Kia grabbed Poppy and they raced away.
Jalen continued to stare at the gun in my hand.
“Go ahead, baby.”
A tear left Jalen’s eye and then he rushed away.
“You’re not going to leave me here.” Wyatt glared at me. “I’ll die! Ebony, don’t do this.”
He lied. As much war as he’d seen, he would know what to do. He would figure it out. And in the end, it wouldn’t be so bad if he died.
I inched away. “Leave us alone.”
“E-ebony.” Spit trickled from his mouth. “Help me.”
I edged back some more. “This is the last time you come for us.”
His bottom lip quivered. In a rush, he stumbled as he got up and charged for me. “Bitch!”
I pulled the trigger. A deafening sound came as the gun kicked back, almost making me hit myself. The bullet sank into his thigh. Blood spilled from the hole.
I gasped.
Oh my God. Oh my God. That’s okay. It’s alright. He can’t get up. It’s okay.
“Leave us alone!” Tears stung my eyes. “Or the next time, I shoot you in your head!”
Trembling, I ran off with the gun.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t shut the door behind me.
I yanked my keys out of my pocket, jumped in the car, started it, and drove us away.
Chapter 1
Ching Chong
Yoshiro
The strip club pulsed and pounded to the rock and roll music blasting from the speakers.
I sat at the bar, studied the other men as they drank, and held my usual cup of tea—a chai blend. They probably gave me the only coffee mug within the entire place. Anytime I walked in, they went to the back and pulled the same one out.
I tucked several loose black strands behind my ear. I’d stopped caring about my appearance so much that I hadn’t cut my hair in months. Now it was touching my shoulders. Eventually, I would have to get it together.
Maybe, when the storm has forced me to stay inside the house.
I returned to people watching.
The club’s owner was named Harold. He called the strip club the Titty Palace and it was as high-end as the name. Not much glamour or ambience, but bare breasts for all to see. The bar ran long and narrow, taking up the whole right side of the space. A circular stage sat in the center with a shiny chrome pole that reached up to the ceiling. Small stools lined the stage, providing a closer look of the performing women. Mirrors covered the walls.
The bartender Strawberry came to me. “Yoshiro, are you sure you don’t want anything stronger?”
“Not tonight.” I gestured to the snow-coated window. “A storms coming. I don’t want to be drunk and stuck on the road.”
Skepticism covered her face. “It doesn’t matter, if a storm is coming or not. You’re the only crazy man that consistently orders herbal tea in here.”
“Are you saying you don’t like making it for me?”
“I love it. I just wish you would let loose one of these times.” She leaned forward, exposing her deep cleavage. “Maybe have a few drinks and have fun with some of the girls.”
“And why’s that?” I asked.
“Because you always look so sad.”
“And a drink will change that?”
“Definitely.”
I gave her a weak smile and sipped my tea. “Perhaps, next time.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She waved my comment away and walked off. “You’re hopeless, Yoshiro.”
Strawberry thought she had the solution to my problems—pussy and a hard drink.
She had no clue.
How many drinks could make me forget the horror that haunted me? It would take so many that I would die from alcohol poisoning. Alcohol served as a temporary high. Once sober, reality would return.
I’d already spent years in bars and clubs, hoping to run away from the pain. Few times the dread disappeared, only to reappear the next morning, sticking to me. Glued and fastened to my soul.
What am I doing in here, anyway? Same old shit in this place, just another day.
Sighing, I glanced around.
Like any Wednesday in the nude bar, the place was half empty. And with the snowstorm coming, only the regulars had braved the roads and ventured to Titty Palace to see their favorite girls. It hadn’t been more than maybe twenty or so people throughout the night. Strawberry and Candy handled the bar. Five girls had took turns dancing on the stage. They were all named after cooking ingredients—Cinnamon, Sugar, Honey, Cocoa, and Ginger.
The only thing I enjoyed was my seat at the bar. It was a third of the way into the room. Near enough to see who walked into the club. Far enough to be forgotten.
I turned to the stage.
Cinnamon finished her set. All brown and rich like the spice, she exuded a teasing beauty. Not many ethnic women lived in this part of the State. The uniqueness had gained her a decent fanbase. Several men crowded the stage, probably hoping for a private dance. Smiling, she gathered up her clothes along with the dollars and headed away.