Chapter 15 Chapter 15
“Trouble isn’t something you can dodge, it finds you whether you run or laugh.”
Rihana Brattfield’s manicured fingers tapped against her phone as she barked orders into the line. “Follow them. I don’t care what it takes. Make sure those two troublemakers have the worst night of their lives. Got it? I want chaos.” She hung up, a satisfied smirk curling her lips.
Meanwhile, Clara and Trinity were in their apartment, music blasting through the speakers as they danced around in their living room, teasing each other and laughing. Trinity twirled, hair flying, a mischievous grin on her face. “I need to get my head off those handsome criminal men,” she said, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Fucking men with zero criminal records sounds like the perfect cure.”
Clara laughed, swaying to the beat. “You’re just needy. Trying to keep your clit in check because you know there’s no certainty Peterson won’t break out of prison to kill that poor guy.”
Trinity raised a brow. “Why would Peterson even do that?”
Clara smirked knowingly. “Because he likes you.”
Trinity snorted, waving her hand dismissively. “He doesn’t like me. He’ll probably just murder me instead. Handsome, murderous, no difference.”
They kept dancing, oblivious to the plotting chaos creeping closer outside.
By the time they reached the club, the music hit them like a wall. The bass vibrated through their chests, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. They raised their voices just to be heard.
“I can’t hear you!” Clara yelled over the music.
“Get drinks first!” Trinity replied, already heading toward the serving area.
They barely got a step forward when a rugged-looking man blocked their path, three others flanking him like predators closing in on prey.
“I’d love to bend you over this serving table,” the man growled at Clara, his words crude and unapologetic.
Trinity’s eyes narrowed. “Wrong girls, pal. Strippers are on the stage, not at the bar.”
Clara tugged at Trinity’s arm. “Let’s just go.”
Trinity shook her head stubbornly. “No. We won’t leave. They’ll enjoy themselves just not the way they think.”
The men exchanged glances, chuckling at her audacity. One of them lunged at Trinity, forcing her head down onto the table. The impact bruised her shoulder, and Clara struggled against the two men pinning her to the bar.
“Let her go!” Clara screamed, thrashing with all her strength.
Trinity cursed, twisting under the man’s grip, her knuckles scraping against the table. He yanked at her clothes from the back. She gasped, feeling a rush of fear she hadn’t anticipated. The noise of the club seemed distant, like underwater, except for the pounding of her heart and the maniacal laugh of the man above her. Everything was happening so fast.
Then, just as the situation seemed about to spiral completely out of control, the doors swung open. Jason stormed in with his men, fists raised, eyes burning with fury. Chaos erupted immediately.
The club became a war zone in seconds. Bottles shattered, tables toppled, and fists collided with flesh. Trinity and Clara ducked, twisted, and dodged, every nerve alive with fear and adrenaline. Clara saw a man swing at Trinity, she shoved him hard, making him stumble, while Trinity kicked another attacker square in the knee.
Clara’s mind raced. We have to get out… NOW! She grabbed Trinity’s arm, pulling her through the melee, narrowly avoiding a flying chair.
Trinity hissed through clenched teeth, “Almost there!” Her eyes were wide with panic, but she moved with calculated desperation, knowing they had to escape.
By the time they reached the street, both girls were breathless, hair plastered to their faces, clothes wrinkled, and skin scraped from the fray. They bolted back to their apartment, slamming the door behind them. For a moment, they simply sank onto the couch, gulping air.
Trinity grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the counter. “We couldn’t even enjoy one night of fun without danger tagging along,” she muttered, uncapping it.
Clara rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
They drank, first carefully, then with abandon, letting the alcohol loosen their nerves. Their conversation devolved into slurred laughter and teasing. Clara snorted loudly at one of Trinity’s ridiculous jokes, nearly spilling her drink. Trinity doubled over, clutching her stomach, laughter rattling her entire frame.
Morning came with a loud scream. Clara awoke, drool running down her chin, the room hazy from last night’s excess. “Ugh… why am I awake? And why are you screaming?” she groaned, rubbing her temples.
Trinity barreled past her, hair disheveled and eyes wide. “I had a wet dream!” she shouted. “About… Peterson!”
Clara groaned, pressing a hand against her forehead. “T… it’s just a dream. It’s not that bad. And can you maybe scream somewhere else? I’ve got a migraine and I feel like throwing up.”
“No!” Trinity protested, clutching her head dramatically. “It’s bad! Really bad! I need… I need an exorcism! Or at least therapy to heal!”
Clara flopped back onto the couch, letting out a long sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”
Before either could recover from the lingering embarrassment, there was a knock at the door. Clara cautiously opened it to see Jason standing there, his bruised knuckles visible from the fight at the club, eyes dark and calculating.
“You two owe me,” he said flatly, voice low and menacing. “For saving your lives last night. How do you intend to pay up?”
Trinity’s mouth fell open, and Clara felt a shiver run down her spine. Even hungover and disheveled and she realized that their reckless night out had consequences far beyond spilled drinks and bruised egos.
Clara swallowed hard, realizing once again that in their lives, chaos always just a step behind, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.