She cocked her head so slightly no one could have possible noticed, not even him. She saw something deep in his look that intrigued her like no other has and she quickly changed her stance to more of a defensive one; one she never used. “You’ve stared long enough. Did you get your fill or would you like me to pour it out after I kick your snarky confidence down a notch.”
He smirked because he knew, somehow that it would irk her and he wanted to push her as close to the edge as he could ‘because that’s where he wanted her. It’s where she had him; right on the verge of grabbing a hold of her and plummeting to his death
“Wow! The shmuck can smirk, everyone! Could we get a round of applause for the scared weenie trying to act all tuff?” No one laughed, didn’t even crack the smallest of smiles, but they did all give a couple claps.
“Impressive. I’ve never seen a joke so entertaining that no one believed good enough to at least fake a smile. But hey, I could show you just what it means to be entertaining.” His flirtatious voice dripped of no sarcasm in the slightest and the genuine smile that reached his stone colored grey eyes light up sun touched at the end with a mischievous question. The strong un-faked confidence is what caught her eye. Though his stance was all wrong for his face, it was almost like he was cowering, slumped in defeat, she wondered why.
She just stood there staring deeper into his eyes trying to see into every depth that just became physically noticeable. He shrugged, "Fuck it and fuck them!” He leaned a bit and raked his head over to the three waiting for their tats to be finished than looked back to her eyes, “I want you,” he paused, “to finish a tat for me.” He yanked his long sleeve shirt up and over his head in a seductive motion that covered his tat infested body than turned his back and peaked over his shoulder mischievously at her. “The wings of a wench… ah I mean, wrench.”
She had to think fast what other choice did she have but to regain her control that he stole. She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers with his and whipped him around with a bit of ‘show off’ strength and smiled an even better mischievous smile than his and said sweetly, “Ok!” He smirked, victoriously that she divulged in. Yup, she had him believing she was in the palm of his hand, but really who had the power? She was about to literally put a gun to his skin, a palm to his back with a spurious loving caress and enjoy every bit of pain he would suffer at her hands. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to call it a true win because covered in the amount of tats he was; he must be able to endure the pain but she stilled smiled when she ready her gun. That first flinch would only be a small victory of his pain she would enjoy. But when she was entirely finished with him he would be on his knee until she throws him away like the trash he is.
Her smile faded when no flinch came and his sigh of relief when the gun touched home must have been the reason of his slumped defeat but it made her cringe instead, not from a failed victory, more of an arousal she had never felt before. Not one this frustrating anyway. How could him being enlightened with pain turn her on the way it did?
He didn’t endure the pain that was something he learned to throw away just like he had been. He learned to enjoy it, revel in it, take it hostage and create pleasure with it. She dug in trying to make it hurt as much as she could and he knew it. Time past and he sighed in depressed defeat.
“How long has it been?”
“I don’t know, maybe five minutes.”
“Well that’s damn disappointing and irritating. You can stop, its already numb. Nice job, I really wanted your hand to touch me longer.” She jerked her hand off his back in disgust, she wasn’t done toying with him, but still she shut the gun off. When he turned over her eyes flew to his crotch and she saw his obvious turn on and was appalled but equally aroused, which made it appalling that much more to her. ‘Goddess what the hell is wrong with me,’ she thought than shook her eyes and looked up in his amused expression.
“Is it frustrating you enough to do something about the problem you caused me?” He gestured his head towards his arousal.
“No, not frustrating, infuriating because of the idiocy of it.”
“Than is it the idiocy I see that has darkened your eyes with want or thee infuriating feeling that I have witnessed that your about to take me.”
“Take you! Ha! The only place I’m about to take you is out with the trash,” she spit out. He reels back eyes wide.
“Would you really be able to throw me away? I think I look like a souvenir to you, with that look in your eyes you spotted something shinny to play with. I think you want to prop me up on a middle shelf, so you can gaze at me all night while your thoughts of what you want to do to me dance in your head.” While saying it he stood up and grabbed his shirt putting it back on, than kisses her on her cheek nonchalantly and leans into her ear to whisper, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time. Maybe you could get rid of the rest of the eyes in this room so you can do to me what I know you’ll be thinking about until this time tomorrow. Just don’t lose too much sleep, I don’t like mine dead.”
“Oh! You’ll be the one that’s dead, buddy.” He snuffed a laugh turning his back and walking out.
“Wholly mother goddess! Did I really just witness that? That boys got you cracking,” Jos laughed.
“Seriously! Mother of fuck! The only thing you just witnessed Jocelyn, is a boy that is so gonna fall by my hand to his knees and beg for me not to ensue more. Can you believe him? No one talks to me like that and gets away with it, not unscathed anyway, and the fucker didn’t even pay me.” She reeled.
“He’ll pay and a higher price I’m sure. Let’s go get some shots. Screw this place for the day!”
“Agreed! You coming Gwen?” Gwen was third in the pact; pretty much the omega and the best thing to clean up messes; all of them not just the physical ones. She has a way about her just to state the facts without judgment. She was almost like the mother hen, standing back letting her kids make their own mistakes than just stating the obvious they didn’t see.
“Na, go ahead, I’ll close up shop.”
“Thanks chic!”
Three shots later she began the ‘text tree.’
Comhrac ~ 11 ~ CHB ~ JP & RD ~ CW & NJ ~ BK & TS
She needed to beat someone and considering his number wasn’t on the list yet anyone would do. ‘Yet’ She cursed herself. She heard about him but wasn’t sure of him worthy, she sure as hell was now. She wanted to beat him. Bloody! She would get his number tomorrow. She hasn’t felt this uncontrolled since she was nine and that is about to change with her first strike. ‘Fuck it and fuck them,’ she thought then remembered he quoted her motto and it just infuriated her more. She’d loose the fight tonight if she didn’t get it under wraps so she ran the two miles to the fight destination. Leaping onto cars and flipping off, spinning foot first across buildings, hopping trash cans that made her smirk and swinging round house kicks around telephone poles. She stopped a few minutes away and gave some deep breaths collecting herself and slipping into ‘entertaining mode’ before flipping the switch to ‘destroy mode,’ the one where she would enjoy breaking her toys then fixing them, just to throw them away. She sighed, ‘Entertaining. Ha! Wait until you see my real entertaining mode, jerk.'
She slipped into the Campus Hall Basement (the place she goes for more excitement is on campus; more illegal; more of a rush,) just before 11 o’clock, in stealth. Playing; the silent huntsman, peering around corners, slinking along the hall walls, ducking under windowed doors and scurrying the long stretches. When she finally reached the basement she was running on pure deviled excitement. This was her thing, her savior, her out. She scrambled threw the crowd, making herself unnoticed until the table platform that was set up in the middle and she drawled out as she hopped up on it, “Alright! Alright you pansies! Let’s get this show on the road! No one’s gonna make a buck if the waters stagnate and the animals are all dead! Who would be entertained? We want the loch ness monster, the crocodile king and the whittle ole lamb about to be devoured! Everyone
knows the deal; pay the pretty ladies in red dresses to place your bets. No going in the ring or you will no longer be let in the circle. The winner is the one who don’t get knocked out first. You can tap out but you will no longer get a chance at a knock out. The list of three fights went out on your phones, JP & RD, CW & NJ, BK & TS. Pick your fights, pick your bets, send in your texts. An ‘ok’ will be sent back with your payments. Enjoy the night of good fights!”
She jumped down and took her stance, closed her eyes and felt the first two fights. She could tell who landed what punch and when, who swung a kick and how. She felt the whispers of movement on a breeze that wasn’t present but was her surrender. Then she marveled as she walked out to the ring, this was her home, her sacred place that no one could destroy, no one could conquer, it was her and she would stand tall protecting her claim.
It’s that first second that she looks into the eyes of her opponent that you realize she’s looking to see the reason they fight. She knows that if they have a reason of love involved it will be harder to beat them. When she notices that it’s just for the fame and the money she smirks and everyone knows why she does it; she sees the ease of the beating. More than 9/10th's of her opponents are the ‘need money and fame’ type and she revels in it. She lets the smirk falter and throws on her game face, slipping into ‘destroy mode.’
The man in front of her is taller by more than a foot, and weights a good hundred pounds more than her one twenty weight. None of that even matters to her. To her; it’s all about that first strike they take. It answers two questions for her; how fast they are and how smart they are. She’s both. She waits for him to make the first leap just like a frog and she’s gone as fast as a fly trying to survive the death bite. She might be a lot of things but one thing is for sure; she's a survivor, a healer. She don’t take the fights for money though it is a plus. The amount she brings in, in ten minutes is a full time job and that full time job just won’t fit into her schedule or pay for her place. She don’t need the extravagance the fights get her, she knows just how to live without it; she did her whole life. She certainly don’t do it for the fame; it’s the pain she truly does it for. The pain that caused her to want to give the pain away. The pain that caused her to want to be in control and when she fights she is in complete control. Oh yea and hurting a man was always what the doctor order for her because when she was done she was on a divine high, but while she was in the act she was in a touch of her kind of heaven. Beating someone’s ass would be an evil, but not to her. Her hell was the every other second thought of her life before she took control and started to fight. The reminder she carries well to stay in control. And right know that jerk boy from the shop was messing with it so she held the reminder even closer.
She knew as well as everyone else that she bumped the guy in front of her up the line to fight her, he had two more fights before her but she knew he would win them both so why put off the inevitable. The only fall back was she didn’t want anyone to see weakness and if they knew why she did it they would see it and that she could not have. This would be the only show she would give.
He swung, she back flipped and when her hands landed on the floor her left foot landed an upper cut to his chin. He fell back, braced and shot himself back up. She knew this wasn’t gonna be an easy fight. She’s been watching him massacre every opponent but she was ready! Tonight would be the night for a true fair fight. He came barreling at her, shoulder ready to pumble into her. She let him drop her to the ground to get the fuel for the fire she needed from the pain of it, lifting her knees and jamming into him, lifting him over her, landing on him and settled on straddling him, a jerk with her hips, riding a swift beat against his junk, jamming him with a left to his cheek bone, a right to his jaw bone and an elbow to his nose. She waggled on him silently torturing, “Come on, baby!” Than hopped up with an easy stance to his staggered one. He shook himself and she smirked thinking she had him right where she wanted him; up and ready for some more. She toyed with him, taunting him and avoiding him. He charged, she used his force to swing him past her, he hit the ground rolled and popped up. Figuring she was done and just needing a quick end to this game she loved, she charged him for the first time to his surprise. She hopped up off the ground using not only the momentum of the run but that of the fall as well to land her fist right on his nose. She felt the bones break, heard them crack, watched the display of sprayed blood and knew that this one she wasn’t gonna take home. She never went as far as to break someone bones but she wanted to send that boy that walked into her shop all confidant, into oblivion. He did have her frustrated, yes, sexually frustrated too, just not with the ass she just beat though. She waited for him to get up from the knock out then she grabbed a hold of his hand to help him up just like she did with every other man she beat but instead of whispering “meet me by my shop,” she whispered, “good fight.” He talked back unlike any other one, “You had more of a reason behind your strength tonight. You would not have beat me without it. I want a rematch.”
“Honny, you’re strong just not strong enough, even without an extra reason to motivate me. I’ll prove it to you.” She smirked with a half laugh in his face.
She didn’t even bother with the closing entertained words or to collect her money. She text Jocelyn and Gwen to do so and shifted into ‘escape mode,' running back to her apartment. He did land a couple few good knocks, ones that normally she wouldn’t have endured, she was fast at avoidance, just not tonight. She needed the fight and the pain to heal her uncontrolled state. She sure did give the crowd her best show yet, though.
She went to the freezer, grabbed her bottle of Jack and a joint already rolled off the table in the living room. She would only smoke on fight nights. Then she strolled out to the deck, clicked on the hot tub, flipped the cover off and stripped. That poor boy she just beat would have had this as a start to recovery, but she needed the loneliness more.
What was it about that boy that came into her shop that had her not in control? She always had it and for the first time in a long time she lost it and the why she needed to figure out. So what better way, she thought by the end of the two hours in the hot tub, other than to be alone with him tomorrow to figure him out and give him what he asked for; no more eyes but yet she would not give him the satisfaction of thinking he was right, she won’t want him; she won’t touch him other than with the gun. He’ll think differently when he first walks in to no one there but when she’s done she will be the one who won. Nothing like getting a man’s hopes up for nothing, she’d have him under her control in no time, she thought deviously. Satisfied with her plan, she slipped out of the hot tub and into her bed, his eyes where the last thing she saw before sleep took her under.
Oh! Rattled; rattled he was. You could even say so badly it scrambled his brain. He could barely think of anything other than of the sight of her deep brown eyes that turned completely black at the sight of his arousal. ‘Was it that sight or something else?” He thought. Oh, he hoped it was that something else but how could it be? What women would get turned on at being trash talked than hearing his relief of the pain and want him the way she showed it in her eyes? None of it made since to him. How could it be possible, she’d have to be completely off her rocker to be like him. But damn did he want her and he also wanted to find his place to take a cold shower but he must have taken to many wrong turns. Pulling out his phone he dialed up Dane’s number and asked, “Dude where the hell am I and how do I get to a damn cold shower?”
“Hold on. I’ll check. Seriously, jackass? Take a right were five houses down. Wow man, what’s got you all fucked up not to notice you're that close to home?” He just hung up, what was there to explain when obviously he himself didn’t have a clue. ‘I must be lost and no not just literally.’ He breathed out with a sigh of exhaustion. He rounded the corner and there she was running down the street doing the most mesmerizing things he couldn’t even imagine. ‘Beautiful,’ he breathed. He went to catch up with her, maybe even
to follower her, he had no clue but his feet were firmly planted in disbelief, the roots of need wrapped around his ankles and held him in place, shocked that he had no clue really who this girl was but he felt the need to hold her so strongly it made his heart literally flutter like the wing she just tattoo on his shoulder.
Insanely he had to have his tat finished, he even said it to her, he had to have only her finish it. It’d be her to do it, he thought, The Wench With Wings it fit her perfect. And the tats on him finally had meaning again. The Wrench symbolizing her fixing him, she had to. She’d be his angel, only naming it Wench because she was a facetious young women.
Finally able to move again he booked it to his front door, flung it open and ran to the shower. First things first; cold shower to strip her heat away, next; to his room to finish what was hers. Ignoring Dane’s questions he slammed the door shut and went to his desk to redraw his Wench With Wings. The outline was complete, so that he could not change but the inside he could. He weaved the words ‘Wench With Wings’ throughout the inside of them. Satisfied it looked almost perfect he sighed with delight, but there was one thing still missing. He would bring it to her tomorrow and ask her to sign her name somewhere within, making an excuse that all artist should sign their work. Knowing it was really to represent her, made him smile a true smile, one he has not had in quite some time. Images of her running and doing what she did literally danced in his head and he laughed out loud thinking of it that way, the way he said she would have him in her head. He was going to have fun with this woman.
He stood up dropped the towel that was around his waist and dressed in sweats and a tee. He threw his running sneakers on and ran out of the apartment. If he was going to be this guy he pictured in his head for her than he needed to be as good as she. He ran, tried flipping off a car and crashed. “Man this is gonna be harder than what she made it out to be,” he said to himself out loud as he shook his head in disbelief. What was this chic gonna do to him? Two hours he work himself to the bone, literally. The amount of scrapes and bruises on him were worse than any fight he’s been in lately. The pain they caused was sweet surrender. It was the best pain he had ever felt, other than when she tattooed him and touched him earlier. He got back to his place, opted for a hot shower instead of a cold one than dropped to his bed with a joyful sigh. Than a thought crossed his mind ripping his joy away. 'What if she throws you away dip shit?' He huffed and closed his eyes. The sight of hers were the last thing he saw before the darkness descended and took his heart.
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