Scud thinks he'd have made a pretty good gangster too. Got the brains for it, at any rate. Could've been like Duvall's character in "The Godfather", slick and smart and ruthless, but above all the violence. Except for that whole horse head business, but Scud's willing to bet Duvall's character paid someone else to do the dirty work for him. When you move up in the food chain, it's a snap to find lackeys. Only problem with moving up, though, is that you gotta start at the bottom. Which brings him to where he is now. At some private room in the back of this freezing ass club (although the music's pretty decent), standing in silent attention while waiting for one Mr. Deacon Frost to acknowledge his presence. K'd said Deacon was the absolute suckhead in charge, and Scud didn't believe in working for anyone other than the best. Scud risks a peek around the room through lowered lashes. Nice set-up, man. Long ass sofas, covered in black leather, lines of coke or X or whatever it was and bottles of top-shelf gin on the glass coffee table, seriously stacked chicks just hanging, man, crawling all over themselves to get closer to the guys. Even the ugly, fat fuck with the stupid braids (Quinn, someone had called him) had a bitch on either side. If that dude was getting pussy, Scud was in like Flynn. And then there's the man himself. Deacon. Kicking it like every fucking cliché of every vampire tale told throughout the ages. Lean and pale, with piercing eyes, all casual and elegant in black, with a honey of a girl sitting to his left. Bet she's a hot fuck, Scud thinks. Bet Deacon gets her to scream every fucking night. "How'd you find out about this place again?" Deacon asks, low and smooth, his voice like sandpaper silk. When he brings his cigarette up to his lips, Scud notices the elegant taper to long fingers. "K – Krieger – he told me how to find you." "Did he?" Scud keeps his head down. K'd told him all about showing subservience and compliance in the beginning, until they got to trust you. "Yeah. Said you were the shit. And I ain't interested in working for anyone less." "How ambitious of you," Deacon drawls. "What was your name again?" At that, Scud risks another quick glance up. Deacon's still all relaxed and shit, but there's a glimmer of interest behind those cool eyes. Scud's worked with worse. "Real name's Josh, but everyone calls me Scud, like Stud only with a c, y'know." Deacon leans up, resting his elbows on his thighs as he gives Scud a contemptuous once-over. It's chilling, man, like maybe Scud's been out in the snow or ice or something. Like his insides would never be warm again. "Well, Josh," Deacon drawls, "let me explain a few rules to you. You don't just decide to become property. You're chosen. Why the fuck should I choose you?" Scud straightens up, ignoring the hisses and growls from the other vampires. Time to stop acting like some cock-smoking pussy and to start acting like the badass he knows he could be. "I know things." "You hear that?" Deacon glances around the room, and everyone chuckles appreciatively. It's not a pleasant sound. "He knows things. Well, so fucking what. Lots of people know things, and they're nothing more than appetizers." "I know how to build things. Fix things." Scud keeps his eyes on Deacon, keeps his voice cucumber cool. No way he's blowing this chance. "Electronics, security, weapons, you name it. I'm your man. Better'n that fuck Whistler that runs with Blade." "Better than Whistler?" Deacon looks around the room again, then pins Scud in place with another one of those piercing stares. "Mighty bold statement." "I stand by my work." "Alright, let's say you are." Deacon puts out his cigarette, and the blonde hottie sitting next to him lights up another, placing it between Deacon's lips. "Work's not all you'll be doing for me, if I take your sorry ass on." Fuck, but that smoke looks good. Scud's itching, man, just a toke would do, but he knows better than to ask. "What, um...?" The silk of Deacon's shirt rustles as he scoots forward again, giving Scud another one of those once-overs that leaves his skin chill to the bone and stretched too tight over his body. "Being a vampire's property means just that. I own you same as I own this building, this sofa. You're an ornament." An ornament. Scud thinks he can live with that. "Alright," he shrugs. "Good. Now strip." "What?" Deacon doesn't so much as bat an eyelash, but Scud could swear he can feel Deacon's fingers wrapping around his throat. "You heard me. Strip." Scud glances around, throat tight, darting from one vampire to the next, all of them eagerly sitting forward. One of them even licks his lips. Fucking fucking fuck. "Um, Big D, I don't think..." "Don't much care what you think, human." Deacon spits out the word like an epithet. "You'll do what you're told. Weren't you paying attention?" In a movement too fast to even be a blur, Deacon's in front of Scud, black menace and cool purpose radiating from his every pore. Scud's trembling, can't help it (fear man, just fear), as Deacon steps close, and leans in. He sniffs appreciatively at Scud's neck, and Scud swallows at the faint scratch of fangs along a corded vein. "If I want to pass you around like a party favor, you'll do it," Deacon whispers, voice whip-sharp. "If I want you to gorge on cock and pussy, you'll suck and lick and swallow until I tell you to stop. And the only words I want to hear from your sticky, come-filled lips," and he traces Scud's mouth with a sharp nail, "are 'please, sir' and 'more'. Are we clear on this?" Scud swallows, unable to look away. With trembling fingers, he starts unbuttoning his shirt, grazing Deacon's body with each swift movement. When he's completely naked, still trembling, Deacon steps back and kicks Scud's crumpled clothing aside. "Good," he murmurs, then waves his hand. "You can start with Quinn." Scud's gaze skitters to Quinn, who's already unbuttoning his pants. Oh, no way man, hell no. "Um, D?" Deacon arches a brow, and Scud stumbles over the rush of words. "I, um, thought. Well, maybe I could..." "You could?" "Be yours." The words stick in his throat, but he forces them out. If Scud's gotta give it up to anyone, it's gonna be to the man in charge. And no one else. "Y'know, start with you?" At that, Deacon smiles, showing the tips of white fangs. "No one starts with me, Josh. And Quinn's waiting." The idea of sucking that fat fuckhead's cock... Scud swallows what little is left of his pride. K'd tried to warn him, man. "Please, D." He keeps his voice low, even though he knows that everyone can hear every fucking word he's saying like he's screaming it out. Still, the illusion's nice. And Deacon pretends like he needs to lean in to hear him. "Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. You wanna tie me down and pound me 'til I bleed, I'm there. I'll...I'll suck you better'n a Hoover, man, I'll be the best whore in the whole fucking world. Just don't..." "That anxious are you?" "Whatever you want." Please, D, please... "Already told you what I wanted." Deacon says, and Scud doesn't need to turn to know that Quinn is behind him, pants still unbuttoned. Waiting. "Please..." Scud swallows his fear, and steps closer. Brushes the lightest of kisses along the hard set of Deacon's jaw. Deacon's eyes burn brighter than a thousand suns. "Imagine how much better it would be if it were just you getting me." "Ah, c'mon, Deacon, let us have him," Quinn calls. "We deserve some fun." "Such a sweet little bitch he'd make," the blonde purrs. Please, please. Scud presses another kiss to Deacon's jaw. "Please, D..." "Alright." Deacon snaps open the button of his trousers. The sound of the zipper is unusually loud in the crouching silence. "Do it." "Now?" "Right here, right now. You wanna prove yourself, you gotta show your skills in front of everyone." There's no room for negotiation in Deacon's voice. Well, he'd asked for it. Better to be a pet than cattle, Scud thinks, and drops to his knees.
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