Dirty Destiny looks like a fucking war zone right now. It should probably be called Battlefield. People are shouting and screaming, and the cops are rounding up everyone they can lay their hands on.

NYPD that’s storming up the place are wearing tactical uniforms, and I have to wonder what the hell happened for a raid like this to do down in here. I mean it’s a fucking strip club. They’re making it look like a haven for fucking ISIS.

Either way, none of this shit fucking matters; what matters is that I have to find Destiny.

I start running toward the stairs, but that’s when I hear someone screaming right behind me. “GET THE FUCK DOWN!” one of the policemen shouts, pointing his gauge shotgun right to my face.

I stare him down and, moving slowly, I start raising my arms up in the air. “DOWN! I SAID DOWN!” he continues shouting, but I just take one cold-blooded step toward him. He points his shotgun up at the air and fires toward the ceiling, but I don’t even flinch.

Fuck this motherfucker.

I know, cool it.

Don’t look at me like that, okay? I know I shouldn’t be taking on the police.

But today I can’t risk any fucking delays either.

I take a few deep breaths and back the fuck down.

But if I get dragged down to a police station, Strokes is going to have a hard time handling the transfer of the new girls to Python all by herself. Not to mention that the police might decide to investigate Python after finding me here.

Yeah, fuck it, I’m not taking a chance.

I take a deep breath, ready to go for the shotgun in the cop’s hands, but that’s when the lights go off. The whole place goes fucking dark, and all the doors that lead out swing open.

I use the momentary confusion to blend with the scared crowd once more, slipping out of a sight before the cop has a chance to unload his shotgun on me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see someone I’d rather not see: Lester fucking Vicks. That motherfucker is running this show. I should’ve realized this right from the start.

Somehow, I have a feeling that he’s doing this to Destiny because of me.

But how? And why?

The answers will have to come out later; right now, I need to find Destiny and make sure that she’s safe. But first, I fish my cell phone out of my pocket and fire off a quick text message to Strokes. Police raid at DD, I type and then hit send. She’ll know what to do in case Lester decides to pull the same stunt at Python.

The moment I see an opening, I run up the stairs that lead to Destiny’s office. Police are handcuffing everyone in sight, so I’m taking a huge risk just by being here… But fuck, I need to know if she’s safe.

I step inside her office, but the place is completely empty. I call her name just in case she’s hiding, but my only reply is silence.

Fuck, what do I do now?

Don’t worry, I’m not asking you.

No matter what the situation, I’m still fucking cool as a fucking cuke. I’ve been to this rodeo before. Not completely worried just yet.

I step out of the office and, noticing a door open on the side, I start piecing things together. I enter, head down a hallway and find myself at the top of a fire escape; on the way here every single door was open, so Destiny must have come through here with the police on her heels.

Running down the fire escape, I call my driver and tell him to pick me up on the back.

You know, you gotta appreciate his fucking response when I tell him to meet me outside the club.

“Already here, boss, turned the car around the moment I saw the police,” he tells me and it totally fucking justifies my hiring policy—only the best, only the most trustworthy.

When my shoes hit the concrete, the headlights of my limo flash once. The driver is just turning the corner, the large limo struggling to get through the tight alley.

Whatever you do, I do not want to hear the joke that’s going through your head if it’s going through your head of my limo being too big for Destiny’s fucking alley, okay?

I know I’m not that worried, but it’s still pretty serious. I gotta find that woman.

“I’ll take it from here,” I say as I open the driver’s door. “Go around the corner and get to Python and make sure everything is under control there.” He doesn’t even reply; he just gets out of the driver’s seat, picks up his cell phone, and starts heading over as I sit myself behind the wheel.

I shut the door and take the gear out from neutral, my foot pressing down on the clutch. Destiny must be close and, if I act quick, I might find her before Lester’s men do.

I can’t believe that I’m about to do this, but fuck it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I have no time to waste right now. I step my foot down on the accelerator and, as the engine starts to roar, I let go of the clutch.

The limo races down the alley and, by some miracle, I manage not to hit any of the mirrors against the wall. Swerving as the alley comes to an end, I press down on the brake and turn the wheel as if I’m driving not a limo but the fucking Titanic; this thing is too huge to maneuver at the speed I’m going, but it’ll have to do.

I honk as the limo jumps out onto Broadway, and people start jumping out of the way as the big black limo finally gets into the right lane.

Lucky for me, most passer-bys are more worried about what’s going on at Dirty Destiny than they are about the madman behind the limo’s steering wheel. No wonder, there are so many cops around Destiny’s club that you’d think she’s the fucking head of the Islamic State that they’re chasing after.

I can see the whole confusion around Destiny’s club from where I am, but that’s not what I’m interested in right now. As I drive down Broadway, I slow down and narrow my eyes as I try to spot Destiny or the cops chasing after her.

Then I see it, two men holding guns running down the sidewalk. They’re making a fucking show, pushing people around brandishing their weapons. They’re acting like the rest of the police, except they are not wearing any uniforms… and they don’t look like cops at all.

Fuck, if Lester brought guys like these for a raid, he sure means business.

I start driving after them, trying to keep my distance, but then they stop. They talk to one another, look around, and I start feeling relieved as I realize that they’ve probably lost Destiny.

But then the fuckers start pointing and then head down an alley. I can’t follow them there with this limo… I could just follow on foot, but I risk losing them.

Well, fuck it; I press my foot down to the metal and grit my teeth as the limo jumps over the sidewalk. The men are already reaching the end of the alley, and they’re so deep in their hunt that they barely notice the roaring limo behind them.

That’s when I see it: Destiny was hiding under a car at the end of the alley, and they have caught up with her. One of them is grabbing her by the arms and pushing her against the wall, and the other one is waving his revolver at her.

These motherfuckers are going to regret the day they’ve stepped foot inside their club, that much I can promise you.

The limo roars down the alley, but then they turn toward me, it’s already too late. I hit the brakes right before I hit them; if it weren’t for Destiny I might just have run over these bastards, and then step out of the limo.

They squint their eyes, trying to see who’s facing them down, but they can’t see me because of the headlights right in their eyes.

Before they can make a move, I jump over the hood of the limo and send my fist crashing against the face of the first man. He falls down on the ground, grabbing his broken nose, and the other man turns around to face me.

He raises his gun at me, but I grab his wrist and twist his arm around, only stopping when I hear the nauseating sound of his bones breaking.

“Fucking wish you’re dead after this, motherfucker,” I yell through clenched teeth, kicking the man closest to me in his ribs.

I hear fucking bone crunch.

I don’t fucking care.

The first guy tries to rise up, but seeing the look in my face he wavers.

I don’t fucking take a chance. I run the three steps over to him and kick him.

Hard.

My foot hits his face.

He crumples.

I’m breathing hard. Fucking seeing red.

I kick both their guns as far away from them as I can, and then finally turn to Destiny.

“You okay?” I ask her, and she closes the distance between us and presses her mouth against my own.

“I am now,” she whispers at me. “Let’s get out of here.” Holding her with one arm over her shoulders, I take her to the passenger’s seat in the limo and then take my seat behind the steering wheel. The men—definitely not cops—are crawling toward their guns, but the moment they hear the roar of the limo’s engine they roll to the side to let us through.

Now more calmly, I take us through the late New York’s traffic and head right down to my apartment in the Financial District. I’ll be close enough to Python if anything happens and, besides, I need to get to the bottom of this right now.

I have a few questions, and I fucking bet that Destiny has the answers.