Page 17 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings

There was also one turkey Lunchables pack left, so I grabbed one and paid for everything.

I let my phone charge the rest of the time I sat in the bus station until I heard my number and route being called.

Lifting myself from the bench, I followed the other passengers who seemed to be boarding and blended in.

I had no idea what the hell I was going to do in some small town where I knew no one, but it had to be better than my current situation.

“Last stop! Oak Bluffs, Kansas!” the bus driver announced.

Stirring from my nap in the worn leather bus seats, I lifted my head from the window it rested against and noticed we had arrived at another Greyhound station.

Checking my surroundings, I repositioned my bag that I’d used as a pillow.

I squinted at the time on my phone in my lap and saw that it was just a little after five a.m. Still very much dark outside, I sat up to stretch and yawn.

Allowing a few of the passengers from the rows behind me to pass first, I pulled my earbuds from my ear and put them in their case and tucked both into the pocket of my jacket.

I had no idea what I was going to do or where I would go as I slung the strap of my bag over my shoulder.

An oddly calming effect swept over me when I took that last step and my foot hit the pavement.

It was indescribable. I surveyed my area and spotted what looked like a bus stop where a few people had gathered while some were picked up by loved ones.

A low tremor of thunder accompanied a bolt of lightning across the sky.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumbled in annoyance.

“You’re not from around here,” a raspy voice addressed me before exhaling a puff of smoke from her cigarette.

She leaned against the side of the building, and I wasn’t one to judge, but she looked like she was on the stroll.

With her long legs covered in fishnet stockings and a leopard-print skirt set hugging her hourglass frame, I suspected she serviced by the hour.

Underneath all that makeup, I felt like she was pretty.

Most hoes caked their face with that stuff so that they weren’t recognizable on a regular day.

Her wig was on point, though, melted to her scalp by someone with some skills as she examined her long, decorative, coffin-shaped nails.

“No, I’m not.”

When she caught a glance of my battered face, her expression softened. Lowering her cigarette at her side, there was something very human behind the warm gaze there now. She had rich bronze skin that glistened even in the darkness. Nude glossed lips shined against the streetlights above us.

“Shit, baby girl. What that other muhfucka look like?” She took another quick pull of the cigarette before flicking it into the wind.

“Like my mama’s boyfriend.”

“Hmm, unfortunately, I know that sob story a little too well. I’m Lorna,” she introduced herself.

Hesitant, I studied her bright eyes and concluded she wasn’t a bad person. There was genuine concern behind her stare.

“Sixtine.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name. It’s Sixtine,” I informed her, watching a familiar frown flit across her face.

I got that reaction from most people when I told them my name.The shit damn sure wasn’t conventional. I’d never met anyone else with that name.

“Now why on earth would she name you something like that?”

“Because she was on drugs when she had me. I guess it was the best thing she could come up with. Everyone just calls me Six though. I’m also the sixth child.”

“Now see, I like that!” Lorna grinned, flossing her open-face golds on the top and bottom row of her teeth.

“Listen, if you’re desperate and really down and out like that, I have somewhere you can go.

You don’t look like the type that should be out here on the track like corrupted ol’ me.

I chose this life a long time ago, and it just is what it is. ”

She sifted through the pocket of her red leather jacket until she found her pack of cigarettes and a crumpled-up business card. Digging a cancer stick from the pack, she brought it to her lips before handing me the card.

“A motel?” I queried, studying the large M emblem on the card and the name Rossi Marek with a phone number and email address attached at the bottom.

“Don’t knock it now. I know a lot of good women who have gone there, coming from tough situations much like yourself.

This place is low profile; they protect every single woman who checks in and provide resources for you.

Ask for Rossi when you get there, and I’m sure she can help you,” Lorna expressed, a little southern twang tinged in her tone as she sparked her cigarette.

For a minute, I skeptically studied the card and glanced at her.

After Googling the address, I saw that it was about fifteen minutes on foot from the bus station.

There was a closed gas station across the street, and beside it a strip with other small businesses like a barbershop, nail salon, and drug store.

Everything looked locally owned, not a McDonald’s or Starbucks in sight.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, baby. Good luck to you.” Lorna waved me off as a black Mercedes pulled up to the curb and rolled its window down.

She reached the window and laughed it up with the driver before hopping into the passenger seat.

The car hit the quickest left at the corner, and I took one last glance at the card in my hand.

I’d already hit rock bottom, so this had to be a step up.

Shoving it into my pocket, I started my stroll in that direction.

Because life was so good to me, the downpour started halfway there.

I could barely see through the shower while traveling down a dark road in search of this place.

Finally, a very dim red light shined in the distance with the hotel logo.

Relief was the only emotion I could pick out.

My gut never failed me, so when light flutters took over rather than knots of paranoia, I took it as a sign.

Drenched and starving, I stopped at the entry doors.

I’d gotten a cat nap on the bus, but my body was tired, and I needed a good night’s rest. There was a circle drive for customers to pull into, and I could see it was three stories high with probably eight rooms on each level.

Still, I wasn’t sure how to go about this while standing there so exhausted I was ready to crawl up in a corner on the sidewalk.

“Good morning,” a very calm, serene voice greeted me, pulling me from my fearful thoughts.

She was so pretty, with dark bronze skin and the most radiant glow.

Reminded me of when my grandmother used to say that the good comes from within, and you could see it on the outside when it was genuine, regardless of what a person looked like.

Pearline Trevino was the only person in the world who ever gave a damn about me.

When I was eight years old, ovarian cancer took her.

Seemed like my life became one traumatizing situation after another after that.

“Is there something I can help you with?” the woman’s query broke into my thoughts of my granny.

Her thick, dark hair flowed in loose-wave curls past her shoulders.

I could tell it was all hers and not a wig too.

At her side was a younger brown-skinned woman with jet-black hair pulled up into a high bun with her edges laid to perfection.

Although the woman sat in a wheelchair, she was still draped in Chanel and gold, waiting on me to respond with a disarming smile softening the contours of her face.

“Um, maybe. I was given this card. Told to ask for Rossi.”

“I’m Rossi, who sent you?”

“Lorna. I met her at the bus station when I touched down.”

Rossi cackled and shook her head.

“Good ol’ Lorna. Well, if you need anything, we are here to help. It’s kind of cold and wet out here. You want to come inside, and I can let you get warm? Maybe get you a change of clothes and something to eat?” she suggested.

“I must look a mess.” I glanced down at my soaking wet pants and shirt before looking back up at her.

“Nothing a hot shower and change of clothes won’t fix. Come on. This is my sister-in-law, Sol,” she introduced me to the beauty at her side, who also offered a warm grin.

“Chile, let’s get you out of this tsunami.” Sol opened her arms and waved me toward them.

Taking one last glance around, I gripped the strap to the bag I carried a little tighter and took gradual steps toward them.

From the outside, it seemed like some cheap little motel.

Once inside the lobby, though, it was nothing but warm island aromas and spa vibes.

I could tell someone really took their time with the decor.

It was very welcoming with different canvas paintings arranged on the dolphin gray walls.

A check-in desk with a glass pane was to our right.

In the opposite direction was a fountain with a seating area arranged around it.

It was designed like an elegant living room with two sectional sofas and two big wingback chairs surrounding a large brass circle table.

Past that was a middle winding staircase that spiraled up all three floors and a set of elevators just past it.

“Sol, grab me the key for 208,” Rossi instructed, eyes never leaving mine as I lingered near one of the couches arranged in the lobby.

“Welcome to the Guardian Lodge. I know the name says Marek Motel, but that’s just for everyone else.

You can go by whatever you want around here.

Tell us as much of your business as you want, or don’t.

We won’t hold it against you. Only thing I ask of you is what your goal is, what you want after this. That’s what matters to me.”

“You make it sound so simple,” I tittered.