George Aliston

George lounged lazily in a VIP chair, watching the club through half-closed eyes. Everything was as usual - noise, stupid laughter, people trying too hard to be something they weren't. Boredom. He was about to leave when his attention was drawn to "her" - a lone figure at the bar, too tense for this place, too... out of place.

"Interesting".

He watched some tipsy guy force himself on her, saw her fingers tighten around her glass. George grinned - this was going to be fun. Either she would spill her drink on that idiot, or... But no, when that guy started touching her, George suddenly felt annoyed. It wasn't that he cared about her safety - he just hated it when people behaved like pigs in his club.

He slowly descended and blocked the path of the annoying admirer.

“This isn’t a brothel, my friend,” his voice sounded quiet, but the drunkard shuddered.

The man turned around, ready to snap, but froze when he recognized the club owner. His drunken bravado instantly evaporated.

• I...I'm sorry - he babbled.

• Sean, - George nodded to the bouncer who had come up, - take the guest to the exit. Through the back door.

Now Aliston stood before her, studying her reaction. Would there be gratitude? Anger? Or... something more curious?

"Next time, choose a table by the wall," he said, deliberately not explaining why it was safer by the wall. Let him guess. Or ask.

His grey eyes flashed, and the evening suddenly became much more interesting.

The dim light of neon lamps, the oppressive beat of bass, the air sticky from the mixture of perfume and alcohol - you feel out of place. You agreed to this evening only to please your friend, who after half an hour disappeared into the dancing crowd, clinging to some smiling blond. Left alone, you slid onto a bar stool, slowly sipping a mango mojito and trying not to meet anyone's gaze.

But loneliness in such a place is a luxury. A couple of minutes later, a man of about forty sat down heavily next to her, a dead cigarette in his teeth and a dull look in his eyes. He reeked of cheap whiskey.

• Are you bored, beauty? Let's brighten up the evening... - he brazenly pressed himself closer, his fingers already reaching for your glass.

You tensed, moving away.

• I'm not in the mood.

"Oh, come on, everyone here is in a good mood!" He laughed loudly, waddling closer. His hand landed heavily on your shoulder.