Kisses and Warfare

The drive to the crematorium is distracting and comforting. The sky is dark but the stars are glittering, and I wonder if this is all that there is to life. Is this what the best version of me will ever be?

Kick standing my bike, I place my helmet on the seat and walk around the back of the crematorium. Opening the door, his music is playing, but he looks up as I enter, and when he does he doesn’t stay looking for long. Marcus drops his head and goes back to what he was doing. The last time I saw him do what he’s doing today was to the man who raped Tanika and threatened Rochelle. Marcus is smooth even in death.

Leaning against the wall, never going in, I wait. He removes his gloves and mask, then walks out the door and stands in front of me.

“You bought the place?” is the first thing he asks, referring to the strip club.

I told him the other night when I mentioned Kat worked there. At the time, I had just signed the contract. I put my offer in the first night I saw Kat there.

“I did. Is that why you wanted to meet me?” I ask while looking behind him at the dead body, which is still on the counter.

“No, your father contacted me.” I stiffen at his words.

My father? What a joke that is.

Who is he even?

“He asked me to pass you his number.” Marcus reaches into his pocket, hands me a note with a number on it, then turns and walks back inside.

“You’re fine with this?” I ask while he slides new gloves on and fixes his mask in place.

“He’s your father, Blaze. Not mine.”

He’s right, we have different fathers, but Marcus’s basically raised me. He may be my brother, but no one on this earth has taken as much shit for someone than Marcus has for me. And believe me, I was a fucking little shit myself.

“I don’t want to see him.”

He shrugs and turns up the music, effectively ending our conversation. He knows I won’t go into that room. I kick the door and walk out, getting back on my bike to burn off steam.

Fuck this!

Fuck him!

My father is as useless as two shits. Literally. Shits could possibly be more useful. At least you can use shit for fertilizer. My father, he does nothing but suck all the good energy out of a room and blames the person next to him for doing so.Chapter NineKat“Okay, Mom has Annabelle tonight. Tomorrow I don’t work. So, what’s the plan? Can I come into your work, and you feed me alcohol all night, as I dance the night away until which time you will finish, then proceed to take me home?” Rochelle asks, leaning forward, watching me with eager eyes in my bathroom mirror as I apply my makeup.

“No,” I say to her.

She stands up and crosses her arms over her chest. “Why the big secret? Take me with you. You are the manager, right? Where are the sister perks of having a manager somewhere where I can get free alcohol and get drunk?” She pouts at me.

“Look...” I put down my mascara and turn to her. “I’m going to tell you something, and you can’t judge. You got me?” Her eyebrows raise in surprise but she bobs her head. “Promise me, no judging.”

Her hand goes to her heart. “No judging, I swear. But if you tell me you’re marrying Blaze, then that’s off the table,” she jokes.

“The place I work isn’t really a nightclub.” I shrug my shoulders.

“Ummm… okay, what is it then? You still serve alcohol, do you not?” Rochelle asks, her eyes squinted as she gauges me for an answer.

“Yeah, we do. It’s a strip club, Roch. That’s why I didn’t want you to know.”

I watch her as she takes it in. Her eyes bounce back up, and she looks at me confused, as if she is trying to work it all out.

“You’ve been lying about this?” she finally manages to say.

“Can you imagine what Mom will say if she knows?” I ask her.

Her hand goes up and she shakes it in my face. “But you couldn’t tell me?” She steps back. “Okay, I’m bewildered. Why would you keep something like that a secret? Are you a stripper?” she asks. “I mean, I won’t judge, but are you?” Rochelle’s eyes scan mine, waiting for me to speak.

“I manage the place, Roch. I wasn’t lying about that. I don’t strip, but I am in charge of the girls who do.” I pick up my mascara again and start applying it. “You can come. I will bring you drinks all night, and you are welcome to dance.”

Rochelle’s phone bings, and she looks down at it. She squints while reading the message. “Marcus says if I go to your workplace he’s coming.” She looks back up to me. “Does he know where you work?”