by Monica James
Kong recoils back so as not to get any on him, but I remain perfectly still.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend. I need to kill this varmint like now. But I focus, reminding myself of the bigger picture. Prison rule number two is what gets me by.
“The fuck, man?” he cusses, wiping down his white shirt because a few stray drops have sprayed him.
The couple across from us discreetly give me a sideways glance. I need to calm down. But I can’t. Kong has no right to speak her name. Yes, all I’ve done is hurt her since the moment we met, but she is mine to do with what I please.
Mine? Holy fuck, I have a problem.
But it’s too late. I’ve tried to deny it, and I can’t. I know she hates my fucking guts, yet her hatred only has me wanting her more. I haven’t seen her since she left The Pink Oyster, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her every single fucking day.
I knew she was dangerous, but this is bordering on being hazardous to my health.
With Kong still looking at me, I clench my jaw and think on my feet. “My ex was a stripper, that’s all. It’s a touchy fucking topic for me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know,” Kong says, appearing to believe my lie.
The waitress quickly wipes up the mess I’ve made and sets down two more beers.
“It’s fine. She fucked all my friends. She said the kid is mine, but who knows.” Shrugging, I reach for my beer and take a much-needed sip. My mouth is suddenly dry, and I realize I’m parched and only one taste will quench my thirst.
“That’s tough. Fucking women,” Kong says with a shake of his head.
This is the in I needed. “I almost fucking…killed one of my friends who was screwing her. I just lost control.”
Kong shrugs. “It happens, man.”
“Has it ever happened to you?” I ask softly, leaning across the table so he can hear me.
He takes his time, but whether savoring the beer or the question, I can’t be too sure. “Yes,” he confesses, so I continue to probe.
“Some chick fucking your friends too?”
Something comes over Kong, as if he’s reliving a memory, and I know which one. “No, not that. Some asshole thought he was better than us.”
“Us?” I question, leveling him with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah. But we taught him a lesson.”
“What did you do?”
This is it; everything comes down to this.
“We fucking killed him,” Kong declares with a snigger. His laughter is at the expense of my brother. This cunt is going to pay.
“Holy shit.” I whistle, leaning back in my seat before I act on instinct and headbutt him. “Why aren’t they fighting for your boss? I’m little league compared to them.”
Kong chuckles as though I’ve just said something funny. “We aren’t the punk ass kids we used to be. My friends are in high places now. They have other people do their dirty work for them.”
“Do you still see them?” I try not to sound too desperate, but this is my shot at finding out who they are.
Kong shakes his head. “No. We’re all busy,” he says promptly, raising red flags. “But that one incident will forever bond us together.”
Hell to the fuck yes, it will.
“Jaws, Hero, Scrooge, and me grew up together. Fucking dirt poor. But we showed all those preppy assholes. We’re the ones laughing now. Well, all but one.”
I clench my fists under the table, not daring to interrupt his trip down memory lane. I need a name. Give me a fucking name. I know who Jaws is. Who is the fucker I killed? I soon find out who.
“Hero is fucking dead. Poor motherfucker. Got shot dead working at 7-Eleven. He was caught up in some gang war. That’s what the word on the street was. But that’s what he gets for turning his back on his brothers.”
Adrenaline is pumping through me, and I am so riled up, I feel like I’m going to explode. Just as I’m about to ask where his friends are now, Kong shakes his head, returning to the present. “Listen to me, holy shit. Talking like a fucking woman. I’ll get us some vodka. I feel like getting fucked up.”
I don’t press because I don’t want to stir any suspicion.
He stands, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. His hand wavers, hinting his story still affects him to this day. It’s the one and only thing we will ever have in common. The falter has his wallet opening, revealing something, which suddenly sets me off balance.
I watch Kong walk to the bar, wallet in hand, the wallet that contains a photo of two small kids who I’m guessing are his. I wonder what their names are and if they’re good kids. Their smiles suggest they’re happy.
Something swarms around me, a gentle buzzing, which will eventually drive me insane if I don’t kill the source. Gripping my thighs, I squeeze hard, refusing to allow this foreign feeling, which one could say was guilt, stand in the way of justice. But that’s ridiculous. I don’t feel guilt. I don’t feel—period.
My vengeance is sure to ruin their lives forever, and bile rises at the thought. But I can’t, I won’t let anyone stand in my way. No matter their happy grins, or the fact I know they exist, the inevitable will happen—I will kill their father.
And no one is going to stop me.
I shouldn’t be here. I also shouldn’t have gotten drunk with the man I’m going to kill in two weeks. But the alcohol helped loosen Kong up, and he spilled the details on when I’ll be fighting at The Pink Oyster. Two weeks, which means he has two weeks to live. And I have two weeks to find out where Jaws and Scrooge are hiding.
This cocksucker has taken one too many breaths. It’s time he meets his fate. I could have ended him tonight, but when he clammed up on his storytelling, I knew I had to press harder when he wasn’t blind drunk.
I cannot allow Kong and Stevie to fuck Lotus over that way. The night of the fight, I will win, and when everyone has cleared, I will kill Kong. I needed a kill site. And now I’ve found one. The place will be bloody anyway because of the fights, so Lotus won’t ask questions when I bleach the place once I’m done.
I know the layout of the club, and I’ll convince Lotus to let me handle everything on fight night, ensuring she makes herself scarce, and then I’ll have the place to myself.
As for Stevie, I’m still not sure what to do about him. My beef isn’t with him, but I can’t stand back and let him do this to Lotus. The Pink Oyster is her livelihood. But I’ll deal with one drama at a time because when I stagger into the one place I shouldn’t be, it’s obvious I’m in no frame of mind to be making decisions.
The bouncers are a bunch of pussies as I’m clearly wasted, but money talks. I place a couple of hundred-dollar bills in their shirt pockets and am given the VIP treatment as some chick in a red vinyl dress escorts me inside the dark club.
The pop music playing over the speakers adds to the pounding against my temples, so I take a detour to the bar, losing my chaperone midway. The place is packed, and I wait behind some jock assholes who keep nudging one another in excitement like they’re five years old.
My patience is already shot, and just as I’m moments away from leaving because this is a…bad…fucking…idea, I feel it before I even know what the fuck is happening. The war inside me calms, and the noise becomes a gentle hum—something which only happens when…
The lights dim, and the crowd explodes in catcalls and applause. The jocks in front of me turn around, hinting the show is about to commence. I don’t need to turn around. I know what I will see. But I’m a masochist and being here proves that.
The iconic introduction drowns out the horrible pop song, making way for “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Swiveling slowly, I brace myself for her entrance, but when she splits open the red velvet curtains and marches confidently onto the stage, I realize I haven’t braced for jack shit because holy fuck, Tiger is the fucking queen.
Instantly, my hunger stirs, and the need to touch her winds me. But I remain hidden in the shadows as I watch her own th
at stage with a newfound confidence. She is wearing a skimpy neon bodysuit which dips into a V at the waist. The straps cover her tits, but that’s about all. Her bottoms are a tiny pair of shorts which accentuate her slender waist. She looks a lot thinner than when I saw her last.
Her long hair is curled, and her makeup is harsh: thick fake lashes and big red lips, and just as it did the first time we met, I have the urge to smudge her lipstick. But unlike that first time, something is different about her. She seems…harder almost, like the woman who showed me compassion is long gone.
She’s different, and when she wraps her body around the pole, I see what it is. When she danced at The Pink Oyster, she did it because she loved dancing. But now, she’s doing it for another reason.
Money.
I still can’t take my eyes off her, but her passion, her love for dance is gone, and she’s just a gimmicky stripper who wants to make a quick buck. She looks completely zoned.
The men eat it up, however, throwing their entire savings at the stage as she gyrates against the pole.
Her movements are no longer graceful; they’re angry. Her eyes are dull and lack the fire, lack the passion that made Tiger who she was. She is fucking pissed off, and this is reflective when she sinks onto her back and slithers along the stage. One chump thinks he’s in for the time of his life, but Tiger is soon to shit on his wet dreams when she coaxes him forward with a curl of her finger.
So help me god, if she gives him a mini-lap, a Stevie, or whatever the fuck you want to call it because it all means one thing—him motorboating her when on stage—I will motorboat him with my fists.
He falls for the ploy, leaning toward her, only for her to press her heel against his chest to stop him. His mouth parts, unsure what to do, but this is Tiger’s show; it always has been. She shoves at his chest so hard that he tumbles backward into his chair.
The crowd goes wild, and she encourages the noise as she opens her legs and pumps her hips into the air. Some asshole has the balls to lean across the stage and place some clam food into the waistband of her shorts. It looks to be a few hundred-dollar bills.
The song ends with Tiger on her back and the men out of their seats, whistling loudly, while I stare wide-eyed.
What the fuck did I just watch?
She quickly springs up and exits through the curtain at the back of the stage. A woman in a gold bikini collects Tiger’s tips before she scampers offstage too.
“Excuse me?” My gawking is interrupted when a pretty young woman approaches me. She is wearing a short green dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Sup.” I nod, wondering what she wants.
When she steps forward and whispers into my ear what she does want, which is to blow me, I realize I’m not drunk enough for this shit.
“No thanks, darlin’. Go find yourself a pretty college boy.”
Smiling, she does just that when she taps the shoulder of the jock in front of me.
I push past him and his group of friends and order myself three shots of vodka which I throw back in quick succession, before ordering a scotch. The vodka does nothing to settle the itch within. Nothing will do that, bar one thing.
“A grand for a one-on-one with Tigerlily.” The moment I hear her name, I have the urge to slam the guy’s, who is next to me, head against the bar.
His asshole friend, who looks like he enjoys glory holes, shrugs. “That’s a lot of cash. You’d want her pussy to be lined with gold for that sort of money.”
“It isn’t just her pussy I’m interested in.”
Lotus’s warning comes to mind, and I about lose my shit where I stand.
“They gaslight as a gentlemen’s club, but it’s no secret if you wanted your dick sucked or wanted to rough one of the girls up, the management would happily turn a blind eye.”
Gulping down my scotch, I flag down the bartender that I want another. “Too bad, boys,” I calmly state to the guys next to me.
They have no idea what I’m talking about until I make myself very clear.
“Tigerlily is off the clock for the rest of the night. Maybe even for the rest of the fucking year.”
The fucker, who dared speak about Tiger like nothing but a whore opens his mouth, but I soon close it.
“If you go anywhere near her, I’ll find out where you live, and I will slit your fucking throat in your sleep.” And I mean every single word.
He and his friend exchange worried looks before they run away with their tails between their legs.
“Tell all your friends!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth.
The bartender looks at me and smiles. “She a friend of yours?” she asks, placing my drink down in front of me.
Pulling out a twenty, I shake my head. “No.”
She frowns, clearly confused, but doesn’t press.
With my scotch in hand, I shove aside anyone who stands in my way, on a mission to find her. I shouldn’t be here, we’ve established this, but now that I am, I can’t leave without answers. I need to know why the fuck she sold herself out.
This place is like a maze, so I decide to venture down the long hallway and try my luck. The dickhead said there was a possibility of one-on-one time with Tiger. I figure any of the doors leading from the corridor may be the jackpot.
Drunk men are slumped against the walls, groping women who giggle lightly, when, in reality, they should be kneeing these sleazy assholes in the balls. Sipping my scotch, I tune into my surroundings because even though I’m drunk, I can still sense her.
Her presence calls to me, just as it did from the very beginning, but unlike then, I can no longer ignore it. I’m not sure what I’m walking into, but when I stroll down the classy hallway, I welcome everything she’s about to give.
Yanking open the second to last door on the right, I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, but when they do, a smirk floats across my lips. “Sorry, man, wrong door.” I chuckle when I see a businessman with his pants around his ankles as he is getting his ass flogged by some chick in leather.
He yelps, horrified, while I give her an applauding wink.
Closing the door, I inhale, taking a moment to focus on Tiger and only her. Cherry blossoms bloom a second later. Walking across the hallway, I know I’m right as every part of me is throbbing in hunger. Without hesitation, I coolly turn the door handle and venture inside.
The hallway light allows me to see a sight which only stokes this out of control fire burning within. Tiger is dancing for some whale who is about to lose a hand if he doesn’t remove it from her ass. She is gyrating on his lap, but suddenly stops when she focuses on the doorway or, more specifically, me. And when she does, it’s clear things are about to get messy.
Our exchange isn’t filled with happiness of two long lost friends reuniting. It’s filled with wanting to rip the other apart because we were never friends.
The whale huffs and looks over his shoulder to scold me. “Wait your turn, buddy.”
In response, I drink my scotch, savoring the burn. Once I’m done, with eyes still locked on Tiger, I snarl, “Get out.”
“What?” he questions, annoyed I’ve just cockblocked him. But like he had a chance.
“Get out,” I repeat low, grinning when Tiger slowly rises from his lap. She is wearing a sheer black dress decorated with a path of diamonds acting as a roadmap to her tits and pussy.
She never breaks eye contact with me. It’s game on.
“You can’t just come in here.” He abruptly stands, revealing a semi, which is like waving a red flag in front of an angry bull. Sweet mother of fuck, if she gave him a RJ, I will happily rip off his cock and feed it to him.
But I remain calm. For now.
“I just did,” I counter coolly.
The pipsqueak opens, but soon closes his mouth. He must be able to read he’s no match for me. “Fuck this. I want my money back.”
He grabs his jacket from the red leather sofa and attempts to push past me. I stand
solid, snaring his wafer arm. “No refunds. Now leave.”
He doesn’t argue and yanks from my grip before making a dramatic exit. When he slams the door shut, the thick air wraps its hands around my neck and refuses to let go.
A pop song that sounds like Britney Spears singing about everything toxic sums up this moment perfectly, which is why Tiger doesn’t turn it off. She uses it as her anthem as she strolls toward me, her gaze never wavering from mine.
She stops inches away.
My heart begins to quicken, and I don’t know why. I’ve never felt this before. However, when she narrows her fierce eyes and looks at me like I’m nothing, I finally understand why I’m here.
I need to focus on my end game, and there is only one way I can do that. I need to fuck her out of my system. And I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.
“The only thing real about your performance tonight was the music,” I state, relishing in her anger blossoming before me.
She blinks once, the red to her cheeks stroking the monster within me.
“How dare you come here and insult me?” she snarls, shaking her head slowly.
“You insulted yourself. How long has the whale been here? He looks like he has a loyalty card.” A whale is someone who spends big and practically lives in the VIP rooms.
She doesn’t answer my question. “I thought I made myself clear. What part of never speak to me again don’t you get?”
“You’re better than that.” I point toward the direction of the stage, ignoring her. “You’re better than this.” I flick one of her curls with my finger.
In response, she slaps my hand away. “Better than what?”
“Better than the zoned sellout I saw on stage,” I reply, without pause, because I mean every single word. This isn’t who she is, and I need to know why that is.
Placing her hands on her hips, she grins, but it’s the type of smile that will steal your soul. “Here, I can be whatever they need me to be and get rich doing it.”
“This isn’t you.” Being this close to her is like a sucker punch to the guts. She looks and smells delicious, and I want to take a big bite.