Love and War: Part One – Chapter 1

Four months later . . .

Irun through the employee entrance of the bar at half past twelve, buttoning my black, sleeveless crop top as I come to a halt at the time clock. I grab my time card from the grip of my mouth and swipe it, before shoving it into the pocket of my short cutoff denims and rush toward the bar, hoping like hell Abel isn’t here.

I’m late. My shift started at ten and I’ve had excuse after excuse since I started at Inked aKross The Skin, but the truth is, Cassie wasn’t kidding about having late night hours.

Kross is a fucking workaholic and I can’t leave until he does since he’s mentoring me and all. I assumed being the boss that he would do less work than the rest. I was wrong. I don’t think I’ve gotten out of there before nine thirty since I started, and that was maybe a handful of times at best.

In the beginning, I tried to sneak away early if I could, especially if Kross had to leave for his mysterious second life I hear nothing about—apparently no one does. The man is like a ghost, but being the maid, errand runner and bitch girl for the world’s biggest asshole makes it hard to leave early.

That moment I thought we had during the back and forth conversation the day of the interview was squandered quickly the second I became his employee. Him barking orders is about the only conversation I’ve gotten from him since—one way.

I knew it was going to be hard starting at the bottom, and most everything that I’ve been doing I was prepared for, but what I didn’t know was the first time I picked up a tattoo gun that day would also be the last. The perfect tease . . .

I haven’t held one since except to change out a part or clean up to give the artist a break due to a client running past the time allotment, which happens often, especially with the little whiny girls that cry and scream over a little pain. If only they knew how much they were made fun of when they left . . .

It’s a fucking needle. Of course it’s going to hurt. If you can’t handle the pain then you shouldn’t be getting a tattoo. It’s a waste of the artist’s time to have to babysit when they should be concentrating on what’s going to be on the client’s body for the rest of their life.

Even being a slave, I love the life of a tattoo shop. It’s exactly what I anticipated in regard to the mood and environment, and the staff I love. Right now I need the extra income of a second job until I work my way up past the shitty pay of an apprentice. I’m pretty sure I’ve never worked for minimum wage a day in my life before this, not even in high school. A certain person in my life made it very easy to make money.

I want this to work, but nightlife bartending is competitive and I couldn’t get a permanent late shift. Everyone would love to come in at rush and make all the good tips when the average American is drunk, especially the highly coveted weekends. That wouldn’t be fair, though, so it’s a shift rotation among all bartenders with no option for changes to the schedule unless you’re pretty much dying. We know our schedule months in advance and your body never gets used to the constantly changing schedule. We conform to it, not the other way around.

Here I am, walking toward the bar with yet another tardy against my record. Before I can even make my way behind the bar Abel targets me in his sight and points toward the office.

Fuck!

I file into the small room behind him and he shuts the door. “I’m really sorry I’m late,” I state.

“Save it, Delta,” he says as he walks to the seat at his desk and sits. “Sit down.” Abel is the co-owner of the bar. He and Kane are brothers, mid-thirties, and sexy as fuck. I wouldn’t mind riding on that train if for no other reason than the scenic view—as I’m sure so many already have—had I not deemed sex with men completely lame at this point.

Years with no manmade orgasm will do that to you. They can be greedy fucks and competitive as shit when it comes to coming, yet it’s not in me to switch to the other side and become a lesbian. I may dabble from time to time, but it’s all in young fun. Sure, the old hide and seek still feels good, but hell, I can make myself feel good for all of five minutes, even get myself off by way of clit. The missing part is that inner orgasm that makes you feel like a fucking rock star.

Abel is the one that looks more like he belongs on my side of the tracks—tattoos, unshaven jawline, dark features and untamed clothing. Kane, well, he looks like he belongs to a prep school—clean, neat, and stale, lighter hair and eyes.

I think on their names often. Makes me wonder if their mother was some Bible freak on drugs to name her sons after a duo where one killed the other. I’m not as knowledgeable in the good book as I should be, but I’m pretty sure everyone knows that tale. And just because she spells one different doesn’t mean people don’t notice.

I stare at him from inside the door, not moving. Both are extremely buff and sexy, yet completely opposite of the other in everything but build, which is the reason for their take-no-shit attitude they always have as well as hot, young trophy girls hanging on their arms.

Abel glances down my body as I stare at him shamelessly. He sighs. “Delta, sit down.” His voice comes out a tad less frustrated than before.

I do as told and sit on the opposite side of him. “You’ve been one of my best bartenders since you started, but this isn’t going to work anymore. You obviously have other priorities or you’re into shit that’s bad for you. Either way, it’s shit I don’t have time for in my club. I don’t know what is going on in your life, but this is a business. On a slow night we still turn over revenue in the high thousands. We’re talking six figures on the weekends. I can’t be short a bartender for even thirty minutes.”

“Please don’t fire me.”

“I’m not firing you, but I am demoting you to a fill-in. When I need an extra body I’ll call you, and if you prove to me you can be here at every needed allotment then I’ll give you your job back in a few months’ time. You’ll learn I’m not a pushover.”

“Abel, I can’t lose this gig. I need the income. I could be homeless by then.”

“Then I suggest you find something else in the meantime that can work around your new schedule. No one did this to you, Delta, you did it to yourself. I’ve been a damn good boss to you. You get more late-night weekend shifts than most of my fulltime bartenders. The only reason I’m not cutting you all together to make an example out of you is because the regulars fucking love you, and regulars keep this place going. They bring in new people. You’re the hot girl with the tattoos that serves as every man’s darkest fantasy. Fantasy is what keeps me from going bankrupt. You also keep up with a max capacity bar full of drunk, demanding customers better than anyone else on my payroll. It’s a damn shame to lose you, but if I continue overlooking the way you’ve been doing I lose my respect as an owner, and I can’t have that. This is the best I can do.”

By the sudden rise in my body temp it’s clear that I’m starting to stress. I don’t need this shit. My income has already dipped significantly only working half my shift on most days. I should just tell him I picked up a second job with a very demanding boss. One I want to defile me on most days . . . But I wasn’t raised to make excuses when shit hits the fan, so I’ll sit here and take the ass whooping bent over with a bare ass. “Are you at least going to let me finish my shift tonight?”

“No. I had to call in someone to fill your spot when I realized you weren’t going to show on time and it’s fucking Friday night. We’re at max capacity and the line outside is wrapped around the building. I need all hands on deck, and it’s not fair to send her home when you’re the one at fault. In the real world, there is always someone waiting to take your spot if you fuck up.” Which is why I will live in my car before I give up working for Kross. “You’re an adult, Delta. Act like one if you want a fulltime income. This is me forcing you to take responsibility.”

I huff, knowing he’s right even if I don’t want to admit it. My pride won’t acknowledge it, though. I’ve been on my own pretty much my entire life. It’s no different now. The only difference is there isn’t a neglectful mother paying the bills who put a roof over my head should I fail at it.

He sits back in his chair, the silence lingering between us. My hands are trembling in my lap, but I try to mask the stress as I hold my chin up and stand to leave. “I’m sorry. I may seem like an irresponsible young adult to you, but I’m trying. Just because I look the part doesn’t mean I’m part of the club. Things aren’t always the way they seem, Abel.” I turn and walk out, slamming the door shut behind me as I hear my name coming from his lips. Doesn’t look like I’m going to be catching up on rent today . . .

I make my way to my car and grab my pack of cigarettes as I get in, pulling one out and instantly placing it between my lips. With it lit, I suck hard, inhaling the toxic goodness into my lungs. I know it’s bad for me, but it’s something I found long ago to cope with an abnormal lifestyle. Bad girls do bad things. That’s all I’ve ever been, and that’s never going to change.

I glance at my phone for the first time since I left the shop in a hurry. The only one that catches my attention is a text from Lux.

Lux: Miss you, bitch. Retail therapy soon? You’re dodging me . . .

I toss my phone aside. Dodging? Have I been dodging her? I was just giving her space since she’s so new in culinary school and orgasm deep on a nightly basis with her hot fiancé who’s head over heels for her.

Any man that can keep her from running is a damn good one if you ask me. I’ve known her for a long time. Lux can be the most conniving woman for luxury, but she’s never hidden that fact. She knows what she wants and she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get it. You can’t fault her for that if you know her history and what life she came from, but she’ll run at the face of her demons without thought.

Who am I to interfere in their newfound love bubble? I’ve had years by her side. I know when it’s time to let her go. Kaston is good for her. Lux is happy—something she’s never been. Content, maybe. But happy, never.

We’ve been best friends since we were kids. You know what they say: broken souls tend to migrate together. Lux didn’t ask for her shitty hand like me. She didn’t have a part in the evil she was exposed to. Mine came with open arms. She was a victim. I was a player.

So, dodging? Maybe I am. It’s best for her. She’s on her way to healing in the arms of someone who loves her. I’m still suffering alone. For the first time I believe that she’s better off without my sad, miserable life holding her back.

I knew Lux was destined for greatness. I love her. I want to see her fly. It’s why I sent in her application for culinary school all those months ago. I’m just a traveler down a dark road. Those roads are meant to be traveled alone.

I start the engine, ready to go home. It sounds like a bubble bath and metal music kind of night, so I shall.