In the private room at the far end of a bar, noise from outside bled through the walls. Laughter. The sound of glasses clinking together. Sometimes a loud cheer from someone who'd had too much to drink.
But inside this room, everything felt different. The light was dim. A thin layer of cigarette smoke hung in the air. It was quiet. A hiding place.
Ryan sat on the leather couch. His body looked relaxed, but there was something commanding about the way he held himself.
One leg crossed over the other. He wore all black….. black shirt, pants, and shoes. In his left hand, a cigarette burned slowly. In his right hand, he held a cocktail glass.
On the floor in front of him, a man knelt. His whole body was shaking. Sweat ran down his face in streams. When he spoke, his voice cracked with fear.
"I almost got 'em delivered, boss. It's the Mad Dogs from Darkwater! They... they cornered me! I swear it wasn't my fault!"
The words floated in the air between them. Desperate. Weak. Pathetic.
Ryan didn't answer right away. He let the silence grow and grow until it felt like it would crush them both.
He tapped ash from his cigarette into the tray beside him. Then he took a long, slow drag and let the smoke out in a steady stream. His eyes moved to the side, landing on Kane, a man with broad shoulders who stood to his left like a dark shadow.
Kane shifted his weight. His large body threw a long shadow over the man on the floor. His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.
"Hmph. You lost the goods, and now you come crawling like a beaten dog?" His voice cut through the quiet room like a whip crack. Sharp. Without mercy.
He took a step closer and pointed his finger at the trembling man. "Why don't you break your own arm and offer it as an apology? Maybe our boss here will think about forgiving you then."
The man's eyes grew huge with terror. His whole body shook harder. He looked up at Ryan, silently begging to be saved.
The words hurt Ryan more than they hurt the man on the floor. His jaw clenched tight. He felt that familiar heavy feeling settle into his chest…. the same weight he always felt when his men talked like this.
They painted him as some kind of monster. Someone who wanted blood. Someone who needed people to hurt themselves to prove their loyalty. He'd never asked for that. In fact, it made him deeply uncomfortable.
His men had always treated him with fear and respect for as long as he could remember.
He didn't really understand why. Sure, it made some things easier. But it also built walls between them.
Whenever he tried to be kind or friendly, they would get more scared. They would think too hard about what he really meant. So he had no choice but to match the way they acted toward him.
But even so. He would never break someone's hand, especially not his men's hand.
Ryan turned his head slightly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Kane. He curved his finger, calling Kane closer.
Kane leaned down quickly, eager. He probably expected a quiet approval or some kind of instruction. Instead, Ryan's hand snapped up fast and smacked the back of Kane's head, hard enough to hurt, but not to injure.
Kane straightened up immediately. His eyes were wide with shock. "B-Boss...?"
Ryan leaned back against the couch. He put the cigarette between his lips, inhaled a little then exhaled out.
"What would I do with a severed arm?" His voice was calm, but it was a scolding.
The room went completely still. Kane touched the back of his head gently, wincing.
"I... I'm sorry, boss."
Ryan put the cigarette back between his lips. He breathed in deeply, then let the smoke out slowly.
"Find out where they are. We'll go get the goods ourselves when Matt comes back."
"Yes, boss." Kane's voice was quieter now. Smaller.
"What should we do with him?" Kane asked, looking down at the man who was still on his knees, still making small crying sounds.
Ryan waved his hand like he was brushing something away. "Just go."
But the man didn't move.
Instead, he threw himself forward. His hands pressed flat against the floor. His forehead came so close to Ryan's shoes that it almost touched them.
"Nooo..! Boss, please, please punish me! I'll never lose anything again. Take my pay for two months, no! Three months! Or demote me, please, boss. Anything but just sending me away!" He sobbed. The sounds came out frantic and desperate.
Ryan froze. The cigarette was halfway to his lips, stopped in midair.
What the hell...? I'm not even allowed to forgive people now?
The man kept talking, his words tumbling out wild with fear. Ryan could feel the others in the room shifting around uncomfortably. All of them were watching him. Like he was some kind of god. Like his decisions could never be kind. Only harsh.
His head started to throb with pain. He set his cocktail glass down on the small table beside him. It made a soft clinking sound.
He pressed his fingers against his temples and rubbed in slow circles. The weight of what they all expected from him pressed down harder than the smoke that filled the room.
"Get him out of my sight," he said quietly, his voice flat and tired.
Kane and the others moved immediately.
They grabbed the man and pulled him to his feet. They ignored his cries. Ignored how he begged for punishment, for anything except being sent away. His voice got quieter and quieter as they dragged him down the hall.
Eventually, the louder sounds from the main bar swallowed it up completely, all that laughter and clinking glasses.
Ryan didn't even look. He leaned back and stared up at the thin stream of smoke rising from his cigarette. He watched it twist and curl until it became blurry.
For just a moment, loneliness bit into him. Sharp and bitter. If even his forgiveness looked like punishment to them, what did that make him?
He thought about Marcus. The stranger he'd met earlier that day. With his calm smile and eyes that didn't look at him like he was some kind of monster. Ryan felt something small spark inside him. Fragile, but full of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, I could have a friend.
A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. Then he stood up, took his cocktail glass in his hand, and left the private room.
The warm sounds of the bar wrapped around him like a hug. Music playing in the background. It was like the world itself was trying to tell him something, that he wasn't meant to be alone forever.
He slid onto a stool at the bar counter. He set his glass down with a soft clink.
"Fill it up," he said to the bartender. His voice was steady.
"Yes, boss," the bartender answered quickly and started pouring.
Ryan let his eyes wander over the crowd of people. The corner of his mouth softened. For once, he wasn't looking for danger. He wasn't searching for threats.
He was only looking…..just looking..