“Okay. Good to know,” Tuesday pipes in.
“You’re a pretty one. I can see why your force refuses to let you go,” Megan compliments.
But it is not the kind of compliment Tuesday was looking for from a strange woman in a dark room.
“I need your advice, some guidance, Megan,” Tuesday asks as she wants to get straight to the point.
“Can you get rid of your force for good? Is that the first question?” Megan asks.
“Yes,” Tuesday answers.
“That’s difficult to answer. So many have tried before you, and most have failed. And not because of the reason you would think. It’s because sex with a Force is so damn electrifying, it’s hard to give that up for a mere mortal dick.”
“What if I am ready to give it up? What can I do?” Tuesday says flat out.
“I’ll assume you still have the one wish left? Is that correct?” Megan questions.
“Yes, I do,” Tuesday confirms.
“Have you thought about using it to rid him once and for all out of your life, or perhaps for another fleshly desire?” Megan drills in hopes of discovering the real Tuesday.
Tuesday quickly responds,“Yes, that is exactly what I’m thinking of using it for. I loved him more than myself at times, before the accident. I even wished myself dead to be with him. But that was the foolish and inexperienced girl inside me talking. I’ll admit that the sex now is even better than when he was alive. But I’m ready to say goodbye to him, and everything surrounding him.”
Megan steps in closer, to let her in on a secret, “That is what they want you to do. It’s a trap. Once you say you want them gone and call upon your wish to make it happen, they will double in number. Your force will clone and so will his companions. Instead of three of them, you will have six to deal with.”
Completely shocked, Tuesday’s mouth falls opens, “So every time he asked me if I wanted to use my wish to say goodbye to him, he knew it would be the beginning.”
Megan nods in the affirmative.
“That son of a bitch,” Tuesday says under her breath,
“If you thought your troubles were many before,” Megan continues, “they would double. All of them would demand more and more of you, more than you would ever be able to keep up with. You’d become a vessel used simply for their pleasure. Your insides would eventually disintegrate, and there would be nothing left of you but a beaten soul. Once that happens, they take that as well.”
“Oh my God, so what do I do?” Tuesday implores, “How do I rid myself of them? I can’t continue like this much longer. They’re taking over my life. They’ve even become violent. They’ve crossed over to black, and I refuse to go with them.”
“Is there someone else?” Megan questions.
Tuesday takes a moment before she admits the truth, “Yes, there is someone that I want to be with who may want me too. He followed me to Franklin Forrest one evening and found us. They turned on him and almost killed him. I think I’ve convinced him that it never happened, but I don’t know for sure.”
“There are no guarantees, mind you but some have cut their visits to almost zero by—“
“By what?” Tuesday jumps in, anxious to hear the answer.
“By becoming celibate and refusing to allow the Force or any man to enter them. The Force must gain your permission before each interlude, and we know how strong their spells can be. But if you’re strong enough and refuse their urges and your own desires, they may grow weary trying or impatient, and move on.”
Tuesday asks a follow-up question, “I can do that. Is there anything else I can do?”
“One, not so pretty,” Megan offers.
“Tell me,” Tuesday demands.
A candle goes out.
Megan is uncomfortable. But she just tells herself that it had nothing to do with a Force. She walks back over to the candle, strikes a match and relights it before she turns back to face Tuesday. She rolls up her left sleeve. There is a branding mark burned into her inside wrist the way a cattle prod is used to mark cattle. It looks like a circle within a circle, within a circle, within a circle.
“What did you do to yourself?” Tuesday demands as she inspects the marking.
Megan rolls the sleeve back down, “It’s an amulet used by Druid Priests. It’s sacred to the Omnipresent worshipers of the 1400s. It wards off evil, as well as provides a protective shield against unwanted Forces. But, if you allow them in your bed, just once, it’s effects are null and void.”
Tuesday paces back and forth as her head fills with so many more questions than Megan could possibly answer.
“So what should I use my wish on?” Tuesday asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“That is totally up to you. It is a powerful tool that you shouldn’t take lightly. Think long and hard before you decide, as there are no take backs,” Megan warns.
Tuesday ponders everything she has just learned. She is ready to make a decision.
“I want the amulet now. Where do I go?”
Megan gestures for Tuesday to follow her through a second door.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday is back in her office at the gym. It’s around 11 am and the gym already buzzes with activity.
One fighter known as Scorpion clears out his locker and kicks the door shut. He’s pissed that Tuesday has asked him to leave for non-payment of his dues.
With a head the size of a bowling ball and two fists like cinder blocks, he is a very intimidating presence to most men, and especially to women.
Scorpion bad-mouths Tuesday to a few of the fighters before he decides to confront her face-to-face, despite others telling him to let it go and to leave with some dignity.
Scorpion takes the stairs three at a time and punches the door open to her office. It slams against the side wall and startles Tuesday.
Another fighter bounds up the stairs to intervene. However, The Scorpion assures the fighter that everything is cool and that he won’t touch her; he just wants to have a civil conversation.
Tuesday Scorpion that he can speak his peace before he goes. The other fighter slowly backs out and shuts the door to her office. He leaves a crack in the door to overhear the conversation and in case he needs to intervene again.
Tuesday is a bit rattled but quickly composes herself. She rubs her gauze-wrapped wrist out of anxiety though Scorpion sees it as fear.
She remains stoic as Tuesday would never give this goon the satisfaction of knowing he’s unnerved her.
“What is it Scorpion?” Tuesday says as she takes several steps towards him with her arms folded in front of her.
Scorpion devours her with his eyes. He imagines what it would be like to control her, to fuck every hole she has. He licks his lips as he settles his gaze on her ripe breasts that rest on her folded arms.
“Oscar understood. He gave us options” Scorpion spouts.
Tuesday walks back over to the desk and pulls out Scorpion’s file, “I see what you mean by options. The only option I see is you skipping 13 months of dues, and Oscar going further in the red.”
“Oscar gave us credit!” Scorpion shouts as he takes a step towards Tuesday.
“They should call you ‘I.O.U.’ instead of the Scorpion. You’ve won your last five bouts, yet you haven’t put a dollar towards your bills. I’m sorry, either you pay what you owe today, in cash, or you’re not welcome to train here. That’s the deal.”
Tuesday lays down the law to a lawless man who doesn’t see an authority figure, but pussy on a stick.
“You know what I could do to you?” the Scorpion says as he grabs his package and rolls it around his hand.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Tuesday says as she stares him dead in his face.
“I imagine your tits are full of nectar. I’d milk you like a cow; a heifer. Then I’d rip that pretty little skirt of yours off and see what kind of forest lies between your legs. Ummm, you want that, don’t you,” The Scorpion taunts.
&nb
sp; “Get out,” Tuesday says as she points to the door, “Or I’ll have you thrown out.”
“I’d spread those meaty thighs of yours and shove my cock so far and so deep into your woman hole that I would split you in half; from the inside out,” Scorpion taunts.
The fighter at the door comes back in and shoves the Scorpion out the office. The Scorpion swings at the other fighter to signal him to get his hands off of him.
Tuesday sits behind her desk and shakes from head to toe. She is so unnerved, that she can’t even pick up a pen to sign a check.
Tuesday rubs against her gauze-wrapped wrist before she pulls a bottle of water out of her desk and drinks it.
* * *

The Pretty walks into the gym as The Scorpion exits. The Scorpion bumps The Pretty with his shoulder on the way out.
The Pretty tosses his duffel bag to the floor and follows the Scorpion to his car.
“What’s your problem?” The Pretty says, demanding a response.
The Scorpion turns to face him. “There’s no problem, man. Only your cunt in the office will be getting hers,” he says off-handed.
Roman hauls off and punches The Scorpion across the chin with a clock that sends him flying on top of his car.
The Scorpion didn’t see this one coming. He wipes the blood from his lip, “So you’re fucking her, right? That’s how you’re paying your dues?” he says as he does a spin and kicks Roman’s legs out from under him.
The other fighters in the gym hear the commotion and pile outside. One fighter is about to intervene when another stops him, “They have to work this out on their own,” he says.
The Pretty does a switch kick and lands his foot on the calf of the Scorpion, which causes him to buckle to the ground. He quickly jumps back up, however, and shakes it off.
Both men are bare fisted and ready to end it quickly with a severe blow that could hospitalize either one.
The Scorpion is known for his lightning quick tags to the side abdomen that can rupture spleens and crack ribs.
The Scorpion swings his deadly cinder block fist but misses The Pretty’s side by mere inches. He then dives for the left leg of The Pretty and latches onto it.
Tuesday steps outside to see what is happing. However, she doesn’t have the stomach for this fight. She turns around and runs back inside.
The Pretty uses a take-down defense, swings and lands a steady barrage of under hooks. The point of contact leaves the Scorpion bruised and cut. But he’s very persistent in tries to take The Pretty down to the ground.
With a cut above his right eye, the Scorpion ignores the pain as he blitzes The Pretty with a series of kicks that sends The Pretty tumbling on top of a vehicle.
The Scorpion jumps on top of the vehicle and raises his foot to stomp on The Pretty. However, The Pretty grabs the Scorpion’s foot with both hands and twists it like a rag. This action pops the Scorpions leg out of the hip socket. He tumbles to the pavement.
The Pretty jumps back to the ground as the Scorpion swipes his arm to knock The Pretty off of his feet. The Pretty is down, and the Scorpion grabs his shirt and pounds away at his side.
The Pretty spins out of striking reach and uses his feet and knees to deal the final blows to the Scorpion.
The Scorpion puts his hands up to signal that he gives up.
The Pretty holds his side as he stands erect, “Someone call this man an ambulance.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Pretty perches himself on top of a doctor’s table in a physical therapy office. The Doctor wraps his abdomen tightly with gauze and then secures it closed.
The Doctor examines Roman’s hands one at a time. He bends the fingers back and forth, separates the fingers and checks flexibility. He also checks for any breaks or hairline fractures.
The Doctor then rechecks x-rays of Roman’s hands and abdomen.
“See anything I should know about?’ the Pretty asks.
The Doctor walks back over to, The Pretty and takes off his shoes. He does the same tests with his feet and ankles that he just completed on his hands and wrists.
“Nothing serious, just some bruising. When is your next fight?” he asks.
“Less than a month,” Roman responds as he jumps off the table and puts his shirt on over the bandages.
“I’m going to have to ask you to take it easy for a week and give your body a chance to heal. You took a beating, and it shows,” the Doctor orders.
“I can’t promise you that, doc. It’s the championship bout that I’ve groomed my mind, body and soul for, since day one,” Roman explains.
“I was afraid you’d say that. If you’re going to spar, protect your sides and your hands. Don’t go full tilt. Save that for the championship,” the Doctor admonishes.
“Now that I can do,” Roman agrees as he shoves his shoes on his feet.
The Doctor writes a prescription for pain medication. The Pretty waves it off as he grabs his jacket.
“I don’t need anything to take me off center,” Roman says as he shakes the Doctor’s hand and thanks him.
* * *

Back at home, The Pretty walks stiffly to the kitchen and opens the frig. He bends over to reach something on the bottom shelf and pulls a muscle.
There is a knock at the door. The Pretty stands erect. With his hand on his lower back, he answers the door. It’s Tuesday with a grocery sack. She steps inside and shuts the door behind her.
Tuesday removes her coat and takes the sack of groceries to the kitchen. She rummages through his kitchen cabinets before she locates a bowl. She pulls it out and puts it next to the grocery bag.
Tuesday reaches inside the bag and pulls out warm chicken soup from the bag along with orange juice, ibuprofen, skinless chicken breasts and fresh bandages and tape.
She removes the plastic cover and pours the soup into a bowl and slides it over to Roman, who stands at his kitchen counter. She turns around to locate the utensil drawer.
“On the bottom right,” Roman directs.
Tuesday pulls out the drawer and finds a soup spoon. She presents it to Roman.
Roman isn't used to being taken care of in this way. No one in his life has ever done so, except for Mrs. Lopez on occasion. It feels alien to Roman, strange and awkward.
Roman takes a spoonful of the soup. It’s surprisingly good. He decides to pick up the bowl and gulp its entire contents down.
This swift movement causes him to wince in pain once he puts the bowl down on the counter. Tuesday walks around and sits next to The Pretty by the counter. He reaches for her wrist, ‘What happened?”
Tuesday yanks her arm back, “Careful. It’s a tattoo that needs to heal. It’s still sore.”
This response satisfies Roman as many women have tattoos on their wrists, lower back, and ankles.
Tuesday slowly rolls up, The tails of The Pretty’s shirt to reveal his bandages.
“What are you looking for?” Roman says, not really expecting a response.
Tuesday gently touches his bruised wrapped area to locate the seam. She has him spin around in his chair as she peels open the wrap as if she were unraveling a mummy.
When she removes the used wrap, she notices his side and back carry black and blue marks. Oh, how she wants to lean over and kiss those away. It pains her to see his beautiful physique tainted.
Tuesday walks back around to face Roman. She reaches across his chest to grab the new bandages and tape. His pectorals have sweat droplets around his nipples. What she would give to lick them dry.
But she was here for another reason. She gently wraps him in new bandages and secures them. She rolls down his shirt.
“That should do it,” she says as she tucks his shirt tails back into his waistband and accidentally brushes his member with two fingers. She quickly removes her hands from his waist.
“I hear congratulations is in order,” Tuesday says to keep Roman from saying anything about what just happened.
&n
bsp; “Save the congratulations for after the bout,” he lobs back.
“I’ll do that,” she responds. Tuesday grabs her purse and strides toward the door. “I wanted to personally thank you for what you did for me. It was completely unnecessary, but I appreciate it just the same.”
“The man’s filth. He had it coming,” Roman throws back.
Tuesday takes a step forward and places her hand on Roman’s cheek. She then reaches for the door knob. Roman’s hand reaches for it at the same time. His hand linger’s on top of hers. He feels the electricity pass from her body to his.
The PRETTY (EROM Curvy Romance #1) Page 6