Total pages in book: 7
Estimated words: 6137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 31(@200wpm)___ 25(@250wpm)___ 20(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 31(@200wpm)___ 25(@250wpm)___ 20(@300wpm)
I’m still an early riser, so I get a run in and head to the gym before my shift at the club starts. After a hot shower, I hop on my bike and head to work. I park at the club and walk down the street to grab some coffee and food at the diner. I grab to-go coffees for Angel and Becca, a waitress at the club. I feel bad for the girl. Her eyes are so freaking haunted. I’ve heard bits and pieces of her story from Dolly, but I don’t pry.
When I get the club the door in already unlocked and Warrant is playing. There are no customer’s yet, but Angel is wiping down tables and Becca is behind the bar.
“Morning, Ladies,” I call from the doorway.
“Morning, Pat,” Becca calls, cheerily. She’s always happy that one.
“Good morning, Patriot,” Angel says. Neither one of them look up from their chores. I hand each of them their coffees and take my place by the door.
At exactly ten-thirty, Gus, a regular, walks in and head for his usual seat at the bar. Becca serves him all day long. He walks home, sleeps it off, and does all again the next day. He’s quiet and he tips the girls well, even though he rarely watches the shows.
I chuckle as Delilah, which I’m sure isn’t her real name, saunters up on the stage at eleven. A few more customers have come and sitting in front of the stage. Delilah is six months pregnant and doesn’t take her job too seriously right now. Today she’s dressed like a schoolgirl in trouble and is stripping to Papa Don’t Preach. The customer’s, the pigs that they are, love her. She’s not club candy but there are rumors going around that a patched member knocked her up, but most gossip is lies, especially in Haven. I take all that with a grain of salt.
I’m a few hours in when the front door opens and the sunlight streams in. I don’t think anything of it until a beautiful girl stops in front of me. Slowly, I look her up and down. She’s tall, curvy, and has a riot of blonde hair. Somewhere deep inside of me, something primal takes hold. She’s mine, my soul or my conscious is screaming it over and over in my head. It’s never done this shit before, so I am inclined to listen to what it has to say.
“Hi. I’m inquiring about the dancer position. Can you point me in the right the direction?”
Hell no. Over my dead body will anybody in this town see this girl naked but me. Come hell or high water this girl, whoever the hell she is, is mine.
CHAPTER 2
CELESTE
For so long, all I’ve thought about was getting away from my mother and stepfather. My life has been miserable, and I just wanted to be free. From birth to ten years old, my life was great. Then my father died, and my mom married the first douchebag that paid her any attention. It was bad from the day he moved in. Imagine being ten years old and your mother getting mad at you for your stepfather’s lecherous stares and inappropriate touching. Like I had any control over that monster’s actions. It didn’t matter though. Every time something happened my mom beat my ass to the point I couldn’t sit down. No one believed me. Not my teachers, not social services. No one. As an adult, I now know that everyone in my life let me down and what happened to me wasn’t my fault. At sixteen, I stole a couple thousand dollars from under my mom’s bed. She didn’t believe in banks, thankfully. I bought a cheap used car from old man Jackson in my neighborhood, and I was gone the day I got my driver’s license. I never finished high school, but the only thing that mattered was getting away. I’ll get my GED one day. As soon as I feel safe, if that ever happens. I hope it does, but the realist in me is telling me that it won’t. I can’t have normal again.
Now, I am far away from that nightmare. I left California and just drove. I can handle anything that comes my way, but a young girl traveling alone isn’t the best idea, so Mr. Jackson gave me a gun to use for protection. In the two, almost three years, that I’ve been gone, I haven’t had to use it. Most people are too worried about their own shit to pay attention to me, and I love that. I can go for days without ever even talking to another person. Some nights, I wake up disoriented and I right back in my pale pink bedroom reliving the things that happened to me. My stepdad never made it past touches, but the intent was there, and I knew every time that it happened, I was going to get my ass beat. It’s enough to make me afraid. Then I remember that I’m free. Totally free. Totally alone. When I’m low on money, I get a waitressing job and make just enough to keep going for a while. I’ve been lucky. I’d work for a few weeks under the table and then be gone. If anyone asked, my name was Colleen. No one ever asked for my story, and I never offered it up. I don’t do social media and I have a cheap burner phone that I throw out every so often.