Lights flashing, crowd roaring. It was chaos. People everywhere. Dancing, cheering, drinking. This cesspool of animalistic, primal emotions of humans was not working well for the new Lost Ones. But, luckily for them, Cotton had a smoke and a drink. His nerves were steeled. That glint of warmth in his eyes while talking with Angel was gone. He was now all about the mission. Accomplishing it at all costs was of utmost importance. A slight feeling of satisfaction crept through him when Deserae agreed to follow him. Finishing the job by himself wasn't something he'd look forward to, but would do it if it came down to that. He simply nodded and used his arm to cut and weave his way through the crowd like a combat knife slicing through the jungle. It didn't register to him that the fight was over until he saw Spike on the ground out cold with Deon standing victoriously over the body. That had ended rather quickly. In the back of his head, he noted Deon as someone not to be taken lightly. Even with his soldiers training in close quarters combat, he would have to be on guard.

Cotton knew that Minato and Knox were around here somewhere. At this moment, he only hoped they would get out fast if things got way out of hand. One bullet in the air would be enough to scatter the crowd. The bouncers were closing in on Victor, and that's when Victor showed himself to be a formidable opponent as well. Although, he thought his moves were a bit sloppy. Drinking could do that to anyone. The Lost Ones were rivals with that group? From what he could tell it was David against Goliath. But David won… However, this goliath of a gang was organized top to bottom with killers. A lethal mix of cunning and fighting ability. The Lost Ones must have been excellent tacticians and users of stealth to be around for as long as they have been. With this group though, Cotton knew there had to be some sort of change in how things were structured. Everyone's lives were at risk.

Eventually, Jake crept up behind the bookie. If there was anything Deserae noticed about him at this moment was that he was not the same person she had met earlier. Calmed by smoke and alcohol. The noise seemed drowned out by Jake as he gripped his pistol. A cold, thousand yard stare as he looked at the bookie from close behind. As though his gaze ripped right through the body of the man. A man not wanting to kill, transformed into the merciless monster. The darkness risen again, the darkness created from blood and iron. That icy stare glazing over his eyes as he pressed the gun against the bookie's back.

"Take your foot off of the box and push it lightly behind you. If you move your head or do anything else, it's over. I will bury a bullet into your liver and let you die a slow and painful death. Or I'll snap your neck and leave your dead body right here. Is that money worth your life?" No stutter. Nothing betrayed the intent behind those words. Deep down he did not want to pull that trigger. But his voice carried every weight of his words.

His killer's eyes shifted over to Deserae for one second for her to grab the box once the bookie pushed it backwards. This was it… This was his entrance to the gang world, and a chance for D.J. to prove something to herself.