“No, thank you. That’d make me what? … owe you three?”
“Listen, doll. Your car’s shot to hell. It ain’t worth the repair. You need a new ride.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
His face remains stoic, but his eyes twinkle just a bit. He points to the bar. “Go, sit your ass down. When I’m done kicking these Royal Bastards outta here. We’ll talk.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Whose ass you gonna kick?” Edge turns and Tarak’s fist clips his chin.
“Fuck, no!” A few men from the Scorpions throw down.
It’s an all-out brawl and I’m square in the middle. A strong pair of arms grab me by the waist. I’m thrown fireman-style over a pair of wide shoulders. “Time out! We got a lady coming through!” It’s Rog, carrying me. I’m upside-down gaping like a fish when they all pause, waiting for him to carry me to safety.
“Is this a joke?”
“Nah, it’s a real fight. Tarak’s out for blood.”
“That’s so juvenile.”
“If you knew the back story, maybe you wouldn’t think so. Neither of them are gonna be happy until the other is dead and gone. That’s why I’m sittin’ this one out to have a drink with you.”
“Won’t your wife mind?”
“Dev? Not unless you plan on being inappropriate with me.”
“Me? Inappropriate? That’ll be the day.”
“Maybe you should be? You got a second chance at life, doll. Live it.”
“I’m trying,” I grimace. “But my damn car gave out three hours south on I-40.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it.”
“And they brought you here?”
I nod.
“Well, shit. Me and the boys will take ya’ somewhere proper and help you get everything sorted.”
“Thanks. But I doubt your friends will be much help. I doubt they’ll even be able to see.”
“You haven’t seen Tarak fight. That boy has Apache blood. No one fights fiercer.”
“It’s dozens on three.”
“No, it ain’t. Turn and look, sugar.”
Stunned, I turn. They cleared the tables and chairs and formed a circle. It’s fight club in the Triple XXX. Edge vs. Tarak. Both have taken their cuts and shirts off.
A few working girls stand in stilettos, cautiously coming back inside. I guess the lack of gunshots or screaming sirens had them coming back for the dollar bills.
The music turns back on and a few take the stage, gyrating their hips and shaking their tits but no one cares. The new entertainment is the two men.
“My money’s on Edge.” Viv eyes his rock-hard abs appreciatively.
“I hope they both kill each other,” I murmur.
“This is some shit,” Roger smirks amused as one of the strippers holds up a card like in a boxing match and prances in-between the men in nothing but a G-string and high boots.
But I only have eyes for the two men, circling each other with murder in their eyes. One dark. One Light. Both dark in their own way. Their muscles shine with a light coat of sweat. Tarak’s torso is bronze and hairless. His pecs are big, but hard. Edge also has a smooth chest, but he has a small trail of fine hair that travels down his abs, disappearing under the waistline of his jeans. They’re both fantastic male specimens. My hands are clammy. My eyes wide. My mind starts imagining all kinds of dirty things. Dirty things a plain girl like me never thought once about before.
Disgusted at it all and myself for being so intrigued I turn back to the bar, help myself to a water and slip out unnoticed while punches and kicks are being thrown.
Sure, I could’ve stayed and gotten help. But wasn’t the whole point of leaving to stand on my own two feet? Literally and figuratively?
Night’s fallen. I open my UBER app and wait. I decided to stay at a hotel at least ten miles away even though there were some closer.
Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at the Courtyard Inn. It’s ninety-five a night but has free Wi-Fi, breakfast—with a promise that every blanket, towel, and piece of bedding has been thoroughly washed between guests. They also ripped up all the rugs and replaced them with wood flooring so everything can be bombed with disinfectant sprays.
I help myself to a wipe and tap the kiosk after scanning in my confirmation code from my cell. The virtual display shows me all available rooms. I pick a corner one facing East and hope for the best. The kiosk spits out a keycard and I browse another dispenser sales machine for toothpaste and a toothbrush.
I grab another wipe and use it to push open doors and turn the handle on the one to my room. After using it to flick on the lights, I carefully wipe down every knob I can. Hell, I have antibodies now but that doesn’t mean my lungs, or my spirit want to go another few rounds with the damn disease. Even though they say it’s gone I still have PTSD from what I lived through. Hell, the whole world does. After taking a long, hot shower, I crash. My dreams are filled with low constant drone of motorcycle engines, the taste of Edge’s lips and the dark, enigmatic eyes of the rugged man who looked at me like I was nothing…yet everything.
2
Amber
I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be able to recover my car or hope that any of my things are still inside. I called several towing companies, but no one want to waste three hours one way for a tow in the middle of nowhere. The charge just to retrieve it is more than the car and everything inside it is worth.
But still. My things: my memories of life are worth something aren’t they? But I just can’t justify spending eight hundred cash.
Sighing, I grab some toilet paper using it to touch every surface while leaving the hotel.
“Morning, mouse.”
He’s so big he blocks out the early sun.
“What the…?”
“You didn’t think you could just leave, did you?”
Shifting my weight, I refuse to be cowed. “Yeah I did. It still is a free country.”
“You owe me.”
“You came to collect?”
He rips off his shades and pulls down the handkerchief covering his face. “I need a nurse. Are those tiny hands good for anything?”
His left eye is swollen shut. Dark, bruises cover his cheek. I think his nose is busted again. “You lost?”
“It was a draw,” he shrugs seeming unfazed.
“I don’t have time for this. I need to be somewhere.”
He turns, swaggering toward a blue Ford truck. The paint’s faded but the chrome finishes shine. “All your shit’s in the back.”
Stunned, I slowly walk forward. In the back of the truck, tied down by rope cords are my suitcases, plastic bags full of old, loved books, CD’s, and knick-knacks from my old life.
“I-I can’t… I have no way to repay you for this.”
“And I already told you, I don’t collect money.”
I swallow hard. The past twenty-four hours were surreal. It was like I stepped into the middle of a movie and walked off the set. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know yet.”