by Lynn Rider
“Hey! Those dogs need homes and will be euthanized otherwise,” I chime in, liking Matthew’s idea.
“What does you-thin-eyes mean?” Brandon asks innocently and immediately, I realize how I’m not cut out for this parenting shit.
I kneel, getting eye level with Brandon. “It means that if no one wants them, they give them a shot in their leg and they go to sleep and never wake up.”
Brandon’s eyes fill with tears and he nods. “We should get one of those. Can we go tomorrow?” he whispers.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday, but we’ll go on Monday after school, okay?”
He nods, but his demeanor seems to have shifted. The doorbell rings, preventing me from asking if he’s okay. I ruffle his dark hair. “I need to get that. It’s probably Smith.” I step through the house, his reaction heavy on my mind, but still feeling lighter than I have in a long time.
I swing the door open and two uniformed policemen stand on my front stoop. “Chance McKnight?” the portly one asks.
“Yes?”
“We have an order to remove a Matthew Alan McKnight and a Brandon David McKnight from your custody and place them with their aunt…” he looks down at some paperwork again. “Michelle Miller.”
“What?” I feel the pinch in my face as I mentally replay what he just rattled off.
“Sir, custody has been awarded to a Michelle Miller,” he repeats.
“Yeah, I heard you, but how? I mean, why?” I lean against the door, taking the same kind of deep breath I learned to exercise over the years with my mother. Now I’m doing it with her God damned sister. Her alcoholic sister.
“I can’t answer the why’s, sir. You’re a resourceful guy.” He leans in. “Big fan by the way.” He straightens. “So, you’re going to have to consult your attorney and I’m sure you’ll get it all cleared up.”
The taller cop steps up, sympathy in his dark eyes. “Mr. McKnight, we’re going to have to take them with us.”
I look over his shoulder. Beyond their police cruiser, at the end of my long driveway, sits a small car with its headlights on. “Is that her?” I ask. Both men turn and I hear the irritation in the heavy breath of the short portly one.
Smith turns into the driveway, slowing as he passes by the idling car. He speeds back up, racing around the front circled drive. His tires come to an abrupt halt, door swings open, and his large body jumps from the still-running truck. “What’s going on?” he asks, racing up the steps and standing by my side. His eyes bounce between the policeman and me. He glances toward the road. Jutting his chin at it, he asks, “What is she doing here?”
“Mr. McKnight, we’re just here doing our job. We don’t want any issue and what’s best for the boys, is that you don’t create one,” he taller cop says, stepping back from Smith’s ominous presence.
“They’re taking Matt and Brandon. That bitch is up to something.” It takes every ounce of restraint I have to not run out there, punch in the window of that little beat-up piece of shit car and drag her out.
“What’s going on?” Vic asks, stepping into the doorway. Matthew and Brandon curiously peer around Vic’s body.
“Let me be the one to tell them,” I plead quietly to the police. They both nod and I step into the house. Smith begins talking about what bullshit this is. I totally agree, but I have to be strong for Matt and Brandon. What that cop said is right. It’s best for them if I don’t create an issue…at least not here and now. But there damn sure will be an issue made. I will not step down like I have for the last several years. Taking them from their mother was one thing, but I damned sure won’t hesitate in using every resource available to keep them from her.
Matthew and Brandon watch me curiously as I lead them back into the kitchen and away from the drama unfolding on the front porch.
“Those policemen are here telling me that Aunt Michelle has applied for custody of you two and that you have to go stay with her for a little while.”
“That’s bullshit!” Brandon interrupts. Truer words have never been said.
“I know, buddy, but you’ll have to go with them today. It won’t be long. I’m calling my attorney the minute you leave and you’ll be back here in no time. I’m not letting you live anywhere but here. I promise.”
“We don’t even know her. She never came around and when she did, she would act funny—like Mom!” Matthew retorts, his eyes brimming with tears. I take a deep breath, looking to the ceiling and blinking back my own tears. I want to be calm for them, but fuck if this isn’t a challenge of discipline. I want to go out there and rip the heads off everyone, starting with that bitch, and the cops if they try to stop me.
“It’s your birthday. How can she do this shit on your birthday?” Brandon adds.
I gather them in my arms and hug them, trying to stay strong. “Think of it as a sleepover. I’ll get shit sorted out as soon as I can. I promise, guys. I won’t let you stay there,” I mumble.
“Chance,” Vic says quietly from the other side of the kitchen. I loosen my grasp, but can’t let go. “They need to go. They won’t let you drive them, but they’re going to let me. Smith’s going to drive us.” Any other time, Vic would get a kick out of Smith being his driver, but his sad tone and crestfallen face stays unamused.
I pull back, looking at Matthew and Brandon. “You need to pack a bag. Keep your laptops and tablets hidden from her. You need me? I’m there. I’ll get you back here as soon as I can.”
They both nod and slowly carry themselves toward their rooms. I look Vic’s way. “I want to fry that bitch. She doesn’t want those boys, she wants something.”
“Money would be my guess. I almost sent Smith down the driveway to ask who to make the check out to,” Vic says sadly.
“I’m not stepping aside this time, Vic. This is going to be the most important fight of my life and I intend on winning.”
I step through the doors of the club, the beat of my anger pulsing with the loud music. My buddy Eric sits at the edge of the stage where a blonde stripper is leaned back on her ass, palming her own tits as she swings her legs open. Bending the county mandate of bikini bottoms stay on, she pulls the thin string to the side and leaves nothing to the imagination.
Eric’s long arm wraps around my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Happy birthday, bro!” he yells in my ear as I slide into the stool next to him.
The song ends and the stripper fades into the darkness after her grand finale slide down the pole.
“Thanks,” I mutter, nodding at the waitress that slides a bottle of beer in front of me.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you on your birthday. I thought you’d be balls deep inside some pussy tonight.” He chuckles, looking back to the stage as the music starts again.
“Yeah, not the way I thought I’d be spending my night,” I mutter, knowing he didn’t hear me over the music. The boys come back to mind and I drown some of my anger with a long pull from my beer. I was on the phone with my attorney before Smith’s taillights where even out of sight. There’s nothing either one of us can do until Monday, but he’s assured me, he’d be on it first thing.
Eric looks up to the stage, appreciatively watching Gigi grind her pussy against the pole. Long dark hair swings around, skimming her lower back as she rides the length of the metal rod. I skip the pussy grinding and watch her cantaloupe-sized tits, daring them to move a millimeter with her gyrations.
They don’t.
Her tits are a plastic surgeon’s botched job. They look okay on the outside, but they are hard as a fucking rock. I know. I’ve slid my dick between them until I sprinkled my cum on her face.
“She’s something else. I don’t know why you don’t tap that on the regular,” Eric says, leaning into me. Gigi sees us talking and she prances slowly across the stage in our direction. She gets down, crawling like a provocative cat the last few feet. I know what she wants and I have nothing for her. That one and only night in the backroom, she was like a fucking dog in heat. I like an assertiv
e woman, but any woman begging me to fuck her without a condom is a red light in my book.
“She’s bad news, man. She wanted me bareback.” I don’t usually fuck and tell, but then again, Gigi and I never fucked. But more importantly, Eric is a friend. Aside from Smith, he’s my only friend. It’s only right I give him fair warning what a psychopathic bitch this one is.
Gigi rolls back on her ass, legs parting into a split as her eyes do their best to connect to mine. “I’ll be right back.” Pushing away from my stool, I go to the bar and waste enough time for Gigi’s set to be over by the time I come back with the next round.
“That was classic, man. She was pissed when you walked away.” Eric laughs, taking the beer I hand him as I slide back into my seat.
I look around at Jimmy’s place. “Probably gonna have to find a new gentlemen’s club.” The Big Shebang is nice enough and no one really bothers me—except Gigi—but Eric is related to Jimmy, so I hate to take the little bit of business I provide away because of one skank.
“Uncle Jimmy will be pissed if you don’t come around. Want me to say something to him about her?”
“Nah, I can handle my own shit. Besides, I won’t be coming back for a while. Next fight is in three months.”
“This one will set you up for the world champion fight, right?”
“Yep and Vic is going to ride me harder than ever and not even kiss me goodnight.” I smile, tipping my beer back, enjoying this taste of freedom between training. “So how long you in town?” Eric is a truck driver, traveling all over the country. He’s rarely in town for longer than a night or two.
“Not long, but it’s getting old. I want to settle down and—”
“Whoa, settle down?” I interrupt, wondering what brought this about. Eric is a free spirit. His unruly beard and long hair is physical evidence of that. But more than that, he never sticks to one place, or person, for very long.
“Yeah man, I’m always gone with no place to hang my hat at the end of the night. It’s crazy I even have an apartment here. I’m never there. It would be cheaper to rent a hotel the few nights I’m in town.” He turns his attention to the other stage, watching another dancer in the distance. He looks back to me. “This is what my life has resulted to. One-night stands, usually with strippers or a cheap thrill I find in bars across the country. Even if I found someone, they’re not going to wait around to date a guy with my career. I’m twenty-seven years old. The good girls are all getting snagged up and married. What does that leave me?” He motions his hands to the stripper.
“I don’t know, man. Fucking the same woman the rest of your life?” I shake my head. “It’s not for me. I like variety.”
Thankfully the music ramps back up as the next girl takes the stage, preventing me from having to continue this pussy-like conversation. We both look up. She’s new.
“Who is she?”
“Fuck if I know. You’re here more than me,” I tease back, knowing that when he’s in town, his ass is parked on the very stool where it sits tonight. He mumbles something else, but I don’t hear it. I’m too busy watching the blonde in the electric blue sequined bikini and matching heels. She’s a fucking knock-out! Long blonde hair, perfect fucking real tits, soft curves and tone legs that go on for days. Now, she’s someone I could take to the back room and ride bareback.
The beat picks up and she glides around the pole, holding onto it with one hand. She turns, arching her back and rubbing her ass cheeks down the metal rod before stepping away and stumbling as she walks toward the edge of the stage. Her bikini top falls to the floor and she does some sort of fucking twirl. “I’m no expert at stripper moves, but what in the fuck is she doing?” Eric asks, leaning in. I shake my head, watching as she saunters around the stage like she’s in a musical.
“I don’t know. Maybe she skipped pole dancing day.” He laughs, but I only manage a smile, unable to take my eyes off the beautiful girl twirling around the stage as comfortable as a fish out of water.
“That was one hell of a fight, Chance.” Jimmy slaps me on the back, forcing my attention from the stage. I turn and he shakes my hand. “Congratulations on that win. I knew you could kick his ass.” He leans in, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. “Between you and me, you made me a lot of money.” He laughs harder, his large girth dancing with the sound.
“Uncle Jimmy, what’s up with this one?” Eric asks, pointing toward the stage.
“She’s a looker, just not much of a dancer. I don’t know her story, only that she needed a job and I hired her as a favor.” Our attention falls back to the stage. “She’ll get there. Next round is on me boys,” he adds before walking away.
“What makes a girl get on that stage?” I ask, my full focus on the blonde.
“I don’t know. Some like it. Take Gigi for example.” He nods across the bar to where she’s standing—watching us. “She’s been here since my Uncle bought the place five years ago. She’ll probably be up there throwing that pussy around well into middle age.” He laughs.
“You think she always liked it? Or did she start out like this one?” I tip the neck of my bottle the direction of the stage.
Eric sits back and watches as the blonde gracefully sways across the stage, arms delicately flailing over her head. “That, my friend, is desperation. Something brought her up there. Maybe student loans…paying her way through med school…who in the fuck knows.” He shrugs.
My eyes study her again. From her muscular legs to her long blonde hair, she’s natural, nothing like the others that take that stage.
“Hello boys,” Gigi purrs, running her long red tipped fingernail across my shoulder blades. I sit up, trying to put a few inches of distance between us. She steps closer, obviously trying to close the distance again.
“Did you like my dance?”
I push her off when she attempts to straddle my leg. “Get lost, Gigi.”
“You don’t mean that, Chance. Remember how much fun we had last time,” she whispers in my ear.
“Who is the new girl?” I ask. Gigi’s face sours before turning away and storming off.
Mission accomplished.
8
Mia
The deafening beat of the music turns into a dull ache in my head as I make my way down the long hall toward the dressing room. Thankfully Jimmy only scheduled me for one dance tonight because I was horrible.
Beyond horrible.
The bright lights worked to block my view from seeing anything and anyone beyond the seats directly in front of the stage. I stayed far away from the edge, focusing on the dark, well above where anyone could be sitting. Part of me feared I’d be touched. The other feared I would see the horror in the eyes of those watching.
I burst into the dressing room, wanting to hurry up and get out of here. I want to go home, crawl in bed, and forget this night ever happened. I distantly hear the other girls talking when I walk through the small room, but I don’t waste time trying to make friends.
This is a means to an end.
I pull the sweatshirt I left hanging on the chair over my bare chest and slide onto the stool in front of the lighted mirror. One at a time, I pry the bright blue fuck-me pumps from my feet. Giving each foot a quick massage, I sigh in relief as the feeling slowly returns. I stretch my toes and throw the shoes on the floor, wondering how women wear those torture devices on their feet, especially while dancing on that stage.
I grab my bag from the floor and bury my sparkly bikini top. I find the makeup remover wipes and begin scrubbing.
“You really sucked out there,” a female voice says from behind me. My eyes lift, looking above my own reflection in the mirror. There are three women looking at me: a blonde, redhead, and a brunette. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. I can tell it’s the brunette who said it by the smug look on her face.
“Come on Gigi, give her a break,” the blonde says, shouldering past her and stepping toward me.
“I’m just saying, she sucked. It’s not good for b
usiness so all of you should talk to Jimmy about getting her off that stage.” She glances around, trying to win votes for her cause. “She doesn’t belong here. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here,” she sneers, her eyes roaming over my body.
She’s right, I was terrible and I don’t want to be here.
It was harder than I expected and much more humiliating.
“You’re just worried someone’s going to get in on your action, Gigi,” the blonde says, sliding into the vanity next me and dropping a duffel bag onto the floor. “You and I both saw the way Chance and his buddy were looking at her and you’re pissed. When are you going to give up on that guy?”
“Fuck you Brittany. I’ll give up on him when I have his baby and him wrapped around my little finger,” she spits back in response. My mind swirls, wondering who this Chance guy is. With strippers fighting over him, he must be a real winner.
“In your dreams. He’s done with you. Just face it and move on—”
A firm knock on the door breaks up the catfight. “Yoli, Gigi, you two are on next.” The large bouncer steps in and dumps some crumpled up bills on the desk in front of me. He turns without so much as a glance my direction, following the redhead and Gigi out the door.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s a whore and this is all she’s got going for her,” the blonde says, brushing makeup along her jaw line. “Chance and his guys sometimes come in here when he’s not training for a fight and her claws come out, thinking he belongs to her. She’s living in some delusional state that a guy like that falls for a girl like her.” She laughs and it’s disarming. Brittany looks like an average girl. Well, one side of her face does. The other side is being painted up with dark eye makeup and the transformation isn’t complimentary.
“He fights?” I ask and inwardly groan. That’s all I could come up with?
“He’s a pro boxer, a big timer. His fights are on TV. He’s from St. Louis, still lives here actually. I’ve never really talked to the guy, but Gigi got her hooks in him one night and swears it was nothing but magic between the two of them. He hasn’t looked her way since.”
