Chapter 42: A No is a No
For a moment, Victor’s world came to a standstill. The people dancing, the flashing lights, the blaring music—all of it blurred together. At that moment, the only things that existed were him, the woman at the bar counter, and the distance between them.
"Lizzie," he whispered to himself.
His heart thudded loudly against his chest, and before he could think any further, he knew he had to confirm it was her. Victor had been trying to find ways to reach her—using Cassian as an excuse, grasping at any opportunity—but all his efforts had come to nothing.
This was his chance.
With that thought in mind, Victor rushed down the stairs, momentarily forgetting why he was even here. Once he reached the floor, he squeezed his way through the crowd.
Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Instinctively, he turned his head, something he immediately regretted.
The moment he turned, a powerful blow slammed into his stomach.
"Ack—!"
He doubled over, arms wrapping around his abdomen.
Before he could recover, a rough cloth—something like a sack—was pulled over his head, followed by a sharp, chopping strike to the back of his neck.
*
*
*
"Wooh!"
Minnie let out a whistle as she dusted off her hands, tossing Victor’s unconscious body onto a pile of trash bags near the club’s back exit.
"That was close," she huffed, crumpling the small sack she had used to cover his head. "Seeing him almost sobered me up."
She stepped closer, squatted down, and studied him.
"Should I kill him?" she muttered, remembering how this man had shattered Lynsandra’s heart into pieces. "Seriously. Of all places, he just had to be here tonight. Good thing I caught him before he showed up in front of Lizzie and ruined her mood."
Minnie tried to stand, but the moment she did, her vision spun violently.
"Shit—"
The rest of her words dissolved into vomit as she doubled over.
"I guess..." she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing. "I haven’t sobered up that much—blegh!"
*****
Inside the bar, life continued as the music shifted into something even louder.
Meanwhile, Lynsandra held her final glass, her vision already doubling, her stomach churning. This was it, her last drink.
"Last one," she told herself. "Just one more."
Even in her intoxicated state, she vaguely remembered that she had work tomorrow.
"Right," she muttered. "I have a meeting... an important one."
She frowned, trying to recall Virgo’s words from earlier. "I think... he was saying... something something something."
She knew it mattered. She just couldn’t remember why.
"Well." She shrugged and giggled.
Before taking the shot, her gaze drifted to the empty seat beside her.
"Is she still throwing up?" she murmured. "Tch. A lightweight."
Chuckling to herself, she finally took the shot. Lynsandra held the alcohol in her mouth, head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, her palm slapping against the bar counter. When she finally swallowed, she winced and felt her body slump forward against the counter.
"God..." she groaned as the world spun. "...I’m such a lightweight too."
She closed her eyes, planning to rest for a bit while waiting for Minnie to return. But then...
"Hey, miss, do you want to come with us?"
"Come on... it’s alright."
Lynsandra’s brows twitched at the unfamiliar voices cutting through the music. She cracked one eye open, her head still resting on the counter, blinking until her vision cleared enough to focus.
Nearby, a group of men surrounded a table with three women.
"..." Lynsandra pressed her lips into a thin line as she lazily pushed herself upright.
"Sorry, but we’re not—" one of the women stood abruptly, signaling her friends to leave.
Before they could move, one of the men grabbed her arm. She jolted, her face paling as she stared at his grip.
"Come on, it’s not like we’re horrible company," the man said with a vile smirk. "It’s going to be fun... for us."
The woman bit her trembling lip just as another of their group rose to her feet.
"Let her go." Unlike the first, this woman stood straighter, her voice firmer. "We already said no. Just leave us alone."
The third woman tugged anxiously at her arm, clearly terrified by how the situation was escalating.
The man frowned, his gaze hardening as he looked at the woman who spoke.
"Hey, four-eyes," one of the men sneered. "We’re not asking you to join us. We want your friends. You should be grateful we’re even inviting someone like you."
"Heh." The man holding the first woman tugged her closer, his eyes roaming over the woman with glasses. "Actually... she doesn’t look bad."
"Please, we’re not really—" the third woman whimpered.
The disturbance had already drawn attention from nearby patrons, but no one intervened. If anything, people deliberately looked away, clearly unwilling to get dragged into it.
"Let’s just go, yeah?" The man reached out for the third woman and yanked her to her feet.
"S–sir!"
Suddenly, a staff member rushed forward, trembling as the five men turned to face him.
"These are guests, a-and—and it’s not allowed to force them—" the staff stammered.
"Huh? What are you trying to say?"
One of the men grabbed the staff by the chest and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.
The staff gasped, his feet dangling in the air. Around them, people gasped for a very different reason.
"That tattoo..." someone whispered, eyes wide, staring at the three uneven claw marks etched into the back of the man’s hand.
"It’s the Trine," another muttered.
The Trine was a collective of three major gangs in the city, each marked by three uneven claw scars. To identify which faction a member belonged to, one only needed to see which claw mark was the longest.
And these men... they bore the mark of the Third Scar.
The most violent faction of the Trine.
The men smirked as fear rippled through the crowd. Even the women they were harassing turned pale, dread sinking into their chests the moment they realized who they were dealing with.
Silence stretched across the club until a single voice cut through it.
"Hey," Lynsandra called calmly. "They already said no. A no means a no. Didn’t you learn that growing up?"
