When Mountains Roar
The dimly lit room of the Leather Den vibrated with a heady mix of tension and anticipation. Conversations ebbed and flowed, pausing momentarily, as eyes locked onto the lithe, ginger-haired newcomer. Owen, with his radiant innocence, had unintentionally drawn the attention of everyone present, but more notably, that of Diego.
Diego was not an average patron of the Leather Den. Cloaked in rumors and dark tales, he was known as much for his ties to underground dealings as he was for his swaggering bravado. Physically, he was a marvel — standing at an imposing 6'3", with chiseled features, a shaved head, and tattoos that seemed to chart his many encounters and conquests. Each inked symbol told a story of dominance, danger, and occasionally, cruelty. His attire was a testament to his boldness: a skin-tight leather vest, revealing a sculpted, dark-inked chest and abs, paired with low-hung leather pants and heavy boots. His piercing blue eyes could freeze or ignite a room, and tonight, they were trained on Owen.
Diego's voice, deep and dripping with malevolence, cut through the air. "Well, well, aren't you a fresh sight? New to our playground?"
Owen shifted on his feet, feeling very much like prey. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, "Just turned 21, and thought I'd, um, explore."
Before Diego could close the space between them, a thundering presence blocked his path. Brock, his massive frame eclipsing even Diego's imposing one, issued a warning, "I'd watch where you tread tonight."
Diego, sizing up Brock, sneered, "Mountain. Always meddling where you're not wanted. This one's ripe for the picking."
Brock's eyes hardened. "Tonight, he's off-limits."
The air crackled with tension, a silent clash of titans. Diego leaned in, every bit of his criminal reputation evident. "I don’t follow rules, especially not yours."
Brock responded, matching Diego's menacing tone, "You will tonight." Diego’s glare was icy but calculating. "Fine. But just remember, Mountain, you might be a behemoth, but even giants fall."
As Diego backed away, Brock turned his protective gaze to Owen. "You okay?"
Owen, still processing the whirlwind, nodded slowly. "Yeah, thanks to you." A half-smile broke Brock's stern visage. "Stick close. Nights here can be unpredictable."
