Trapped in Different Prisons

Chapter 5: Trapped in Different Prisons

Harley

As I strut down the street tonight, a little unsteady on my feet, the high black heels I chose to wear start to irritate my heels. I'm actually shocked that I haven't busted my ass yet considering how much alcohol is currently rushing through me. The number of people who have stopped their cars by the side of the road and catcalled me has increased, but every time I check the John, I leave dissatisfied. I won't get in the car with just anyone because, believe it or not, I have standards. Another car pulls up to the curb as I approach one of the gentleman's clubs on the city's main drag. The man rolls down the window and pokes his head out while whistling at me. Eh, he’s not bad looking, so why the fuck not?

I never thought I’d be walking the streets trying to fuck for some money. Fucking NEVER.

I never thought I’d be shooting dope, sniffing coke, or smoking meth, either. Fucking NEVER.

I never thought I’d give up on my dreams of dancing. NEVER.

I never thought I’d lose Alec or Hudson. NEVER EVER.

But fucking look at me now. I’m doing all of those fucking things. I guess it’s true what they say when they say “Never say never”.

The club door opens with a chilling screeching sound that makes me shiver, similar to fucking nails on a chalkboard, just as I'm about to step up to the driver's side of the car. I turn around and see someone who, based on his substantial height and the thickness of his very muscular body, I assume to be a bouncer. While dismissively waving his hand at the driver of the car I was approaching, he keeps moving closer to me and motions for him to leave the area. When he stops a few feet from me, I glare at him because it's obvious that he is inspecting every inch of my body.

“Um, can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, can you dance?” He asks with a curious tone of voice, still raking his eyes up my long legs, taking notice of the short skirt and tiny top I decided to wear tonight.

“I can, yes, but why the fuck are you asking me that?”

A gust of wind hits and almost throws me backward as a bitter chill spreads through the air. Fortunately, the nosy bouncer grabs my shoulder and stops me from falling, but as thoughts of my tattooed savior start to cross my mind, I jerk free of his hold. I haven't seen him since the evening he drove me back to his apartment; I still don't know his name or anything about him. Although, that happened two weeks ago. Since then, he's been a ghost, and whenever I run into him in the hallway of our complex, he doesn't acknowledge me, almost as if our brief encounters never took place.

“Did you hear me, cutie?”

The bouncer's commanding voice pierces the mental haze I was in and jolts me back to the harsh, fucked-up reality. I almost lost track of my location and that he was in front of me.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? It’s loud out here, and I can hardly hear you.” I lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. Who even is he?

“I asked if you wanted a job dancing at my club. This one right here.” He points to the club he just left while grinning at me and flashing the shiny grill that covers his teeth. Shit, maybe he isn’t the fucking bouncer…

“How do you know I’m any good? And is this how you find your dancers? Plucking them off the streets?”

“Usually, no, but you just happened to be here right when one of my girls quit. With a body like that, honey, I fucking know you can dance. Ain’t no fucking doubt in my mind… But the question is, can you dance around a pole, half-naked, with a room full of hungry, horny, married men watching you?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

I give the club owner a sly grin before I push past him and proceed toward the exit he used. He's laughing as he walks behind me, probably amused by the way my hips sway and my ass wiggles out from under my skirt. Before I enter the club, the ferocious fall wind decides to torture me once more by blowing up my skirt and showing the man behind me my ass. Well done, Harley, you made a great first impression.

Brixton

I puff away on the fat blunt hanging from between my lips as I sit on the front steps of a building across from one of Brockton's notorious strip joints, the potent smell of marijuana permeating the air as I do so. I hear the owner, one of the worst criminals in the fucking city, talking to my little bird. They're talking about nothing good, but for several reasons I'm not going to step in. The further away from her I am, the better. Right now, it's safer to observe her from the shadows, but I'm still holding onto the hope that Harley will one day be mine. I’m truly fucked, though. I let her get too close. I fucking held her in my arms against my body, and it was fucking intoxicating. She shouldn't have fucking ever laid in my bed, under my blanket, soaking it in her fucking scent. I didn’t want her to know which apartment was mine. The less she knows about me, the better. She fucking pleaded with me to tell her who I was, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I've put even more distance between us. Now I do my best not to bump into her in the hallway.

I cringe as she walks into the club with him on her fucking ass. My nerves are flooded with fear, my hands are shaking, and my mind is racing with vile, horrifying ideas of everything that could go wrong with her inside. The fuck, Harley, what are you doing? This isn’t you…

I concentrate on the blunt between my fingers, watching as the cherry brightens as I inhale and illuminates the thick cloud of smoke I blow out that spirals up into the air. I track the smoke and catch a glimpse of the tiny, brilliant stars that are unusually clear in the sky. On most nights, city lights illuminate the sky and diminish the brilliance of the stars. It’s fucking rare to see them, but they’re twinkling bright tonight. Trigger's tone on my phone rings, and all of a sudden I find myself trapped in the vivid dream I had the night he revealed his secret. When I answer the phone, I take another sizable drag from the blunt and hold the smoke in my lungs before I speak.

“Yo…Trig, what’s… up?”

“You smokin’ a blunt or something?” He laughs, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Arggh, yeah, man. That hit got me fucking good. What’s up, though? Everything alright?”

“Define alright…”

“What now, man? You know I’m not trying to go back to fucking prison, Trig, and you keep putting me in the middle of all this fucking dumb shit.” I get off the stoop and begin to walk toward the community center a few blocks down.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that, Brix. I know you tryin’ to do right and shit, and I fucking respect that.”

“Alright, shit, my bad. Appreciate it, Trig. So, what’s the issue, then? Why you calling me at midnight on a fucking Sunday?”

“Cus, I’m on the fucking train headed to Brockton right now. I need a place to crash for a few days and figured I’d bunk with you.”

“Trig, you know we’re fucking both on parole and we can’t fucking live together? I ain’t trying to get violated because of your ass.” Knowing that now is not the time to bring up his demons, I hold back on everything else I want to say to him. Rage starts to surge through me and cling to every bloody nerve in my body. As I approach the community center, Rae is standing outside and is already fucking waving me over.

“Look, Trig, I’m walking up to a fucking meeting, so I’ll hit you up when I get done. You can’t stay with me for a few days, but tonight is fucking fine.”

“Alright, Brix, appreciate it. Good looking out.”

Before I even get to the front of the building, she starts fucking dragging me by the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Everyone is preoccupied with their own conversations and isn't even paying us any attention as we sneak around the building to the covered back porch. The squeaking door slams once behind me as she pulls me through. She pulls me in close to her while grabbing the collar of my sweatshirt, and she eventually becomes pinned up against the back of the screen door.. I tear at her short dress and lift it over her wide hips as our lips smear hungrily and our tongues tangle in a flurry of heated passion. She moans into my mouth and bites at my bottom lip as I cup her fat, voluptuous ass and knead it roughly with my hands. An image of Harley pops into my mind, taking over the darkness that consumes me from having my eyes closed. I consider her lips and how ridiculously seductive she is when she licks them. Raegan spins around as I remove my mouth from hers, pressing her chest against the screen. I forcefully lift her dress up and pull her wet underwear to the side while swiping my fingers across her wet pussy lips. When I pull my cock out and roll a rubber on, a new memory of Harley hits me, making me shudder. As I align my cock with her opening and sink into Rae's warmth, she wiggles her ass against me. I burrow inside of her and slam into her with deep strokes as her muscles grab my cock. I try to convince myself it's Harley who I'm fucking in the back of the meeting space as I squeeze her ass in my hands and press my forehead against the back of her head.

Harley

The nightclub's interior is beautifully designed. Every nook in the club has the ideal level of lighting, gorgeous features, and high-end furniture. In order to create a more intimate atmosphere, the room is divided into smaller sections with larger seating arrangements for about ten people. No matter where you are inside the club, the stage is always perfectly visible. Let's face it, the convenience of the bar's location is a key selling point for the business. Not to mention that all of the women who work here look like fucking supermodels, making me appear insignificant in comparison. I proceed with the owner down the opulent back hall that leads to the private rooms, spotting another area of the club that’s watched over by two security guards. I almost hesitate to ask what it is despite the fact that it is obviously more than a strip club. We enter an office, and he closes the door behind us, motioning for me to take a seat across from his elegant desk.

“How old are you?”

“Uh, 21. What’s your name, so I know what to call you?” My question comes out quietly as little anxious flutters swarm inside my stomach. My leg starts to bounce uncontrollably as he looks me over, giving me an intimidating look.

“They call me Stacks around here. What can I call you?”

I'm aware that I shouldn't use my real name with him, but the dense fog that is swirling around in my head prevents me from thinking clearly. I make myself look like a fucking fool by going completely blank and just staring at him.

“Look, I get it if you don’t want to tell me your real name, just pick a fucking name then.”

“Like what, though?”

“Shit, I don’t fucking know. What’s your last name?”

“Savage…” He grins; the corners of his thick lips tug upward.

“Savage, huh? I like that. What’s your middle name?”

I pause before revealing my middle name; knowing how much Alec adored it, it almost feels wrong to use it for such a heinous purpose. I can’t do that to him.

“I think I’ll stick with Savage, thanks.”

He nods as he takes two shot glasses out of his desk drawer and unscrews the top of a liquor bottle. He slides one over to me after he fills it, encouraging me to toss it back. With a shaky hand, I take the glass and tap it against his before hitting the desktop and pouring it into my mouth. The burn coats my throat and lingers, making every inhale feel like I'm breathing fucking fire. I slide it back, he refills it, and we take another shot. I immediately feel myself letting go, slouching against the plush chair. The club's loud music shakes the surrounding walls, sending shockwaves to my seat and igniting my insides. With the liquor coursing through my veins, all I want to do is dance. I want to forget that Alec and Hudson are gone and will never return. I want to forget about my now-broken relationship with my parents. I want to forget about the career I abandoned in favor of a life on the streets. And I want to fucking forget about the tattooed Greek fucking god who won't leave my head. I want to forget about everything.

“How long you been turning tricks, Savage?” Stacks asks, finally breaking the uncomfortable, suffocating silence.

“I only do it when I need the money. I’m in a bad spot right now.”

Even though I make every effort to justify my behavior, even I can't believe the fucking lies I'm telling. I often question why I was one of the unfortunate people who used drugs to cope with trauma and grief. Why me? Why couldn’t therapy have worked when I tried it? Why am I trapped in a life that, the majority of the time, makes me wish I was fucking dead?

“Well, if you’re gonna be working here, there’s no more of that shit. You’re too pretty for them streets, Savage. And I’ll let you in on a little secret…” He leans across his desk and motions with his finger for me to lean in. When I do, he speaks softly but with a raspy voice that is brimming with mischief.

“When we entered this room, did you notice the guards stationed at the door at the end of the hall?

"Yes, they're kind of fucking difficult to miss." The alcohol causes filth to spill from my lips, and my ability to be polite appears to have vanished. "What exactly are you running back there?"

"It's a private club for the most affluent members of the escort service that operates back there. You know, like a more refined version of selling yourself on the street."

My interest is immediately piqued, and I'm eager to learn more.

"Tell me more, Stacks." How the fuck do I sign up?”

Brixton

Usually, when I walk the streets at night, I reflect on how fucked up my childhood was and all the shit that went wrong in my life. Was I ever supposed to have a happy life, or was I designed to be unhappy? The vast majority of people don't like the hand that life has dealt them. They are never fucking happy with what they have and constantly yearn for something bigger and better. It never seems to be enough. They want more. I'm not being hypocritical because I admit I'm one of those fucking people. I have a fucking right to be angry at life for dealing me a bad hand, in my defense. My parents weren't there, or if they were, they were either fucking drunk, abusive, or fighting all day and night. I missed them like fucking crazy when they weren’t around. Shit, I fucking cried for them to come home. But when they finally decided to come home and be parents, it was so fucking bad that I always wished they were fucking gone. No matter how I felt or what I fucking wanted, I couldn't fucking win. At the age of thirty-four, I'm still struggling to recover from the trauma I underwent. I'll never be fucking healed at this point. I'll never be able to get past this. Serves me fucking right, though. All the sins I've fucking committed throughout my life are being punished against me.

When I see Trigger sitting on the stoop talking to some fucking girl as I approach my apartment building, I freeze in a fucking panic. I walk over, seething with rage that makes my head scream, and it takes everything I've got to keep it under control. I move between them without even looking at the girl and slam right into Trigger.

“Yo, what the fuck are you doing?”

"Relax, Brix. I was just chatting with-”

"I know, but you don't have to fucking be out here." "I told you how to get the fuck inside."

I shove him out the door and make a conscious effort to keep my eyes closed as I leave, ignoring the swaying feet of my lost little bird. What the fuck were they doing talking to each other? Nerves consume me as I make my way to the second floor, knowing that this encounter isn't going to end well for fucking anyone. I push Trigger into my apartment and lock the door, heading straight for the wall safe, which looks completely out of place in the rundown, dingy apartment. While still trying to figure out what the fuck to say to this mother fucker, I take my drugs out, and start working to make a shot. He settles right in and starts rolling a blunt, adding cocaine crumbs to the weed to enhance the high when we smoke it. When Trigger finally speaks, we’re both high and sprawled out in front of the flatscreen mounted to the wall. His words give me a chill that won't go away.

"What's the deal with your neighbor, Harley?"

My eyes fling open, the nod I had going is gone, and I’m woken up immediately. I turn to him and grit my teeth, watching as he nods out with a grin on his face.

“There’s no fucking story with her, Trig. You need to stay away from her.”

You fucking like her, Brix, don't you?

"Trigger, leave it the fuck alone. I'm serious. She shouldn't be forced into your or my bullshit. She’s a good girl.”

"You say she's a good girl? I'd have to fucking disagree with you based on what she told me tonight.

I try to picture what Harley would have said to him, but I can't picture anything vile or promiscuous coming out of her mouth. She didn't even lose her virginity until she was seventeen years old. She’s too fucking innocent for this life, and yet somehow she’s smack dab in the fucking center of it… Now, on top of every fucking thing else, I have to figure out a fucking way to keep Trigger away from her.