Repentance: The Story of Kace Haywood

by Meghan Quinn

  That was why I liked it in my quiet bar: no tourists, no Jett Girls, just peace and quiet.

  “I knew we would find you here,” a voice came from the entryway of the bar.

  Diego and Blane, my friends, approached. So much for peace and quiet.

  “How’s our boy?” Diego asked, slapping me on the back and pulling up a chair next to me. Blane did the same.

  “Your boy wants to be left alone,” I replied, grabbing my drink from the bartender and taking a large gulp.

  “What do you have there?” Diego asked, leaning over and sniffing my cup. To my dismay, he stuck his finger in the liquid and then tested it on his tongue. “Ahh, whiskey. I’m surprised it’s not bourbon.”

  “Bourbon is Jett’s thing,” I mumbled while the tumbler was cradled between my hands. I kept my head down so Diego would get the hint I didn’t want to talk.

  “Where is Jett? Is he here?” Diego asked, looking around.

  “No.”

  Grabbing the bartender’s attention, Diego responded, “Fuck, you’re in a mood.” Turning his attention to the bartender, he said, “Can I get two fingers of whiskey and a Stella for the douche?” Diego said and pointed his thumb toward Blane.

  “Thanks, snookums,” Blane joked.

  “You ordering drinks for him now?” I asked. I continued to look into my glass, wishing it would refill on my demand. “You’re living together, you’re ordering for each other—what’s next? Are you going to start fucking on center stage?” Diego owned a club called Cirque du Diable where he employed Blane. The place was actually fascinating, with its old-school circus theme. Once it opened, it would probably sell out every night.

  “Who says we haven’t?” Diego responded casually, causing me to lift my gaze to him.

  “Dude, don’t go spreading rumors,” Blane chastised, clearly insulted.

  “Got the miserable ass to look at me, didn’t I?”

  “There is something seriously wrong with you,” I admitted.

  “Come on, what’s got your dick turning inside out?” Diego asked, thanking the bartender for his drink.

  “Nothing.” I shut down, not wanting to talk.

  “It’s that hot piece of ass from the art gallery, isn’t it.” Diego leaned over to talk to Blane and said, “You should have seen the massive cock block Kace threw down at the gallery. Dude straight up built a dam around this girl’s pussy.”

  “Watch it,” I practically snarled.

  “See.” Diego laughed and pointed at me. “I can’t even talk about her without being threatened. So what is it? Why are you so fucked up over this girl?”

  “I’m not,” I stated casually, downing the rest of my drink. I pushed the empty glass toward the bartender and motioned for another. The man was hesitant at first, but I glared at him, letting him know I would tell him when I was done.

  “Kind of seems like you are,” Blane said with his beer bottle halfway to his mouth.

  “Why the fuck are you guys here?” I asked, growing irritated.

  “We were trolling for pussy and thought you might want to join us,” Diego replied. “It’s a humid night. The girls are loose and ready.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I shook my head.

  “Just trying to lighten you up.” Diego nudged me. “Come on, man. Have some fun for a change.”

  “I don’t know what fun is,” I admitted.

  I really didn’t want to be having this conversation, especially with Blane sitting next to me. We’d known each other growing up, but we hadn’t been involved in each other’s lives. He didn’t know anything about me, and I only knew a little bit about him. Diego had a general understanding of my past, but he was just as clueless, and I wasn’t about to divulge my life story to these two idiots.

  “Just tell me about the girl. Do you like her?” Diego asked, almost sounding desperate. He was trying; I had to give him that.

  Feeling like I owed Diego something, I nodded. “I thought I liked her. It’s just too complicated. She wants things I can’t possibly offer her.”

  “What? A relationship? Dude, you can give her one of those. You just have to loosen up a bit.”

  “Yeah, might do you some good,” Blane added.

  “It’s not that,” I said.

  “Then what is it?” Diego asked.

  “She wants the truth, the truth about me, and I can’t give that to her. She wants to dig too deep to a place I don’t even go.”

  “So you are going to allow your past to dictate your future?”

  “I don’t have a future,” I responded, pushing back from the bar and itching for the bartender to finish pouring my drink. He was taking way too long.

  “Dude, what happened?” Blane asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

  “None of your fucking business,” I responded menacingly as the bartender came by with my drink.

  “Drop it,” Diego mumbled to Blane, who nodded. “So, I heard you were moving out.”

  Rolling my eyes, I huffed out a heavy breath and rubbed my right eye with the palm of my hand. “Jett call you?”

  “No, Goldie did.”

  “Goldie?” I asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, she said you and Jett had had a dispute and you were going to move out. She was really concerned about you. Should she be?”

  For a brief moment, my heart warmed at the thought of Goldie being concerned about me. It was nice knowing that even in this dark and fucked up life of mine, there was someone out there who actually cared for my wellbeing... besides Jett, that is.

  “I’ll be fine,” I answered. “Looked at a couple of places. I have options.”

  “Do you really?” Blane asked. “Because all the housing out there is pure shit.”

  “So true,” Diego agreed. “Sometime you wonder, is it better to live on the streets or in one of the pieces of crap around the city?”

  “They weren’t too terrible.” I tried to convince them, but I couldn’t even convince myself.

  “Not buying it,” Diego said.

  “You’re right, they were shitty,” I said with a smirk. “Didn’t know it was a requirement in the Quarter for apartments to come with cockroaches and blood stains on the walls. There are some really classy establishments around here.” There were some pretty nice places actually, but there was no way I would be able to afford them.

  “Fuck, I hate cockroaches,” Blane shivered.

  Diego leaned closer to me and nodded at Blane. “Thor over there is a little pussy when it comes to bugs. Do you know what the asshole does when he sees one in his room? He puts a Tupperware bowl over it until I either take care of it or the damn thing suffocates. I didn’t know this was how he handled things until one day I’m looking for a damn bin to put my leftovers in, and when I ask him why there are none in the kitchen, I find six bowls on his bedroom floor. Fucking idiot.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Stomp on them? Oh fuck no,” Blane defended.

  “That’s kind of a puss-bag thing to say,” I said to Blane, almost giddy over the fact that such a giant man could be so scared of a bug.

  Blane was the biggest of us all. He could have passed as a professional bodybuilder with his ripped biceps and strong shoulders. Dude was pumped. He also did a fine job attracting the opposite sex with his blonde hair and Australian accent. Diego was thinner than Blane and me, but he was just as cut. His caramel skin and blue eyes made him a rarity, and he used that to his advantage when it came to bagging women. Both men had demons just like me. Both didn’t talk about them, so it surprised me they pressured me so much. Assholes.

  “Fuck you. They could crawl into my orifices,” Blane shouted, defending himself against his bug phobia.

  “Such a dipshit.” Diego laughed and took a sip of his drink. “So, do you want to come live with us?”

  “Whoa, that came out of nowhere,” I responded, taken back by the offer.

  Diego shrugged. “I have the extra room. You can live in the room Goldie stayed in.”


  “Might want to have that place disinfected first,” Blane suggested. “After the one night we had to hear Goldie and Jett go at it, I bet you there are little Jetts all over the walls.”

  Diego cringed. “Dude, seriously. That is nasty.”

  “Wow, between the cockroaches and Jett’s jizz all over the walls, you’re really making it seem like a step up from the places I saw today,” I sarcastically replied.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Diego said, excusing Blane. “He’s just mad that I won’t let him lead an act for the show we’re preparing for the club, so he’s taking it out on me.”

  “You butt hurt?” I asked Blane, starting to feel a little lighter thanks to the booze running through my veins.

  “No. Diego is just so self-absorbed, he doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it.”

  “My club, my show,” Diego stated.

  “He’s got a point.” I thumbed at Diego. “Plus he used to be in a gang. Don’t fuck with him.”

  “Dude!” Diego chastised me while hitting me in the arm. Oops. My tongue got loose when I was drunk, and sometimes secrets slipped out.

  “What?” I shrugged.

  “That’s not public information.”

  “A gang? Really? You don’t seem like the gang type,” Blane said, trying to push Diego’s buttons, and at the way Diego was fuming next to me, it was working.

  “Don’t judge what you see on the outside,” I responded. “The boy has some mad knife skills.”

  “Huh, never would have thought that.”

  “Are we done with this conversation?” Diego asked, visibly uncomfortable. I was glad I wasn’t the one uncomfortable. “Because I think we should talk about how Kace used to be a professional boxer.”

  My head snapped up and my gaze fell on Diego. It felt like fire was spitting out of my eyes as I stared him down.

  “Or maybe we don’t,” Diego retracted, getting my message loud and clear.

  Uncomfortable eeriness settled over us as we all leaned on the bar with our elbows propped up and drinks in our hands. We didn’t talk, we didn’t look at each other. We stared straight ahead and tried to let the awkward moment pass.

  “So, want to live with us?” Diego finally asked, breaking the silence with a dickhead smile.

  “Why the fuck not?” I answered, already regretting my decision.

  Blane clapped me on the back. “Thatta boy. Maybe you can even be a part of the show.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “Not going to happen. You couldn’t pay me enough to get up on stage and prance around in leather vests and top hats.”

  “We don’t prance, we stride,” Diego said.

  “Yeah, so much better.” I rolled my eyes. I cleared my throat. “In all seriousness, thanks for the offer. It will really help getting out of the hotel. Plus your place is closer to the community center, which will be convenient.”

  “Why don’t you just get your own place?” Diego asked. “I’m sure you have enough money in that stacked bank account of yours.”

  What little he knew. Yes, I had a stacked bank account, but the money didn’t belong to me. I gave it to someone else every month. I lived on the bare minimum and was okay with that.

  “Not in a position to have a place of my own right now,” was all I said.

  “Fair enough,” Diego responded.

  “How’s the community center coming along?” Blane asked.

  “Great,” I answered, liking the change in subject. “We should be able to get in there soon to start getting it ready. The girls are excited. They’re starting to get stir crazy. Jett has them on a strict study regimen right now, to educate them as much as possible on business management before running the center.”

  “Babs was telling me about it the other day,” Blane said. “He has them going through all sorts of non-profit education.” Babs was a Jett Girl who had fallen quickly for Blane. From the far-off look in Blane’s eyes when he mentioned her, I could tell he felt the same.

  “It’s good for them,” I said.

  “What about your girl?” Diego asked. “The hot gallery chick.”

  “Lyla?” I assisted him.

  “Yeah, Lyla. What is she doing?”

  “Working at Kitten’s Castle. She doesn’t want anything to do with Jett’s offer to work at the community center.”

  “She’s at Kitten’s Castle?” Diego almost sang. “We’re going.” Quickly, he pulled out his wallet, dropped a hundred on the counter, and got off his bar stool.

  “The fuck we are,” I responded, not budging from my chair.

  “Lighten the fuck up,” Diego complained. “She won’t even see us. Come on. I haven’t gone to a strip club in so long.”

  “You own one, you ass nut,” I said.

  “I mean a skeezy one,” Diego responded, grabbing me by the neck and pulling me off my stool. “You’re coming because shit, you need to loosen up a bit. Stop brooding all the time. It’s depressing to be around you.”

  He led me out the door while Blane brought up the rear.

  “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 clam 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.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  My father thought boxing was a waste of my time. He wanted me to work on the factory line just like him, making an honest living. Gaining an education was a waste of time in his mind. Taking the workforce on like a man was what he expected from his only son. Earning a wage and putting in a true day’s work were his expectations even though such ideals had landed him in a beat-up trailer with a belly full of beer and no retirement plan.