Page 16 of Bourbon Truths
“If you don’t like my attitude, then leave me alone,” I tried to reason.
“Can’t do that, sorry.”
We made our way to Bourbon Street, which was packed with street performers and drunken idiots. There was a bachelor party on every corner, inebriated women holding on to each other for their dear lives, older couples enjoying the younger scene, and show girls at the entry of every strip club, enticing those who passed by to have a little look inside their establishment.
Diego and Blane dragged me along the cobblestone walkway of the closed-off Bourbon Street to the hot-pink neon sign of Kitten’s Castle. The last time I had been here, I’d been recruiting a new Jett Girl with Jett for his club. That was when I’d seen Goldie for the first time.
Even though Kitten’s Castle was a dirt hole, Goldie had stood out. She was exquisite. From the first moment I’d seen her handle herself on the floor, I’d known she was going to be a spitfire. Fortunately my best friend was able to tame her. Well, slightly tame her.
“Hey, sexy. You want to come in?” a girl at the door asked, shaking her hip at me and trying to entice me, but I was not biting. She was wearing fishnet stockings that had a tear in one leg and a pair of scuffed heels, her lipstick was smeared, and her bra was fraying on the straps. They must have been suffering for employees because when Goldie had worked at Kitten’s Castle, this kind of appearance wouldn’t have been acceptable.
“Not really,” I muttered to her as Diego and Blane dragged me inside.
A mixture of sweat and booze attacked my senses, and the pounding bass assaulted my ears. The room was humid, dark, and the air was thick, almost so thick I couldn’t breathe.
No one was on stage at the moment, but there were plenty of girls out on the floor. I checked my watch and saw it was only a little past nine. There was no way Lyla would be working now—at least I assumed she wouldn’t be. She liked the late shift; it was when she got the most tips.
“Score. Front row seats.” Diego pumped his fist in the air as he went over to the stage.
The moron acted like he’d never been to a strip joint before, let alone owned his own sex club.
“Can you calm the raging hormones and present yourself in a semi-cool manner?” I asked. “You’re acting like a total tool bag.”
“Just trying to fit in with the crowd, man. What would it say about us, being locals and hanging out at a strip club? People will judge us.”
“Unbelievable.” I shook my head, wishing for this night to be over.
Looking around, Blane leaned over and whispered, “These chicks are kind of… skanky.”
I took a gander myself and had to agree. They weren’t the most well-put-together women I’d ever seen. A lot of them were melting from the humidity, their faces sweaty and their makeup smeared, making them look almost ghostly in appearance. They moved around the club on autopilot, interacting with the customers like they’d been taught, bending and smiling at the right times but never getting too close unless they were paid to.
I hated that Lyla worked here, hated it to the point that I started to heat up from the thought. She was so much more than this. She was so much better.
“What are you doing here, Kace?” Lyla asked behind me, her voice smooth.
Shit.
Chapter Six
My Past…
Another phone call from Jett. I disregarded the ten missed calls displayed on my phone and pressed ignore once again.
From my ESPN notifications, I knew my story had broken through and I was now considered one of the biggest hometown disappointments.
A bottle of Maker’s rested in my hand, the plush couch I’d had for a few short months formed to my sated body as I waited for the one phone call I was dreading. It was going to happen; there was no way in hell I wouldn’t get the call. The matter was when.
Numb was all I felt looking around my house, taking in the framed pictures of me in the ring, of my accomplishments that were awarded to me. All of the hard work, the sweat, the blood I poured had all been for nothing.
All I had ever wanted growing up was to prove my worth, to show my city even though I grew up in a trailer park, watching my parents raise our family on the barest of wages, I could make something of myself. I hadn’t needed help from anyone; I had just needed my determination and will to set goals and achieve them.
Much good that did me.
The ringing of my phone broke the eerie silence in my home. Across the screen read my father’s phone number. I took note of the time; he was just getting off of work.
With a deep breath, I answered. “Hello, Pop.”
“Tell me it’s not true, son.” My dad’s gruff tone rang through me. No matter how old I was, I would always be put in place by the deep timber in my father’s voice.
