Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Marata Eros
a guy over, I let her watch Jaylin when I have a date. I keep seeking other men. I don't find what I'm looking for. They’re all compared to Snare. And fall short.
I straighten. “When do you think you'll be home?”
“Jesus, Mom .” Lola winks, her hazel eyes sparkling. It's her best feature. Not as a dancer but as a human being. All her humor and interesting personality can be seen in those twin windows of amber and green. She's an open book.
Me, not so much.
She lifts a bony shoulder. “I don't know, ʼho.” She leans forward, her hand on my shoulder, and looms. Her height of five nine towers over my five foot three. “I have another blind date for you.” She squeezes my arm, expectant.
I begin to turn away, tipping my cell out of the front pocket of my jeans. I glance at the time. Ten minutes. “No,” I say with a laugh and start to walk toward the employeesʼ back entrance.
“You're going to wear out those batteries on that thing!” she yells loud enough that she announces my rub-out schedule to whoever's listening. God.
I flip her off without turning around as I slam the glass door open with my palm.
Lola's laughter follows me into the cold early spring sunshine glinting off the cement sidewalk and warming the cobblestones beyond. Only a sliver of bright light slices between our cars lined up in the back alley. The buildings cause artificial shadow to darken the long, narrow space. We have permits to park here between the buildings, but service trucks have taken off two mirrors on my Fiat in the last year alone.
I don't bother to fix it anymore. Cars don't matter, living in downtown Seattle. The only reason I have one is so I can run Jaylin to ballet and preschool.
I ease into my car, wedged between the dumpster and the restaurants that line the street. Beyond them, Puget Sound sparkles in icy-gray glory, mirroring the glare of sunshine that can't bust the typical pewter overcast of late winter in the Pacific Northwest.
I'd do almost anything to have some actual sunshine.
I pull out in traffic so deep I have to wait for the kindness of someone to let me in. Takes awhile.
I glance at my cell twice. Late again. Another ten bucks I can't afford.
Lola's words come back to me.
“What's a blow job, Kitty? Just suck a guy off, get a few hundred. It makes all the difference. And—don't tell me you weren't sucking off every swinging dick with the other low-end clubs before you got The Crawl gig.”
“No,” I'd whispered, thinking of all the times I gave Snare a blow job. We'd tried so hard to keep our hands off each other. Tried so hard to do everything but sex. In the end, all it did was prime us to do it, and we ended up in that closet, his body owning mine and me letting it. “I didn't suck any of them off.”
Lola had narrowed her eyes to disbelieving slits. “Everyone does VIP. Nobody gets to The Crawl if they haven't been on their hands and knees.”
I nodded. That's usually true. That's why I was almost four years everywhere else. I could have been at The Crawl two years ago if I'd been willing to do VIP. “I was four years, working those dives before I got here. In a few years, I'll be too old.” Late twenties is ancient in this biz. Hell, at twenty-three, I've got maybe five more years of prime earning time.
Lola had cradled her breasts in her hands like a push-up bra. “Well, I'm working this gig until Thorn tosses me out.”
I smiled, she'd smiled.
It is what it is.
I already feel bad enough for leaving Snare. I can't accept pay to do sexual stuff. I work out almost two hours a day to stay in perfect shape. Eat next to nothing and choreograph my own dance routines. I'm good. And I know it. I rose through the ranks of the shit titty bars because I just work that hard.
I don't tell Lola why I don't have to do extras. It's not my role in this life to make people feel bad because they'll do something I won't. I'm saving everything for my baby. Snare's daughter.
Our
I straighten. “When do you think you'll be home?”
“Jesus, Mom .” Lola winks, her hazel eyes sparkling. It's her best feature. Not as a dancer but as a human being. All her humor and interesting personality can be seen in those twin windows of amber and green. She's an open book.
Me, not so much.
She lifts a bony shoulder. “I don't know, ʼho.” She leans forward, her hand on my shoulder, and looms. Her height of five nine towers over my five foot three. “I have another blind date for you.” She squeezes my arm, expectant.
I begin to turn away, tipping my cell out of the front pocket of my jeans. I glance at the time. Ten minutes. “No,” I say with a laugh and start to walk toward the employeesʼ back entrance.
“You're going to wear out those batteries on that thing!” she yells loud enough that she announces my rub-out schedule to whoever's listening. God.
I flip her off without turning around as I slam the glass door open with my palm.
Lola's laughter follows me into the cold early spring sunshine glinting off the cement sidewalk and warming the cobblestones beyond. Only a sliver of bright light slices between our cars lined up in the back alley. The buildings cause artificial shadow to darken the long, narrow space. We have permits to park here between the buildings, but service trucks have taken off two mirrors on my Fiat in the last year alone.
I don't bother to fix it anymore. Cars don't matter, living in downtown Seattle. The only reason I have one is so I can run Jaylin to ballet and preschool.
I ease into my car, wedged between the dumpster and the restaurants that line the street. Beyond them, Puget Sound sparkles in icy-gray glory, mirroring the glare of sunshine that can't bust the typical pewter overcast of late winter in the Pacific Northwest.
I'd do almost anything to have some actual sunshine.
I pull out in traffic so deep I have to wait for the kindness of someone to let me in. Takes awhile.
I glance at my cell twice. Late again. Another ten bucks I can't afford.
Lola's words come back to me.
“What's a blow job, Kitty? Just suck a guy off, get a few hundred. It makes all the difference. And—don't tell me you weren't sucking off every swinging dick with the other low-end clubs before you got The Crawl gig.”
“No,” I'd whispered, thinking of all the times I gave Snare a blow job. We'd tried so hard to keep our hands off each other. Tried so hard to do everything but sex. In the end, all it did was prime us to do it, and we ended up in that closet, his body owning mine and me letting it. “I didn't suck any of them off.”
Lola had narrowed her eyes to disbelieving slits. “Everyone does VIP. Nobody gets to The Crawl if they haven't been on their hands and knees.”
I nodded. That's usually true. That's why I was almost four years everywhere else. I could have been at The Crawl two years ago if I'd been willing to do VIP. “I was four years, working those dives before I got here. In a few years, I'll be too old.” Late twenties is ancient in this biz. Hell, at twenty-three, I've got maybe five more years of prime earning time.
Lola had cradled her breasts in her hands like a push-up bra. “Well, I'm working this gig until Thorn tosses me out.”
I smiled, she'd smiled.
It is what it is.
I already feel bad enough for leaving Snare. I can't accept pay to do sexual stuff. I work out almost two hours a day to stay in perfect shape. Eat next to nothing and choreograph my own dance routines. I'm good. And I know it. I rose through the ranks of the shit titty bars because I just work that hard.
I don't tell Lola why I don't have to do extras. It's not my role in this life to make people feel bad because they'll do something I won't. I'm saving everything for my baby. Snare's daughter.
Our
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