Erys groaned and sunk into his seat. “You know, you always get me into some bullshit. From ten until thirty-five, you ain’t tired of this shit? You don’t wanna leave the streets and go be a internet pastor or something?”
“Hold on, man. You got sent to Fort Wraith and my ass got sent to prison for the last shityougot me into,” Tone said in a matter-of-fact cadence.
“Nigga hit my momma. I’ll go to hell about my mama in life and in death,” Erys stated.
“Heard.”
“And I would’ve taken prison over that.”
Tone chuckled. “ Being a soldier on the streets and in the military ain’t no different.”
Erys didn’t respond. Fort Wraith was presented as where the country’s best went to defend, protect, and serve. Fort Wraith was where killers were sent to become lethal mercenaries. Erys had a body count stained on his hands that turned him into a machine. Souls haunted his sleep and danced on his conscience when he was awake. It’d been six months since his contract was up and he still didn’t feel normal. Still had no idea what normal was.
When they arrived to the club, Erys’ body went into overdrive. Not because of the half – if not fully – naked women, it was the amount of gangstas and civilians in one space. Too many bodies, too many untrained shooters and not enough exits.
“You want a drink?” Tone asked as they took a seat. Knowing his friend, Tone placed them in a position to see the stage and the handful of exits.
“Water. In a bottle unopened.” Erys stated, as Tone waved over a half-naked waitress. “What time this nigga go on?”
“Soon enough. Until then, enjoy. You uptight and shit. You need some pussy on your lap. Matter of fact-” Tone said, waving a handful of strippers over.
“Nigga, I’ll kill you,” Erys muttered.
“Nah, you won’t. You tried once, remember? I’m the only nigga in the world that ain’t scared of you ‘cause you out of your mind,” Tone shared.
The strippers pranced over, ready to provide a lap dance for the men. The music, the red lights, the smoke covering the floor of the center stage stole his attention. Through the fog, the glimmer of clear platform heels, reflection of the red, pleather thong-backed body suit captivated him. He’d been in more strip clubs to count. Never to relax or enjoy paying for pleasure – but to kill. He was the man to hold people captive. He clenched his jaw, watching the show she put on. The effortless spins, the incorporation of her dance and tricks on and around the pole. It wasn’t the show, though. Or the outfit that only allowed the patrons view of her perfectly-sized ass with the heart birthmark on the upper left cheek. It was her eyes. They were full of fury. Most men would’ve called it passion that allured them to the pout of her lips while they daydreamed of the possibilities of the fantasy becoming reality. For Erys, her presence was telling. She didn’t belong here.
“Yeah, shake that ass for Sweet Lick Ernie!” Erys heard that weathered voice over the music. The cadence halted his study of the woman on stage with the ones, five, tens and twenties floating around her. His eyes darted from the lady in red to his father in a sequined red suit, posted up in a corner booththrowing dollars at the few strippers dancing on the table before him. Before Erys could get control of himself, he was on his feet and in stride over to his father.
“What the fuck you doing, Ernest?” Erys questioned with a growl, peering down at his father.
The eyes that looked back at him were foreign, as if they didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t until his father let a smirk form over his lips. “Who the fuck you callin’ Ernest? I’m still your daddy, nigga. Don’t give a fuck how many muscles you got. Either you throwing money at these bitches or getting the fuck on.”
“You need to be getting’ the fuck on,” Erys replied. There had always been something about his father in spaces that he occupied that triggered him more than he was willing to share. More than he had shared.
“I’m not going nowhere. My Remedy is on stage,” Mr. Ernie replied, shooing him away.
“Nah, I’m taking your crazy ass home,” Erys protested, reaching down to grab his father by the arm.
Mr. Ernie snatched away. “Gotdamn it! Unhand me.”
Erys, fully focused on his father, didn’t see his enchantress rush away from her set to the table. It wasn’t until she shoved him backward and glared at him.
“What the fuck is your problem, grabbing on him like that? Don’t put your fuckin’ hands on him!” she barked, pointing her finger in his face like she was taller than five foot five. “Ernie, are you okay?”
Ernie fixed his suit jacket and hat, cutting his eyes at his son. “Yeah, I’m good, Remedy. Go finish your dance. Make us some money,” Ernie encouraged. “This ain’t nobody.”
“You still pimpin’, old man?” Erys’ asked in a huff. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you need to fall back.”
“I don’t know who the fuckyouare. Butyouneed to fall back,” she fired back, standing toe to toe with him. “You don’t strike no fear in me. Don’t put your hands on him again!”
“Get yo ass back on that stage and let me handle your demented ass pimp!” Erys snarled, grabbing his father by the elbow again. Before he could turn to look back at his father, he was met by a slap that caused every fiber of his being to freeze. Upon her hand meeting the side of his face, a gang of strippers had all started to defend their fellow dancer.
“Didn’t I tell your stupid ass not to fuckin’ touch him again? You hard of hearing up there, nigga?” the woman popped off. It was clear she wasn’t backing down and Erys was unsure what dream his father had sold her that made her so…loyal.
“Hey! Hey!” A man’s baritone cut through the noise and the stare down the two were having. “Get y’all asses back on stage before I dock those fuckin’ tips.”
The women scattered and Ernie spoke up. “You ain’t touching her tips. She’s with me. We taking every dollar on the floor.”
