She loves that boy so much, and even though I’ve warned her not to, you can’t stop love.
Maybe the distance from him will be good. She’ll move on and never find out that Roman is her half-brother.
Everything is better now that I’m gone.
I did the right thing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ASH
Sunday
March 21, 2021
An icy breeze shears past my face, lashing me with its punishing temperature as I step out of the car. I don’t know how anyone lives with this fucking freezing weather.
It’s never negative degrees in California.
My balls can’t live this way.
I hear the passenger door slam, followed by a string of angry curses damning the freezing temperature.
“Fuck, it’s cold!” Roman yelps, rubbing his hands over his black long-sleeved covered arms.
I told him to bring a fucking sweater, but he said he’d be fine.
I bet he’s regretting that decision now.
“Where’s your shit?” he asks under his breath as we walk to the front door of The Dollhouse, a nondescript strip club in the middle of an IHop and Home Depot.
“Pocket,” I whisper, patting the sides of my jeans subtly.
I didn’t bring a lot, just a couple of baggies of xannies and Ritalin capsules.
Nothing like an upper and downer to get the party going.
We get to the door, stopping behind a group of intoxicated college students hoping to get their laps rode and dicks sucked tonight.
The bouncer doesn’t bother checking our IDs before ushering us inside, but he does stare at my pockets longer than I’m comfortable with. Either he knows the game or just doesn’t give a shit. Regardless, we’re in, and I’m hoping for a good fucking night.
“Don’t touch the fucking dancers, only the girls working the floor, and if you hurt any one of them, I’ll rip your arms off. Have a good night.”
He holds the door open for us, the smell of sweat, sex, and alcohol fuming out of the unlit hallway.
We walk through the dark, the various scents growing stronger while the bumping of the techno-electric music gets louder, making the walls vibrate under the tips of my fingers. Bright pink, purple, and red lights blind us as we pass through a black velvet curtain, transporting us to a world much different from the outside of this building leads us to believe.
Two grand, black vinyl stages sit on opposite sides in the back of the room, the edges glowing with pulsating, blood-red lighting. The vibrant neon lights shine down on the lingerie-covered dancers entertaining the crowd, money flying through the air as they cheer and holler at the women.
Alluring waitresses walk past us in sheer babydoll nightgowns, carrying drinks with blinking lights inside. Their flirtatious winks and sashaying asses completely capture my attention, making me stumble into Roman, who is looking everywhere but at the barely covered women.
“The ceiling fucking fascinating, Rome?” I shout, howling with laughter when he flips me off.
“Fucking gorgeous. I think there are stars up here,” he says, pointing toward the top.
I follow his finger to the ceiling and bob my head in agreement. There are mini lights scattered around the top, making it look like stars are shining delicately on the roof.
“Huh, look at that… Come on. I see an empty booth.”
