Sureiyan leaned back in her chair as she began.
"Tom, you might have heard, there's a storm brewing in this city. A new gang—violent, relentless, and utterly unreasonable—is clawing for control. They've already started muscling in on small and medium businesses, harassing anyone who doesn't pay up. Even the police? They've conveniently decided to look the other way. "
Tom's thoughts drifted to Tiffany's restaurant. Could that incident have been connected to this chaos?
Sureiyan's eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade, reading his silence.
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The only reason this agency of yours agreed to help me is because I keep the scum in line. Without me, the criminals here would tear the city apart. I built a hierarchy, Tom. A delicate balance. "
Tom's eyes flickered with an almost imperceptible reaction, but Sureiyan caught it.
A small, satisfied smile curved her lips. "But here's the catch, Tom. If we're going to work together, you need to bury whatever grudge you have against me."
Tom looked at her. "You're asking for too much."
Sureiyan chuckled, a sound as smooth as silk. "Am I?"
She studied him for a moment, her gaze calculated, then softened—just slightly. "Let's not dance around it, Tom. I know I've caused you trouble before. So tell me—what would make us even? Name it. A reasonable request, and I'll fulfill it."
Her words carried a deliberate edge, laced with charm . The bodyguard behind her stiffened, fists clenching, but remained silent.
Sureiyan raised a hand, as if she could sense her frustration, and her smile deepened. "You can see how much I value our... alliance."
Tom didn't flinch, his voice cold and firm. "I don't need apologies to do my job. I'm a professional."
Sureiyan shook her head, feigning disappointment. "That simply won't do. There's no place for unresolved tension." Her tone shifted, becoming velvet-smooth, almost a purr. "What if I offered you something more… personal? Myself, perhaps myself? Surely that would balance the scales."
Tom's expression didn't waver, but the bodyguard's restraint snapped. She stepped forward, her voice sharp and barely restrained. "This is going too far, Skyline, accept what the boss is saying!"
Sureiyan waved her off, her gaze never leaving Tom's. "Don't concern yourself with this, darling. I'm handling it." She leaned back again, eyes glinting with amusement and challenge. "What do you say, Tom?"
Tom's voice was steady. "I've heard enough. I will reach out in two days with a plan on how to handle your problem." Without another word, he turned and walked out.
When Tom stepped into the main club, his eyes immediately landed on the commotion near the bar. Maya was standing—barely—swaying with a drink in hand, yelling at a group of strangers who looked torn between confusion and fear.
He considered walking right past. This wasn't his problem.
But then he spotted Tiffany among the crowd, dressed as a bartender. Of course. A side hustle. She looked completely out of place, nervously attempting to de-escalate the scene with her quiet, polite pleas.
"Please, let's just calm down…" Tiffany's voice was soft, almost drowned out by Maya's drunken roar.
"That's what she wants!" Maya slurred, jabbing a finger at a short girl with spiky hair. "I know your type. Criminal! I can smell it on you!"
The girl, clearly no stranger to confrontation, squared up. "Excuse me? You've got the nerve to call me a criminal, grandma? Shouldn't you be home knitting or something?"
Maya gasped, clutching her chest like she'd been mortally wounded. "Grandma?! You little goblin! I'll—" She raised her drink as though it were a weapon, sloshing most of it onto the floor.
The girl scoffed. "Yeah? What are you gonna do? Break a hip?"
The drunkards around them burst out laughing. Tiffany flinched, raising her hands. "Please, ladies, let's not—um, spill any more drinks, okay?"
Maya whipped around, glaring at Tiffany. "Don't you 'ladies' me! This troll—this delinquent—needs to learn respect!" She hiccupped and swayed, nearly falling into Tiffany, who yelped and stepped back.
"You're too old to even be in this bar," the short girl shot back, grinning as if she'd already won.
Maya pointed at her triumphantly, as if she'd just solved a great mystery. "THERE! That's a hate crime! Bartender! Call the police!"
Tiffany blinked, flustered. "I'm not—uh, that's not how this works…"
The short girl rolled her eyes. "Lady, the only crime here is you."
The crowd oohed. Maya's jaw dropped. "You little witch!" She lunged forward, spilling the rest of her drink onto herself and the counter.
Tiffany stepped between them, palms out. "Please! Let's just talk it out—calmly—"
Tom sighed. Enough was enough. He strode forward and clamped a firm hand on Maya's shoulder. "She's done for the night. I'm taking her home."
Maya twisted around to look at him, her eyes bleary. "Tom? Tom! My hero!" She flung her arms around his neck, nearly pulling him down with her.
The short girl wasn't backing down. "Oh no, she's not leaving until she apologizes for calling me a criminal!"
Tom turned, his icy glare slicing through the noise. "You're done."
The girl froze, her bravado crumbling under his stare. "Uh… okay," she mumbled, stepping back.
Maya pointed a triumphant finger at her. "That's right! Bow down to justice!"
Tom sighed, prying Maya off him. As he half-dragged her toward the exit, she leaned in close, her breath reeking of vodka. "Tom, you're the best. Did I tell you, you're the best?"
"No," he muttered.
Tiffany gave him a grateful nod as they passed, though her face was still bright red from the chaos.