Hell Fires (Age-Gap Romance)

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Cash was holding them all right, but the zombies who’d stolen my bike turned out to be a trio of high school kids who already looked like they’d been neglected by their parents enough. We gave ‘em a show though. Pulling up and backfiring, getting off the bike like we were about to shake them down. We strode across the parking lot, in our Rogue cuts and leather boots—the Connor brothers were intimidating by their size alone.

Rafael took the task of scaring the fuck out of them and then trying to set them straight.

“You like jail? Cause I’ll take you there or we can settle it right here like men. Who taught you to steal? Were you gonna sell this bike and then buy dope? End up looking like a wasted zombie, pissing your pants and drinking Listerine for breakfast? You want to be a man? You like bikes? Come down to the Rogue and we’ll put your ass to work!” He grabbed one of the kid’s biceps like he was gauging his worth.

They were sorry, they were scared. I wasn’t going to knock out a bunch of high schoolers. We let ‘em go and they split on a dime. Then it occurred to me where they’d stolen my hog from.

“Hey wait the fuck up, come back here!” I hollered after them. I jogged in their direction. All three of them slowed down and one bent over with his hands on his knees.

“What were you doing at that house last night? You live around here?”

“I live next door to Sophie. They were staying over and we were bored because of the rain,” one of the boys spoke up.

“So you stole my bike,” I said incredulously. “You know her?” I asked them. I’d now reduced myself to getting the scoop from neighborhood delinquents.

“Who Sophie? Yeah, she’s cool. She goes to the same community college as my mom. She blasts music when she’s home and she’s got a cool dog too.” I smiled at them then. They were revealing their true age and I almost wanted to reach out and muss up their hair.

“Listen to Rafa. Stay away from the drugs and if you like bikes, come down to the Rogue and we’ll take you on a tour.”

I stormed back to my bike and hopped on, Malik and Rafa were already on theirs, and Cash pulled up behind them.

“Any damage?” Malik shouted over the roar of our engines.

“The bike’s fine,” I shouted back.

“Where we headed?”

“Tight Ends,” I said. I had to make amends and if she wouldn’t pick up her phone, I’d go to her instead.

Chapter 8

SOPHIE

I ate at the club a lot. It was part of the deal we got as employees. They served a staff meal before opening. I usually got roped into doing other tasks while I ate, rolling silverware, filling salt shakers, or answering the house phone. I could take reservations verbally, but I needed someone else to write them down. Writing was pretty much a thing of the past for me, as was reading words on the page. I got by on listening to my text books for school, but I was also trying to learn Braille. It was likely that my limited vision would deteriorate, or that’s what I’d been told after my first few surgeries.

“Soph, where do you put all that food? You got a hollow leg?” Jenna asked me as I loaded my plate with fries. Tight Ends served mostly bar food, but the chef would do salads and other non-menu items for the employee meal. I liked eating with everyone, it reminded me of having a family. I didn’t talk about it much, but I missed my parents and my old life all the time. Being blinded and orphaned wasn’t only difficult as hell, it was also pretty damn lonely. At the work meal there was always banter and good laughs. I got to know the girls better and understand what their lives were like. One thing new to me that I was surprised to learn were the different motivations behind stripping. Money obviously was the biggest one, but some girls it seemed, did it for the attention. They thrived off of being looked at and desired, almost like it was a drug. Other girls were actual dancers, like aerialists turned pole dancers who were in it for the skill. Those girls tended to not participate as much in table dancing. The table dancers, some of them had very close relationships with men who were their regulars. They were like therapists almost, who loaned a sympathetic ear while they stuck their ass in your face. I found the whole scene fascinating and I liked to ask questions to the girls who would talk to me—like Jenna.

“I worry a lot, and that burns a ton of calories. Also, records are heavy and I’m constantly lugging those.” I smacked the ketchup bottle on the bottom until a blob of red slipped onto my plate.