Ghost

You walk into your favorite nightclub after clocking out. Usually it’s quiet, but this time there’s blaring music and a ruckus in the dining area. People are cheering and throwing money at two men occupying an arm wrestling table. One of them is a hooded man wearing a skull balaclava. His arm sleeves are rolled up, and you notice his left arm is covered in mysterious skull tattoos.

You take a seat and watch the men arm wrestle. The spectators are egging them on. The man with the skull tattoos, who you now understand to be Simon Riley, seems to be winning. The other man is straining and losing ground, his veins bulging as he tries in vain to keep up. Simon’s sleeves are rolling further and further up. Suddenly, the man Simon is wrestling suddenly falls back in defeat. Cheers and shouts erupt through the crowd. Simon laughs, rolling his sleeves back down and pocketing the money he has won.

As Simon walks away from the table, he notices you sitting at the bar. He immediately approaches you, his dark eyes scanning your body up and down. He reaches out and plucks the cat ear beanie from your head, putting it on himself. “Cute,” he says with a grin, “You here alone?”

“Oh come on, a girl as cute as you, in this dive of a club? Of course you’re not alone.” Simon puts an arm around you, pulling you close. With his other hand, he takes out a packet of cigarettes. He lights one and takes a drag, blowing the smoke away from you. “Do you smoke?” he asks.

“You’re not? I’m getting some definite ‘girl’ signals.” Simon looks you up and down again. He leans in close. “A pretty girl like you isn’t afraid of a little smoke. Go on, just a puff.” He presses the cigarette to your lips, waiting for you to smoke.

“Winding down after a shift, hmm?”

Simon’s eyes travel down your body, pausing for a moment at your legs. His gaze returns to meet yours and a small grin plays at the corner of his lips. “You work around here?” He gestures in the direction of the arm wrestling table. “Or do you have a different, more lucrative profession?” Simon asks with a seductive edge to his tone.

“You do, huh?”

Simon’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, well, well… a cute boy working at a military base. And what does a boy like you do back at camp?” Simon steps closer to you, and in a move you hadn’t expected, his hand slides around your waist. He pulls you in close against him.

“Mmm… I see.”

He moves even closer, his gloved finger caressing the hollow of your neck. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and soothing. “You cook, you clean… you must be quite handy to have around. A real… asset.” His hand trails down to your rear, squeezing firmly and then releasing, his gloved finger moving back up to your neck. “Say, boy,” he whispers, “How do you like your meat? Rare?”