The air inside Delirium felt heavy, thick with money and secrets. She was still thinking how could someone everyone thought was dead be alive and not just alive but in control of money, but she ends up convincing herself that it was not him.
"No, I don't think it's him", Sam muttered to herself.
Sam adjusted her posture, stepping deeper into the dimly lit club. The music was low, more for ambiance than actual dancing, and the surrounding conversations were quiet but intense.
Men and women lounged in plush booths, sipping champagne and expensive whiskey. The air of exclusivity was palpable, and Sam couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that every person in this room had something to hide. She moved with purpose, keeping her eyes on the far end of the club where she had spotted the group of men earlier.
"Relax, girl," Sam muttered to herself. "You're not here for a party."
She noticed a couple sitting at a nearby booth, both impeccably dressed. The man handed over a briefcase while the woman nodded toward a third person sitting at the next table, a young woman, barely in her twenties. Sam couldn't hear the conversation, but the way they looked at her was enough to send a chill down her spine. It was like they were choosing her from a catalog.
"People like products," Sam whispered, disgusted. She had seen this kind of thing before, but it never got easier to witness.
Sam made her way to the bar, slipping onto a stool as she continued to survey the room. The bartender approached with a knowing smile. "What can I get you, beautiful?"
"Whiskey, neat," she replied, playing her part. Her eyes flicked to the mirror behind the bar, scanning the reflection of the room. She spotted a man at the far end, seated at a table surrounded by bodyguards. His face was half-hidden in the shadows, but Sam could tell he was important. The way people moved around him, cautious, deferential, made it clear.
Could this be Mr. X?
As the bartender handed her the drink, Sam gave a nod. What's the deal with the guy in the corner? He's got a whole army with him.
The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. You must be new here. That's someone you don't want to mess with.
"Really? What's his deal?
The bartender leaned in, lowering his voice. "The word is, he's got ties to all sorts of underground operations. Drugs, trafficking... you name it. He's always surrounded by people, but no one really knows who he is. Some call him Mr. X."
Sam's heart skipped a beat. She took a slow sip of her drink, hiding her reaction. "Sounds like someone I'd want to avoid."
"Smart girl," the bartender said, before moving on to serve another customer.
Sam turned her attention back to Mr. X, studying him from her vantage point at the bar. He was engaged in a quiet conversation with one of his bodyguards, but from this distance, it was impossible to hear what they were saying.
She needed to get closer.
Sam slipped off the bar table, moving through the crowd with practiced ease. Her eyes were locked on Mr. X, but she kept her casual peace, blending in with the wealthy clientele.
Just as she neared the table, one of the bodyguards glanced her way, his gaze lingering a little too long. Sam's pulse quickened. She turned sharply, pretending to head toward the bathroom, but her heart was racing. She had been spotted.
Before she could even think about her next move, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, well. Look who it is.
Sam froze.
Slowly, she turned to see a man standing just a few feet away. He was tall, with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit that screamed "expensive." But it wasn't his outfit that caught her attention, it was the scar that ran down the side of his face, a reminder of the last time they'd met.
It was one of the syndicate's men. And he recognized her.
"Oh my God ," Sam muttered under her breath.
He smirked, taking a step toward her. What's a little investigator like you doing in a place like this? You're not exactly Delirium material."
Sam's mind raced. She couldn't afford a confrontation, not here, not now. She glanced around, looking for an escape route.
"You've got me confused with someone else," she said smoothly, keeping her voice calm.
He laughed, shaking his head. I don't think so, sweetheart. I never forget a face, especially not one that caused me this. He pointed to the scar on his cheek. "You've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong for too long." it was the person Sam thought was dead years ago.
The bodyguard nearby started moving in their direction. Sam's window for escape was closing fast.
"I think it's time we had a little chat," the man said, reaching for her arm.
Instinct took over. Sam twisted out of his grip, landing a quick punch to his jaw. The man stumbled back, caught off guard, but Sam didn't wait for him to recover. She turned and bolted for the exit, her heart pounding in her chest.
Shouts erupted behind her as the bodyguards sprang into action. Sam weaved through the crowd, dodging tables and chairs as she made her way toward the door. She could hear footsteps closing in behind her, fast and heavy.
"Damn it, Sam, move!" she hissed to herself.
She burst through the front door of the club, the cool night air hitting her like a slap in the face. But there was no time to enjoy it. She could hear the men behind her, shouting orders, their footsteps echoing in the alleyway.
Sam didn't stop. She sprinted down the narrow street, her lungs burning as she pushed herself harder. If they caught her, she was as good as dead.
She turned a corner, her eyes scanning for any place to hide, any way to lose them. But the alley was a dead end, with only a single dumpster and a few crates stacked against the wall.
"Damm" she whispered, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She backed against the wall, her mind racing. She had to think of something, anything…..
"Going somewhere?"
The voice was smooth, confident, and chillingly familiar.
Sam whipped around, her eyes widening as she saw a figure step out of the shadows.
It was Raymond.
And he was holding a gun.