"Where are we going?"

"You look like you need to get out a bit." 

"Out? Where to?" 

He shrugged. "We can always beat the crap out of Gaston again?" 

"Again?"

He never answered my question. Instead, he took me to the garage where a driver sat ready and waiting.

After a few minutes driving through forests and country roads, we arrived in the town I grew up in. The street we drove along pulsed with life, a stream of people moving back and forth in the warm night air. Neon lights in all colors blinked from signs and windows along the facades. Shops, bars, and restaurants were tightly packed side by side. Music flowed out from open doors, a mix of deep bass lines and loud beats echoing between the building walls. 

Along the sidewalks, people stood in small groups, some leaning against the walls with cigarettes in hand, while others laughed and talked loudly. The asphalt of the street was worn, filled with traces of previous nights, yet it still gleamed in the artificial light. Occasionally, a car could be seen slowly passing by, thumping with its own music and filled with laughing passengers. Distant sirens and car horns blended with the bustling murmur, and sometimes the sound was broken by heels clicking or someone calling out to a friend through the crowd. At the end of the street, the nightclub came into view—a large, almost industrial building complex with a blinking neon sign over the entrance. The club's name shone brightly in pink and blue, and below it stood a long line of eager clubgoers. 

People in colorful clothes—sparkly tops, baggy jeans, sneakers—stood chatting while looking forward at the bouncer. The heavy bass from the music inside the club felt almost like a heartbeat through the ground, vibrating, as if the building itself was breathing with the city. It was a place where the night had just begun, where everyone was on their way somewhere, but for now, gathered in this electric, pulsating moment on the street. 

"You were serious," I gasped, my eyes wide as I realized where we were headed. To Clocksworth's great delight. 

"Of course," he chuckled as the Mercedes stopped on the familiar street a bit away from the club where I knew Gaston and his gang usually hung out. 

"Clock, you don't have to..." 

"What?" He flashed his charming smile and lit his cigar. "Listen, Belmont, here's what's going to happen," he took a long drag before continuing, "I've already introduced myself to him once, but it was under more private circumstances." He laughed and stepped out of the car, closely followed by me. 

His eyes examined me from top to bottom before he took off my jacket, tossed it into the car, rolled up my shirt sleeves to my elbows, and unbuttoned a few buttons at the collar. "Much better." 

"So we just go in and.. then what?" 

"No," he answered curtly. 

"No?" 

"You'd better toughen up first!" He smacked me on the back of the head, ringing in my ears, "Look tough! Or at least indifferent. Cold. Hard." 

"Sure, I'll look cold," I muttered in response, earning a pat on the cheek.

"Good boy," he chuckled and pulled a bag from his pocket. He poured a handful of pills into his hand and swallowed them before walking past the line of waiting people, immediately being let in by the bouncers. "He's with me." The bouncer quickly glanced at me and stepped back to let me through, but he clearly avoided making eye contact with either of us. 

I felt everyone's gaze on me, and I did my best to appear indifferent as I followed Clock into the club. The music thumped. It was Saturday night, and the place was packed with people. He walked straight to the bar, ordering for both of us while my eyes scanned the club until I quickly spotted Gaston. 

"He's sitting in the VIP lounge." 

"Alright, let's go." 

He took the bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other, starting to walk toward the raised platform where Gaston and the others sat. The people on the dance floor made way for us as we approached, and it was clear that everyone knew who Clock was. I was surprised—the club was in my hometown, and I recognized many of those dancing and sitting at the bar. How had he managed to become so talked about in such a short time? Or had I just missed his existence all these years?

 In the dimly lit VIP booth at the back of the nightclub, all five of them leaned against the black leather seats, surrounded by half-full glasses and bottles of champagne and spirits. They were all dressed in expensive clothes—designer jeans, pressed shirts, and some with gold chains sparkling in the weak neon light. The music thumped heavily around them, but their bodies were tense, and the conversation had died down. 

They no longer sat relaxed but had turned their gazes towards us as we moved through the crowd. Gaston, with hair styled in perfect waves, raised his glass to his mouth but hesitated before taking a sip, his gaze darting nervously between his friends and the two figures approaching. His jaw clenched as he slowly lowered the glass again, as if trying to hide his anxiety behind a mask of indifference. 

Another one, wearing a thin silver ring on his finger, drummed his fingers quickly against the tabletop. His knuckles were white, and despite his relaxed, almost nonchalant posture, his gaze was alert and tense, like a predator waiting for its next move. His eyes narrowed as he met my hopefully unshakeable gaze. Cold. Hard. The words echoed in my mind, and I put on an invisible mask to appear as indifferent as possible. 

A sense of triumph bubbled within me as the guy looked away and took a nervous sip from his drink. The other three sat silently, exchanging worried glances while their bodies subtly moved closer together, as if seeking comfort in their group. One of them, with short-cropped hair and a red leather jacket, nervously drummed his fingers against the rim of his glass, his eyes constantly flitting between Clocksworth and the door, as if considering whether there was an escape route. As we approached the booth, it felt as if the entire atmosphere around us shifted.

The guys must have sensed it, and even though none of them stood up or said anything, there was a palpable feeling of discomfort spreading across the table. As if they knew that what was coming wasn't about a friendly conversation—and that they would soon have to confront something they weren't prepared for. Everyone turned to Gaston, their leader, who nonchalantly ran his fingers through his styled hair.All it took was a sly smile from Clock, and they immediately left the table while a busboy quickly came to clear away all the dirty glasses before we sat down. 

Clock poured the champagne and handed me a glass, smiling as he raised it in the air and teasingly toasted to Gaston, who had positioned himself further away in a dark corner, studying us. I laughed loudly; never in my wildest dreams had I imagined taking his place at the VIP table. Adrenaline pumped through me, alcohol rushed through my body, and the music vibrated within me. I leaned back on the couch and propped my feet up on the table; I could definitely get used to this. 

I felt Clock's gaze on me, so I turned my head and raised an eyebrow. "So, this is where I have to drag you to get you to relax." He looked pleased as he moved closer, his mouth right by my ear. "Do you see the looks? Can you smell the fear and envy?"

 I glanced out over the dance floor and nodded. "All the girls want you, and the guys would do anything to switch places with me." 

"That, Little One, is power," he grinned, clearly unaffected by everything happening around him. He fiddled with the bag in his pocket, and I saw him take even more pills. He noticed my questioning look and sighed. "They dull the hunger." 

"The hunger?" 

"Mmhm, it's like stepping into a damn dancing buffet," he smirked, licking his lips. 

"But...?" I almost whispered. 

"But, Anthony has rules." 

"What kind of rules?" 

"We never eat out," he replied, winking at me with one eye before downing the champagne.

 Suddenly, I felt trapped and nauseous, images of Clocksworth going all out, killing everyone in the club and draining them of blood, flashed through my mind. The loud music, the stench of sweat, the heat, and the thick air in the venue made me dizzy. 

"I need to get some air," I mumbled, walking toward the terrace where I knew there was a smaller dance floor—but mainly fresh air. I pushed through the crowd; by this point, everyone was so drunk that they didn't notice who I was, and no one made way for me anymore. I was almost outside when a hand grabbed me, and I felt a tug on my arm. I stopped abruptly. 

"Bel?" The voice was familiar and full of surprise. "I thought you had moved away?" I turned around and looked down at the girl still holding me. 

"Susie, it's been a while." 

"Bel!" She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. "Several months! Where have you been? I was SO worried, but your dad refused to tell me where you were. He said something about a new job and..."

 I shrugged; what the hell was I supposed to say? "Yeah, I'm just here visiting." 

"So, are you going back?" 

"Mmhm, tonight." Susie studied me. She and I had gone to high school together, and she had become one of my best friends. A wave of guilt washed over me, and I felt the need to give her an explanation. "I don't know what to say, but you don't need to worry about me, Su." 

"Are you working for him?" She nodded toward Clocksworth, who was still sitting alone on the couch where I had left him. 

"No, not really."

 "Is he your new boyfriend?" 

"No! What the hell, Su... we work together." I felt the nausea creeping back again, and I glanced toward the doorway to the terrace. "I need to go." 

"Promise you'll get in touch sometime!" I gave her a long hug before I stumbling off, mumbling, "I can't promise anything," low enough that she probably didn't hear me. 

When I stepped outside, the group of dancing twenty-somethings dispersed, leaving the terrace  empty for me—or almost empty, at least. 

"Who is she?" 

I leaned against the wall and hid my face in my hands, knowing it was Clock who had made everyone leave. "A friend from school." 

"A girlfriend?" 

I sighed heavily and took deep breaths of the fresh air. "No. I'm not into girls."

 "No?" 

I was still keeping my eyes closed, pressing my palms against my temples in a desperate attempt to stop the world from spinning. Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands slowly move up under my shirt and over my stomach. 

"So, what are you into then?" 

My body instantly revealed what I felt. My skin prickled at his touch, and my breaths quickened. My hands fell from my face and landed on his shoulders, fingers automatically finding their way into his hair as his body pressed me harder against the wall. His breath was warm against my neck. Thoughts spun in my head as Clocksworth's hands moved down over my hips and back toward my lower back. Warm. He was warm. Aren't vampires supposed to be cold? 

His lips were dangerously close to my neck when I finally realized what we were doing, and I opened my eyes to stare directly into his hypnotic gaze. "You... you're not allowed to eat out." 

His eyes met mine for a brief moment, chuckled, and placed a soft kiss on my neck before straightening my shirt and leaving me, still pressed against the brick wall.