Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  Gulping in breaths of air, I jump around in place doing my best to shake off the fury I’m feeling. Blinking rapidly the red begins to disappear from my vision and my body starts shaking from adrenaline.

  A voice calls out, “The winner tonight folks is Ty-Ty-Ty-TYSON! If you bet against him, sucks to be you. Pay up losers. If you placed your bet in his favor, congratulations, you chose right, enjoy your winnings. Let’s give it up for our winner.”

  Everyone cheers around me and people yell out their congratulations and smack my back as I walk by. Ignoring them all I allow myself to be led away, until a hand on my arm stops me; nails digging into my skin. “Great fight tonight, Tyson. Want to go somewhere and celebrate when I get off work later?”

  Taking in Nikki’s barely there dress that leaves nothing from her tits to crotch to the imagination, I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Not happening.”

  Her hands move to her hips and her dark hair flies when her head snaps back as if she were smacked. “Are you serious? I came to watch on my work break for this shit?”

  Before she can continue whatever tantrum she’s working up to, Eli cuts her off. “Not now.” His tone of voice leaves no room for argument and she walks away, but not before touching my crotch first. I can’t fucking stand the chick. We hooked up one time and ever since then she can’t take a fucking clue. She and her skanky friends hang out all the time at the gym where I train. We met there and went out one night and things led to another. Afterward the guys at the gym told me she’s made her way around them all. They don’t seem to care and a few still hook up with her, but I’ll pass. She hasn’t taken the clue.

  Making our way to Eli’s truck amid more congratulations, when we arrive he opens the door and pulls out a first aid kit. “Lets get you cleaned up.”

  Tonight’s location for the fight is in an underground parking garage of all places. This time of night, no one comes or goes since the buildings that surround it are closed — other than the random couple that’s looking for a private place to screw. Sure, there’s security, but given the fact they placed their bet along with everyone else, there’s no chance of running into a problem.

  Eli rubs antiseptic on a few cuts and scrapes my knuckles are sporting, and it makes me hiss at the sting. “Looks like you’ve learned a few things since I’ve seen you last,” Eli says.

  Shrugging is my only response. My wounds are minimal for the most part. Split knuckles are to be expected. What I’m really worried about is the blow I took to my face. I duck and look in the side mirror, but can’t see much in the dark. No doubt there’s going to be a bruise there that will be a little hard to explain. Hopefully it’s light-colored rather than dark and nasty looking.

  Jeffrey, the fight organizer and manager of the money, walks over and smacks me on the back, “Good job, man. People went fucking crazy over you. Amazing job for your first fight with us; no doubt we’ll be calling you again.” I say nothing making no promises as he hands me a wad of cash, “Your winnings.” I nod my head and turn away, leaving him to go take care of the next fight.

  Eli looks at me, “What do you say we go get shit faced?” he asks.

  He tosses me my shirt and shoes and after putting them on, nod my head, “Let’s go.”

  Hopping into Eli’s truck, I remain quiet, trying my best to calm myself. Eli hands me a bottle of water and I guzzle it down. Rolling down the window, he takes in a deep breath, then looks at me, “I missed this. The air feels different here than it does in prison, you know?”

  Nodding my head I can’t help but smirk in amusement at the stupid look on his face. Only out of jail yesterday, Eli is still on a high from his release. I get it though. One night several months back, I was at a bar and saw an asshole hit on a girl who wouldn’t take no for an answer, even after she pushed him away. I tried to ignore it, I really did, but I realize now that aside from the fact that he laid his hands on her after she clearly said no, the girl he was harassing reminded me a little too much of Rowan. Making my way over to them, I calmly asked the guy to remove his hands from her. That’s when he made a mistake. He laughed at me and had a few unkind words. They were something along the lines of, “mind your own fucking business, asshole.” I didn’t respond well to his suggestion.

  Next thing I know, he and his stupid fucktard friends jumped me and I had no choice but to defend myself. The bartender called the cops and we were all arrested but of course, I’m the only one that ended up serving a six-month stint in jail. Why? Because the asshole is a senator’s son and they pressed charges. Well, that and the fact it wasn’t my first offense. So, I was carted off to jail to be taught a lesson. I’m still serving the six months community service that was part of my early release agreement, but getting out on good behavior before my six-month sentence was complete was essential. I was dying in there and eager to see my sister and new niece.

  Inside, is where I met Eli — he was serving nine months after getting busted on a drug possession charge. He purchased some dope from a cop — idiot. We hit it off while commiserating over the shit food they serve. I told him about my MMA training, he told me about his love of underground fighting and making money from the bets. He explained that a buddy of his ran the fights. When he initially offered to hook me up, I declined. But the more he talked about it, the more I thought about it. The opportunity to release some of my pent up frustration became too much of a temptation I couldn’t easily turn down. The rest is pretty much history. We exchanged numbers and he promised to call when he was out. He didn’t waste any time.

  Pulling up to a club called Pink Kitty, Eli looks at me with a grin on his face. I roll my eyes, “The titty bar? Really?”

  “Suck it up dude. I just got out of prison and want to look at some tits and ass. Sue me. I haven’t been laid in months — hopefully I didn’t forget how to do it.”

  “Wow. It’s a wonder your dick didn’t fall off from non-use,” I deadpan.

  “Don’t even joke about shit like that, dude.”

  “Whatever. Just keep the alcohol coming.”

  We grab a table and order our first round of drinks. A couple hours later, I’m well on my way to writing a new and enhanced definition of what it means to be shitfaced. There’s a big group of us now as more and more friends of Eli’s keep showing up. Eli’s snapping fingers get my attention and I slowly turn my head to find him talking to some girls and gesturing to me. I shake my head no — or at least I think I do. “No, dude. I’m fine just drinking.”

  “Shut the hell up, Ty. It’s on me.”

  I’m buzzing like crazy and need to piss something fierce. Before I can get up to do so, a red head with big green eyes and even bigger tits makes her way over to stand in front of me. “Hi. I’m Ashley,” I just nod knowing that her name is probably really Lisa or Suzanne. In other words, she’s lying through her teeth. “Your friend over there paid for you to have a lap dance.”

  A lazy grin spreads my lips. I may have put up a fight, but now with her standing in front of me, what the hell? “Is that right?”

  She smiles and steps up to me, straddling my lap. Without another word she begins to move her body over mine. She’s only wearing a bra and a thong. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination and I roll my eyes over her frame, taking in the sight of her assets. I initially catch a glimpse of Eli from the corner of my eye, but turn my head to look at him fully when I see him gesture a thumbs up. When our eyes meet a big shit-eating grin appears on his face, making me chuckle. Then, he returns his attention to the ass that’s shaking in front of his face.

  A hand on the side of my face pulls my attention back to what’s occurring in front of me. Ashley leans forward and shakes her tits in my face as she slowly starts sliding the straps of her bra down her arms. I sit on my hands so I’m not tempted to touch her in my drunken state. The last thing I want is to get kicked out for acting inappropriately. I’m not in the mood for more fighting. When she turns around, removes her bra, then begins grinding her ass in my crotch
, I know I should feel turned on but instead all I can think about is the fact that I need to get to the pisser.

  When Ashley finishes her dance she looks at me expectantly. I pull a couple bills out of my wallet and try to hand them to her, but instead she juts her hip out to me silently asking me to put it in her g-string. I do so, carefully, and she leans down to whisper in my ear making her breasts brush my chest. “You’re sweet. Can I offer you anything else?’

  The suggestion is clearly there from the brow she has raised as she pulls back and looks me in the face, to her strategically placed hand on my junk. I have no doubt I could ask her to go someplace more private and she’d blow me or fuck my brains out. “No thanks, sweetheart. Not tonight, but thanks for asking.” I give her a smile and a squeeze on her hip hoping it lets her down lightly. Thankfully she doesn’t look offended; she just smiles and says, “Maybe next time then. But if you change your mind, come find me.”

  I nod my head and when she moves away I stand intending to finally make my way to the bathroom.

  As I start leaving our tables, Eli shouts, “What’s the matter, man? Need to go shake the snake?” He starts laughing and so do all of his friends. It’s not even that funny. Giving him the finger, he laughs harder as I make my way to the men’s room. I’m aware that my body feels stiff and sore from the fight. After I do my business I finally get a good look at myself in the mirror and see the bruise on my jaw. “Fuck,” I whisper knowing Rowan, and possibly others, are going to ask me about it. I shake my jaw back and forth and am surprised I don’t feel a thing. I must be more shit faced than I thought. Shaking my head, I make my way to the door already dreading the pain that will be wishing me a good morning tomorrow.

  I’m running late, dammit. Trying not to break every law imaginable as I race to work, I curse and yell at every car in my freaking way. I can already picture my boss Freddy. His bald head reflecting light, his treasured mustache gleaming, and his glasses falling off his nose while he taps his watch and lectures me about tardiness and the merits of timeliness. It’s pretty much his only pet peeve. The first time I met the man, I immediately noticed his not-to-be-missed slimy appearance and naturally assumed the worse. I’d heard he was nice, but he certainly didn’t look it. Fearing the typical strip club owner stereotype, I kept my bag and keys in hand to make a quick escape if needed.

  Fortunately, I needn’t have worried. He’s actually a true sweetheart to all the dancers. He’s never inappropriate or skeevy in any way. I think it has to be unheard of in this industry, as I’ve heard a ton of crazy horror stories. Bosses treating their dancers like they are nothing but a means to fatten their bank accounts, clubs full of drugs and of course girls expected to offer sexual acts if the price is right. He’s never been anything less than respectful. He puts up with a lot of craziness from the girls. There’s been demands from a few for better outfits, more makeup supplies, better brands and of course the occasional stupid girl diva drama. There’s always one troublemaker in every group, and we certainly have one here. No doubt she’ll have something to say about my running late as well.

  Swinging into the parking lot I park in the first vacant spot I see, grab my bag, and hightail my ass to the door. Judging by the number of cars in the lot, it looks like it’s already a busy night, which isn’t surprising given it’s Friday. As I race toward the back door, Bruce, one of the bouncers stands smoking, but pauses long enough to give me a wide smile. “Hey, Syd. Running a little late tonight?”

  Letting out a sound of frustration at his obvious statement, I nod, “Yes. Freddy’s going to kill me.”

  “You’re good, girl. He had to run an errand and isn’t back yet. No worries.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I get on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Brucey.”

  He rolls his eyes and wipes his cheek making me giggle. “I told you not to call me that. Now get in there, girl.” I adore him. He’s six feet two inches tall, has skin the color of mocha, biceps so large that just the sight of them offers a silent threat, ever present dark glasses that cover his eyes even in the dark, and lips set into a firm line. He’s intimidating to most and if you mess with one of his girls, he won’t hesitate to kick ass. That’s not a threat; it’s a promise. I can’t even count how many guys he’s thrown out, but with most of us girls, he’s a big push over.

  When I step inside the club, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Blinking rapidly, I make my way down the hallway to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I’m thankful for the fact that Freddy keeps a stocked refrigerator in here for us. Anything and everything to drink and all kinds of healthy snacks occupy every available space. Ducking into the dancer’s dressing room, the typical chaos that a busy night like this always brings is in full production. Walking to my locker, I pass Nikki and brace myself for the bitchy comment no doubt coming my way. She’s a total bitch with a capital B and I can feel my mouth form a sneer from just thinking about her.

  “About time you get here,” she sneers. I open my mouth to respond, but then think better of it and just roll my eyes. She’s not worth it. I have no clue what her problem is other than she views my best friend, Rena and me, as competition to the dollars she puts in her pocket. She thinks she’s hot shit around here and not only better than anyone, but that she has authority over us as well. But she’s not and doesn’t, and I refuse to let her get the best of me.

  After putting my bag in my locker, I remove my clothes, taking in this room for the umpteenth time. The lighted vanity bar has makeup and hair products covering every available surface. The racks of lingerie are in disarray, some articles hanging off the hangers, others are on the floor or draped over available furniture. Dancers are lingering on the furniture and moving in and out of the room as their shifts change or they’re featured in a dance number. It’s chaos.

  Once I’m in nothing but my bra and thong, I grab my black stilettos from my bag and take a seat at the lighted vanity. It’s a long counter with several chairs full of compacts, jars, bottles, brushes, flat irons, and so much more. It’s anything we could possibly need in order to get ready for our shifts. I bet every NFL cheerleading squad could come in and use our vanity and we would still have products left over - it’s seriously ridiculous. Just as I run the flat iron through my hair for the first time, Rena comes and sits beside me.

  “Hey doll, you made it. I was getting worried.”

  Giving her a quick smile, I set down the flat iron and grab the closest eyeliner and start applying it with a heavy hand. “Yeah, you and me both, I hate being late.”

  “At least Freddy’s not here right now, so you’re good.”

  “I know, thank god. I really don’t want a lecture. It would ruin my good mood.”

  “So, it was worth it?”

  “Totally. I missed him like crazy.”

  “I bet. How’s he doing? Upset you couldn’t get over there at all this week?”

  “No, not at all. He’s really good,” I smile at her thinking about my day. “We just watched some trash T.V., ate junk food, and hung out enjoying each other’s company. It was the perfect day.”

  “Well the smile on your face certainly tells me enough. I’m glad it was a good one.”

  “Thank you. How was your day?”

  “Oh, fine. I studied a bit and then got caught up in an old Drew Barrymore movie on TV. So, it was lazy too.” She holds up a black pleather bra and panty set in one hand and a bright red sequined corset, garter, and panty set in the other. “Which one should I wear tonight for my number?”

  I point at the sequins, “Nice. New?”

  “Yeah. Freddy has a ton of new stuff hanging from the rack behind the dressing screen.”

  “Again?” Freddy is always buying us new “costumes”. He hangs them up and they’re first come, first serve. Some of the girls go crazy and fight over the shit, but I could care less. This is just a well-paying job for me, not a chance to get free lingerie. The girl’s talk about how this g
uy or that guy they’re dating loves it when they wear it home. Good for them I guess, but I don’t have time to care about that stuff outside of these walls. “How’s the crowd tonight? Is Lenny coming? That’s his name right?”

  “No, Lenny’s history.”

  “What? Already? Wasn’t he just over the other day?” Rena goes through men like a person with a cold goes through tissues. Fast, then throws them away.

  She just shrugs, “His feet grossed me out.”

  I choke on a laugh. She always finds something ridiculously wrong with every single one. “His feet? Do I want to know?”

  “He kept his pinky toenail like ridiculously long. It scratched me when we were getting busy the other day. Totally gross, Syd.”

  “Well okay, yeah, kind of gross I guess.”

  “Anyway, it’s busy out there tonight,” she states, Lenny already forgotten. “A couple guys came in a couple hours ago and slowly but surely, their group kept growing as more guys come in to join them. They’re all hot as fuck, but starting to get a bit rowdy. A little bit ago they started throwing money around requesting dances. If they keep getting crazier, they’ll probably get kicked out.”

  “That bad?”

  “Nah, not really, but a few of them are getting feely — with their lips. You know how Bruce gets about that. He’ll toss their asses.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” I nod. Then I gaze at Rena, now changed, as she looks at herself in the mirror. She fluffs her hair and turns her face side to side. I stifle a laugh as she suddenly grabs her breasts in the palms of her hands and lifts them up as if she’s trying to make them higher and fuller than they already are. I have a flashback to the time I met her in the bathroom my first day of college a few years ago.

  Sitting in class avidly taking notes as I listen to my professor drone on and on about the expectations for the year, I have that awful feeling you get when you know you’ve started your period. Ducking out and heading into the first bathroom I see, I’m greeted by a stunning dark haired girl adjusting her bra and smoothing her shirt over her chest. Turning to me she asks, “Do they look alright?”