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“Nah, he’s got a ball and chain. I feel for ya, dude. I got a sister, too, and she’s always up in my business.” Snow reaches out and claps me on the shoulder. The wet cigar butt of Beefer’s foot soldier rubs against the fabric of my jacket. It wouldn’t be hard to whip my hand up and break his wrist, but fortunately for all of us, the door opens and a bouncer gestures for us to enter. Snow moves fast enough to win a medal somewhere.
I let everyone else go first. Inside, I scan the crowd. Despite the early hour—it’s only around eleven—there’s a lot of testosterone in the air.
“Good to see you out with us,” murmurs Donnie. He was one of Gerry’s friends but managed to survive the purge. He directs his gap-toothed smile in my direction. I give him a nod of acknowledgment. Donnie’s harmless but eager to please anyone. That kind of attitude will likely get him killed in the next five years. He’ll be busy doing favors for everyone, not realizing he’s pissing rivals off in the process.
“There are so many fucking babes here,” PJ exclaims. “I’m ’bout to nut in my pants just looking around.”
“I’m taking those two home.” Snow points to two brunettes who look so similar that they might be sisters.
“Yeah, man. Hit it!” PJ cheers.
“Nothing better than hanging with the boys,” Snow replies. “Free booze, naked chicks, and good music. Best night ever!” He punches a fistful of singles in the air and dives toward the stage.
Across the room, Beefer meets my eyes with a knowing smile. I told you so, his expression says.
I try to put the image of Bitsy and the rubber dick out of my head and focus on what is making every other male in the joint frenzied with excitement. But I can’t summon any enthusiasm. The women gyrating on stage are doing so because they need the money, not because they’re in love with shaking their bare tits in front of a bunch of half-drunk meatheads.
I take a sip of a foul-tasting whiskey and dig my shoulders into the concrete wall. Snow must have a shitty home life if this is what qualifies for the “best” of anything. The best night is sitting on your own couch, watching television, eating microwave popcorn with the sweetest girl to breathe this godforsaken air sitting next to you.
Fuck. I wish I was with Bitsy. I’m glad her strawberry shampoo is smelling up the bathroom and that there five pairs of identical white tennis shoes resting inside the front door that trip me up every time I walk in. I’ve missed buying dozens of containers of yogurt only to have most of them expire before she remembers we have them. I’ve missed her brown eyes laughing at me from across the breakfast table and her cheerful voice telling me all about how the boys are too silly and the classes are too easy and that Sister Mary Katherine needs to pluck the mole hair nesting on her cheek.
I’m tired of hurting Bitsy to keep her safe, but there are no alternatives to the path we’re on. She can’t stay.
I throw back the rest of my glass. I’m going to have something five times as strong as this to drown out my bad mood.
Before I can make my way to the bar for a refill, Mason, the boy I had drive Camella home, appears next to me. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “This is lit, man,” he says in a tone that says he’d like to die.
“Not drinking?” I ask. Out of all the guys I work with, I probably hate Mason the least. He’s quiet, does what he’s told, and doesn’t engage in a lot of shit talking. This scene isn’t up his alley. The kid’s gay, but he’s not out—at least not to us. It doesn’t matter to me. As long as he’s loyal to Beefer, he can fuck whoever he wants. Besides, it’s one less dick out there that’s looking to violate Bitsy.
“I’m driving.”
I wonder if he volunteered for that task. If so, he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. “Good move.”
“Thanks. Gotta be honest. I didn’t expect you to come. Strippers and sex shows don’t seem to be your thing.”
“It’s not,” I admit.
We exchange surprised looks. I’m not usually that forthcoming. The Bitsy thing is messing with my head.
Mason breaks eye contact first. “You’d think that given who you are, you wouldn’t be doing anything you didn’t want to.”
“You regret hooking up with us?” He’s staring at the floor so I can’t read his expression.
“Nah, it’s just…” The kid searches for his words. “A guy should be able to do what he wants when he’s in your position.”
“There’s only one way out of this business, Mason, and it’s not by finding a new job.” Death is the only exit. I can’t get out, but I can get Bitsy out. Maybe even Mason. “You’re new. If you leave now, it’s possible no one would care.” Cesaro might not even know of Mason’s existence.
