Page 7 of Lovers Fate

“Yeah,” he says like I’m stupid. “The Church. This town still does things the old way, but background checks and drug tests are done and sent out. There’s no hiding anything anymore. Everything is a click away.”

“Fair enough. How much is a room?”

If a job at a motel wasn’t an option, I figured I could find a job close by and pay for a room until I figure shit out.

“One thirty-five plus tax a night.”

Shit, I remember when rooms here were like sixty-five bucks. I guess inflation hit everywhere just as bad as electric cars.

In the recreation room, where we would spend our playtime, I would watch the news on the old box TV mounted in the corner, nearly touching the ceiling like a relic.

All the car companies went electric. According to the news, most people in less rural areas stuck to gas vehicles for convenience. The inconvenience of having to charge their car didn’t appeal to them. Technology advanced, but not everyone wanted to be a slave to it.

Smaller US towns like Stockbridge kept to the old ways as much as possible.

“Where’s the church located?”

“Three miles down the road heading south. You won’t miss it.”

By the time I reached The Church, letters glowing in blue neon, my feet were numb. ALL SINS FORGIVEN.

It wasn’t the kind of church you seek shelter or refuge in. It wasn’t a place to pray. Kneeling was another matter entirely.

The Church was a strip club.

The guy at the front desk wasn’t lying when he said to give this place a shot. Near the entrance, there is a sign that reads HELP WANTED, prominently displayed above the large man operating the door, armed with a tablet and dressed in a black suit.

Despite the man’s massive build and potential for physical harm, I approach him and gently clear my throat. “Excuse me, is this place still hiring?”

Dark brown eyes lift from the screen. “Who’s asking?”

“Trix,” I reply with a fake smile, coming up with a name I saw on a cereal box the last time I was at the grocery store.

I didn’t want to give him my real name in case he made a connection from my past. The media no longer reports on the case, and I look nothing like the teenage girl online six years ago. My hair is a lighter shade of platinum blond; I’m taller, and my body has filled out. My face has also changed a bit, but I can’t take a risk.

“Are you eighteen or over?”

“Eighteen.”

Sticking his hand out, he says, “ID.”

I hand it over. He glances at the picture, hands it back, and opens the door. “Go inside and ask for Hank.”

Relief washes over me. “Thanks.”

A woman wearing a shirt with pasties over her nipples looks up with a bright smile when I walk inside and greets me with, “Welcome to Church. Are you ready to be forgiven?”

“She’s here to see Hank,” the bouncer says behind me.

The woman around my age smiles and nods for me to walk through the red curtain. “Straight ahead to the right. When you reach the end of the stage, there’s a hallway. The only office with a red door is Hank’s.”

“Thank you,” I tell her as I walk through the curtain.

The music’s bass thumps through the club as I push black double doors. The entire club is dark, offering a sense of false intimacy. When the neon lights rotate, only the faces of the men throwing money to the girl on stage come into focus. I pause, scanning the club, trying not to look like it’s my first time in a place like this.

Whistles and catcalls drift through the room. On the back wall, neon lights bounce off mirrors. Couches sit in front of about ten tables surrounding the main stage. Dancers to the right are giving a group of men a show. Nearly all seats at the fully stocked bar on the back wall are occupied. Just a few feet away. A man hurls a bundle of singles onto the stage, drawing my attention back to the naked woman. Her long, straight black hair falls over her shoulder, and only a G-string covers the lips of her pussy on her knees. She flails her ass like a butterfly’s wings in the middle-aged man’s face.

“Forgive me for my sins, baby,” he says in a scratchy voice as I walk by, slipping a folded dollar bill into the crack in her ass.

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