Chapter Six
Pin prickles ran along the short hairs of Rus’ arms. He couldn’t explain it, but the heat of the club had washed over him in such a way that it created a cold sweat.
“Take this away from me,” Rus said, sipping his blue motorcycle with way too much gin. “This antifreeze is gonna kill me.”
“Oh, hush,” Dylan said with a laugh, disappearing the plastic cup onto a tray one of the go-go dancers-turned-drink server carried. “You okay?”
“No,” Rus said, digging in his pocket. “I need air. Fresh air.”
“Wanna go outside?”
Rus looked over at the window where the smokers sat enclosed in a tiny pocket of outdoorsy freedom. Only, it wasn’t freedom. The club had this wonderful outdoor venue for smokers to get some outdoor space while still within the walls of the club.
They looked like exotic pets on display, covered in smoke, flapping their mouths and waving their hands, and spreading their smoke like a poisonous nausea.
It made Rus’ stomach twist into knots, almost puking up his nicotine craving.
But he buried that putrid feeling and focused on the calm that came with an inhale.
Oh, how he wanted the solace of a single puff.
The ease of tension as his lungs swelled, the release of stress as he blew out smoke.
“No, it’s too crowded over there,” Rus said, eyeing the front doors. “Ugh, but they’re gonna charge us if we go outside outside again, aren’t they?”
The enclosure provided a bit of luxury, giving smokers freedom to be outside without actually exiting the club, and it allowed the club an easy way to charge a cover every time someone crossed their threshold.
Since they only invited twenty-one and up, they didn’t bother with stamps for anyone, and patrons left early at their own risk.
Rus gathered that much from the signs posted all around.
Rus could pay another five bucks to get in.
But in his drunken stupor, five dollars truly felt like the end of the world.
They would bankrupt him. He had to beat the system, defy them, defeat their vicious monopoly on robbing him for wanting to live his life.
A life where he’d puff his smokes in peace.
“I know where to go,” Dylan said, stuffing his hand in Rus’ pocket.
The brief entanglement of their hands made Rus pause. His cheeks warmed, his body stilled, and his eyes locked with Dylan’s.
“Follow me.” Dylan yanked the pack of smokes from Rus’ pants and led him through a dark corridor of the bar to another open venue, which split off to a side area with bathrooms and a “Do Not Enter” doorway.
“That’s closed off.” Rus hesitated.
“Not scared to break a rule or two, are you?” Dylan waggled his perfectly trimmed eyebrows.
Rus grinned. “Never.”
The night was looking up. He hadn’t realized how much fun Dylan was, finding him interesting from the start, but too straightlaced for Rus’ taste. Danger and defiance appealed to Rus.
Dylan swung the door open, sauntering ahead, and encouraging Rus to follow. They stepped outside on a metallic platform connected to a small staircase leading to a hidden alleyway.
What a true slice of heaven. The moon’s light crept through just enough to brighten this secret nook. The alleyway offered a buffer to the harsh wind from earlier. The secluded vibe kept everything silent. Everything except the muffled grunts nearby.
Rus tilted his head as he lit a smoke. His eyes locked with Dylan’s for a moment. A second at most. The fear in his sweet, smiling eyes sent a shiver of terror through Rus.
Dylan tensed, petrified.
Rus kept his gaze shifting, following the strange sound, and found a group of men kicking someone crouched on the ground.
Under the darkness, Rus spotted red shimmering against vibrant green hair. He heard the whiny plea of pain. He felt the twinge of guilt for daring to relax.
Every fiber in Rus’ body twisted into a state of alertness.
Six men stood over Kaiden, kicking him, laughing at him, beating him. Gay bashers. One was the jock who had flirted with Kaiden. A phony, a villain, a monster who dared to harm someone under Rus’ watch.
The booze cleared from his head, and rage consumed him.
By the time Rus clenched his fists, he’d sobered up enough to beat the ever-living fuck out of these monsters.
“Go get help.” Rus shoved Dylan toward the door.
The slam startled his crush, which hurt Rus. He didn’t mean to harm him, but he needed him awake, aware, actionable.
“Now,” Rus demanded.
He didn’t know who Dylan could get. A bunch of drunken clubbers wouldn’t do much good. Maybe Dylan could convince the bartenders to run outside. From his experience, they were often the most alert during drunken brawls. Surely, they’d be ready for bigots.
Once Dylan stumbled inside, Rus rushed down the steps. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t falter. He readied himself for war. Six men against him. He didn’t expect to win, didn’t expect to stop them entirely. But he had to hope to draw their attention.
All Rus really wanted was to steal their focus. The sounds of pain Kaiden let out were horrifying. Miserable. Brutal. He yelped and cried and wheezed. Rus couldn’t stand it, finding every second a misery he’d never escape.
“Get the fuck off him!” Rus barreled ahead, fists swinging as he lunged at two of the men.
He took them down with him, punching the entire time. When they shouted, he smacked harder, demanding blood as his knuckles cracked against their faces.
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Rus wriggled and swung and fought furiously.
The weight of another person twisted him off the two he pinned, so he kicked back. Legs moving in this deranged, methodical nature. Rus didn’t have time to think, to feel. Someone hit him. Hit him hard. Hard enough to sober out the last few drops of booze in his system.
It didn’t matter. He’d take a thousand punches to protect Kaiden. How dare they attack his friend?
Rus launched himself forward, finding a booted heel to greet his face the moment he gathered his bearings. Again and again, someone kicked him. More than someone. Multiple people kicked and punched him, making it impossible for him to claw his way up.
When he managed to get a swing in, he felt a harsh pelt against his arm. When he turned to look, someone bashed him in the head. When he buried himself, he managed to glance at Kaiden, who had been knocked away from the fight and was out of immediate danger.
Bloody and bruised, filled with fear, but alive.
“Run,” Rus gurgled, finding a fist collide with his jaw as he struggled to send that wish.
If he died here, truly died at the hands of these hateful pricks, he didn’t want Kaiden to join him. He didn’t want anyone to feel this agony.
A moment ago, he was trying to have a cigarette, flirt with a guy he liked, and now he found himself surrounded by half a dozen men beating the ever-living shit out of him because of his existence.
He didn’t know for certain why they attacked Kaiden, but he knew the reason the second he spotted them.
This was fueled by hate. Their words between brutal strikes made that clear.
They hated faggots, they wanted to kill them, to teach them a lesson for breathing, to end their queer plight on humanity.
“Die. Die. Die.” The words raged between the assault.
Rus couldn’t move, couldn’t counter them. They hit him everywhere, again and again.
“Biiiiiiiitch,” a queen screamed.
Rus knew her voice above anyone else. She’d spent half her show telling off the audience, introducing lesser queens, and making the night all about her.
Amber Ale’s long blonde wig cut through the thicket of limbs, beating Rus. She swung a bat, screeching profanities.
“Get ‘em,” she shouted, a gloved finger pointing to some dickless prick as a group of queens followed her lead.
Soon, a flurry of drag queens leapt into the fray, beating these bigots back. Fists swung. Heels dug into skin. Queens roared. No one relented.
The men fought back, true menaces to society, refusing to be beaten by creeps in dresses. They shouted slurs and made vicious threats.
The queens fought harder, shouted louder, and swung with more fury.
Soon, preserving dignity meant nothing. They had to preserve their lives. Amber Ale had the girls at her beck and call. None of them relented.
“Get ‘em!” she shouted, demanded, ordered with a swing of her bat as the queens raged ahead, beating down bigots with style.
Rus pushed himself up, taking a deep, dreadful breath. His lungs screamed at him, demanded he stop, but he pushed on. Despite the pain, Rus forced himself to his feet, checking his surroundings.
Dylan had arrived—likely the beacon who’d called the army of drag queens to war—and now tended to Kaiden.
Oh, poor Kaiden. Blood soaked his beautiful green hair. Dirt sullied his lovely corset and suit. It pained Rus to see his friend crying in fear. It enraged him.
“You better run, you fucking pussies!” Amber Ale roared loud enough to wake the entire city.
That wasn’t good enough for Rus. He hated these men. Not for what they’d done to him. He’d die a thousand deaths at their hands, proud of his valor for fighting back. No. He couldn’t let them escape after having beaten Kaiden, having harmed a hair on his head.
“Get back here,” Rus shouted, his raspy voice cracking.
He bolted ahead, tearing through the alleyway and giving chase to these bastards, these bigots.
They wouldn’t escape.
Rus wouldn’t allow it.
He had to stop them.
Had to beat them.
It wasn’t fair.
His body ached as he chased after them. His skin screamed as he bolted down the corner. His muscles begged for release as he pushed through the crowd of bystanders.
They weren’t getting away. Not tonight. Not ever. It wasn’t fair.
Before he could grab them, stop them, they reached a truck and drove away.
“Fuuuuck youuuuu!” Rus roared.
He did his best to study the make and model, the color in the darkness with a few streetlamps to illuminate them.
Dark blue, oldish, and big truck was all he managed.
Rus hated cars. His mom never stopped talking about them, sharing her work life regularly from years of sales.
So, Rus did his best to tune it out, not wanting to learn about her job, about his dad’s job.
Their paths felt inevitable, and he wanted his own.
Now, he regretted that choice, wishing he’d paid more attention.
He repeated the few details he had again and again as he walked back to the club, spending the few blocks trying to recall any details he could to uncover these monsters.
Sirens illuminated the street, shining red and blue everywhere. Dylan stood close to Kaiden, who cried, laying there bloody and bruised, doing his best to compose himself.
This night was going to haunt Rus. His bones ached as it soaked into every cell of his being. He’d remember this forever: the night hate won, and the night these cowards escaped.