinned hand, noticing the one thing you've been trying to hide. The sleeve of your jacket had ridden up, exposing the tattooed symbol on your forearm. Her eyes widen, not in fear but in disbelief.
"Chross?" she baffles, avoiding your gaze in anger, like she is trying to decide what to do next. She steps away from the bar, hands swaying beside her as she paces slightly. Chross isn't exactly immensely feared by the undercity, but he is one of the more legit options of Chem-barons. He had laid low during Kiramman's attacks and Ambessa's battle at Piltover, and had returned to Zaun for a malicious comeback. His mark used to offer you some protection, but now it's just as helpful as a neon red target on your back.
Sevika really couldn't care less about Chross, chem-barons aren't immortal and tattoos can be removed. What she was most focused on were the bruises and lashes above the mark, a result of Chross' displeased demeanor from your underperformance earlier that day. And the reason you were here, trying to nurse away the pain with something strong.
Her eyes flash with something angry and calculating. She downs the rest of her drink before catching your eye one more time.
"Name?" she asks.
"What?" You're confused, she already knew it was Chross's mark. Who else did she think was behind your mistreatment?
"Your name." she clarifies, standing close enough that you can smell her cologne. A musky rich scent that mixed beautifully with her permanent smoky aroma. It's enticing enough to distract yourself from your brief moment of stupidity. "Or does Chross not let you have one of those?"
You answer her, dissecting her body language for a clue as to what she's thinking. She seems to be planning something, but the intent of it you're unsure. There's no glint of revenge or amusement, just a cold calculating face.
Hollering from the pool table, her groupies interrupt her silent stream of thinking. She rolls her eyes before regarding you one last time.
"Stay here," she commands before striding over to the pool table. Working on finishing your drink, you contemplate why you are even listening to her. You didn't belong to her, no matter how much of Zaun she 'controls', and you didn't have to wait here like a troubled child waiting to be scolded. Chross wasn't your perfect choice either, but it was the best option you had at the time. Sevika had to understand that, a few disciplinary actions here and there are bearable. There are far worse ways to live in the undercity.
Engrossed in your drink, you don't realize when someone walks up to you. He clears his throat, a deep harsh noise.
"Time to go," he orders. Fighting the urge to cringe, you find his commanding attitude disgusting. His conceited voice drips with swagger, getting a high just from ordering you around. You miss Sevika momentarily, knowing her commands would be gentler. Still stern, but with no malice, just protectiveness and concern. Everything in you wants to run from him, but you know that he will catch you. And you don't want to make things worse than they already are.
Taking the final swig of your drink, you smile at him sarcastically. Jarek knew exactly what you hated, and loved treating you like that. He was meant for your protection, but you know Chross cared nothing for your safety. Jarek was just the insurance to make sure you stayed well-behaved.
"Don't be smart," he growls, towering over you. He's not the tallest guy you've seen, but he's larger than you, and his frightening presentation makes up for the lost inches. The grotesque tattoos on his face, the crude jewelry on his body, and the jarring scars on his exposed skin all fed his chilling appearance. "Let's go."
You instinctively stand, his orders an irritating reminder of the leash Chross has on you.
"I can't have one night off?" you ask. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Sevika watching you, irritated and bothered. Like someone had stolen what she wanted.
"Nope," Jarek clasps your wrist, brutal fingers digging into the gift you'd received earlier from Chross. Wincing, you bear the uncomfortable sting as he tugs you out of the bar. "Chross wants you back. Let's fucking go."