“She’s dead. It’s over Beaumont.”

I hang up without saying a word, I don’t need to. I knew it was coming. In fact I was surprised that the old bitch hadn’t died sooner. She’d been fading for a long time, a ghost that was sucking my wallet dry.

I don’t want to think about her right now, I just want to get drunk and fuck myself into oblivion. I won’t let her win this time. I grab my bag and throw it into the back of my beat up old truck, my shift at the strip is due to start in an hour and I need to get my head in the game, then the fun can begin.

I drive like a maniac, but that’s not out of character for me. I’m the wild one, the cheeky one. You need someone to test the boundaries and push the limits then I’m your guy. I’m certainly not the fucker who gets tangled up in emotions. Her death is not going to taint me. I pull into the carpark and see the cars already here, this is my tribe, my family— not that waste of space. It’s almost show time and I can’t seem to muster up that excitement, the adrenaline rush I get before every show. I try to psych myself up but it just isn’t there.

So instead of heading in the back door, I walk in the front, sit at the bar and grab a bottle of tequila from the shelf. Betty shoots me a look, that old bat never misses a trick, but she says nothing. That woman knows everything; nothing goes down in this town without her hearing about it. Lighting up a cigarette she pours herself a shot and gives me a small salute before she downs it. I’ve never seen a woman drink the way she does, it’s like alcohol doesn’t affect her. Jag likes to joke that she was born with two livers. That or her blood is now pure ethanol, but I’m hardly one to judge.

When I see Darius on stage I know it’ll be my turn soon, so I drink another shot trying to find that buzz. Trying to feel alive, but it’s like sand slipping through my clumsy fingers. I can see him gyrating on my periphery, and the ladies scream as he takes off another article of clothing, probably his trousers. Normally I’d be scanning the room for the warm body who’d be sharing my bed tonight. Well... we’d go to their place because no way in hell was I letting anyone near my apartment. Stalker Tiffany had taught me well. When that nut job refused to leave the next morning I’d spent two days hiding out at August’s place and since then the only vagina that crossed my threshold was Jag, especially since he was all tied up over Vida.

The six of us made this club. Gio, Darius, Jag, August and Big D. They are my family, and I was finally in a place I loved. Pussy literally walked up to me and sat on my face, the pay was good and the guys always had my back. But the phone call had shaken me, and I can’t seem to find my bearings.

I get through the show, barely. I don’t know how. My feet are all over the place and instead of losing myself to the music, I zone out. I love my job, my body is my own and I reap the rewards— but tonight is different. Today I’m lost… I know Betty’s watching me from the bar as she puffs on that stupid vape of hers. It’s pointless. We all know she goes out the back for actual cigarettes, sometimes a sneaky cigar. I avoid her intense gaze as I pull on some jeans and head towards her. I order another shot. And another. We stare at each other, neither saying a word in a strange little standoff. I fucked up. I know it, she knows it, but I’ll be damned if I let the old coot tear me a new one. It’s just a one off and I know she’s aware of the reasons behind it, even if she hasn’t said anything yet. Fuck this, I refuse to feel guilty. I refuse to feel sad. I down another shot. I refuse to feel anything. I push away the anger that’s building in my chest and head back to the dressing room. I need a shower and maybe I’ll see what trouble I can pick up to take my mind off my shitty dancing.

I mingle and work my way through the crowds at SIX as I make my way back towards the stage. It’s a Friday night and we are almost full. It’s always super busy on the weekends, but that’s not surprising. We are the hottest club on the strip with the hottest men. That’s not me being big headed, it’s an undisputed fact. Have you seen the fuckers who work here? We are some damn fine men and everyone in this city knows it.

A blonde lady with the strangest lips pulls me towards her friendship group. They all squeal and run their hands over my bare arms and chest. I tune them out, my mind going fuzzy as I find myself focusing on this woman's lips. What the hell has she done to them? It looks like she got them stuck between elevator doors. Does that shit hurt? Every word she says looks like a struggle, and as she pinches my arse I realize I’ve switched off again. Focus Sinclair. I flash them a cheeky grin, dimple and all, as I make my apologies and move on. I need something to push me out of my head, my thoughts are toxic. Another gaggle heads towards me, this one louder and again I smile.

A guy pulls me to one side as I try to pass them, he's here with the group of rowdy women and I know he's going to ask for a private show even before the words fall from his lips. He's cute, nothing special but I need to relieve some of this stress— it's fucking with my routine.

“I want to suck you off,” he says brazenly as he leans into me, pushing us towards the VIP room. My smile is genuine now as I feel the tequila working its magic. What better way to liberate my mind than to indulge my body? And a warm mouth is still a great feeling regardless of whose lips are wrapped around my cock. I’m not fussy on where I get my pleasure.

“Go for it,” I say lazily with a wave of my hand as I take a seat and lean back into the plush leather seats. He’s like a puffed up peacock, winking at me as he unzips my jeans and pushes them down. We’re both clearly feeling the effects of alcohol tonight as he does this strange breathing thing on the head of my cock before flicking out his tongue and teasing me. He probably saw this in a porno once. One hand fondles my balls as he keeps toying with my dick, slurping and sucking at my length before pulling away and kissing it. He's not bad, but it still doesn't break through my despondent mood. I need more.

After deciding he's taking too long I fist my hands in his hair and face fuck him. I'm brutal, forcing him to take me deeper, faster and he loves it. The muffled moans coming from him give me the go ahead to tilt my hips, pushing him further onto my cock. I see his shoulder moving and look down to see him beating one out, in a place like this everyone wants to let loose, unleash their inner slut.

He may be good but I'm better, and as I feel my balls tighten I know I'm about to shoot my load, so I pull out and come on his face. My jizz spurts across his mouth, cheeks and chin and he barely even flinches, as his own orgasm is close. Not even two seconds later he explodes, trails of cum dribbling down over his hand.

“That was intense,” he breathes as I hand him some tissues from my back pocket. He zips his jeans back up and stands, “Here's my number honey, call me.”

He writes it on one of the tissues he used to wipe up and I raise an eyebrow, “A memento,” he says with a wink.

I take his number but I'm never going to call him― I never do. He was just a means to an end. Men. Women. It's all the same. Pleasure is all I want to feel, and sin is the name of the game.