by Cora Reilly
My lips twitched at her joke. “No, I’m not scared of anything.”
She laughed, then quieted, blue eyes tracing my face. “I should go.”
She got out and closed the door. Then she quickly ran for cover. I watched her fumble with the keys for a while before she disappeared from view. Strange girl.
I glanced back out the window as the Mercedes drove off. I couldn’t believe I’d let a stranger drive me home. And I couldn’t believe I’d let him buy me food. I’d thought I’d outgrown that kind of thing. Back when I was a little girl, strangers had occasionally bought me food because they’d felt pity for me. But this guy, he hadn’t showed any signs of pity. And the suit, somehow it had been wrong on him.
He hadn’t revealed what he was doing. Not a lawyer or business man. What then? Perhaps he had rich parents but he didn’t seem like the rich-kid type.
Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t see him again. A man like him with a car like that, he would spend his days on golf courses and in fancy restaurants, not in the places where I could work.
Dad wasn’t home. Considering the force of the rainfall, I’d be stuck in the apartment for a while. I walked into the kitchen, checked the fridge, but found it as empty as in the morning, then sank down on a chair. I was cold and tired. I’d have to hang my clothes to dry soon, so I could wear them tomorrow again. The dress was the nicest piece of clothing I owned. If I wanted to have any chance securing a job at this arena, I needed to wear it.
This new beginning wasn’t very promising so far.
The next day I went in search for Roger’s Arena, It took me a while and eventually I had to ask passersby for the way. They looked at me like I had lost my mind for asking for a place like that. What kind of place had the guy suggested to me?
When I finally found Roger’s Arena, a nondescript building with a small red neon sign with its name beside the steel entrance door, and stepped inside, I began to understand why people had reacted the way they had.
The bar wasn’t exactly a cocktail bar or night club. It was a huge hall that might have been a storage facility once. There was a bar counter on the right side but my eyes were drawn to the huge fighting cage in the center of the large room. Tables were arranged all around it, and there were also a few red leather booths against the walls for the well-off customers, I supposed.
The floor was bare stone. The walls were too, but they were covered with wire mesh fence and woven into it were red neon tubes that formed words like Honor, Pain, Blood, Victory, Strength.
I hesitated in the front, half a mind to turn around and leave, but then a black-haired woman headed my way. She must have been thirty, thirty-one perhaps? Her eyes were heavily lined and her lips were a bright pink. It clashed with the red glow of the neon lights. She didn’t smile, but didn’t exactly look unfriendly either. “Are you new? You’re late. In thirty minutes the first customers will arrive and I haven’t even cleaned the tables or the changing rooms yet.”
“I’m not really working here,” I said slowly. And I wasn’t sure it was a place I should consider working.
“You aren’t?” Her shoulders slumped, one of the thin spaghetti straps sliding off and allowing a glance at the strapless pink bra beneath her top. “Oh damn. I can’t do this alone tonight. Mel called in sick, and I…” She trailed off. “You could work here, you know?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said, even though the fighting cage freaked me out. Beggars can’t be choosers, Leona.
“Perfect. Then come on. Let’s find Roger. I’m Cheryl, by the way.”
She gripped my forearm and pulled me along. “Is the payment so bad or why are you having trouble finding staff?” I asked as I hurried after her, my sandals smacking against the stone floor.
“Oh, it’s the fighting. Many girls are squeamish,” she said off-handedly but I had a feeling there was more she wasn’t telling me.
We walked through a black swing door behind the bar counter, along a narrow bare-walled corridor with more doors, and toward another massive wooden door at the end. She knocked.
“Come in,” said a deep voice. Cheryl opened the door to a large office that was foggy from cigarette smoke. Inside a middle-aged man, built like a bull, sat behind a desk. He flashed his teeth at Cheryl, his double chin becoming more prominent. Then his eyes settled on me.
“I got us a new waitress,” Cheryl said, the hint of flirtation in her voice. Really? Perhaps it was a boss thing.
“Roger,” the man introduced himself, squashing a burnt-down cigarette on the ketchup-smeared plate in front of him. “You can start working right away.”
I opened my mouth in surprise.
“That’s why you’re here right? Five dollars per hour plus everything you make from tips.”
“Okay?” I said uncertainly.
“Dressed like that you won’t earn much tips, girl.” He picked up his mobile and gestured us to go back out. “Get something that shows off your ass or tits. This isn’t a nunnery.”
When the door had closed, I gave Cheryl a questioning look. “Does it always go like that?”
She shrugged, but again I got the impression that she was keeping something from me. “He’s just really desperate right now. Tonight’s an important fight and he doesn’t want things to get messy because we’re low on staff.”
“Why does it matter how I’m dressed?” Worry overcame. “We don’t have to do anything with guests, right?”
She shook her head. “We don’t have to, no. But we have a few rich customers that mean good money. Especially if you give them some special attention.”
I shook my head. “No, no. That’s not going to happen.”
She nodded. “It’s up to you.” She led me back out. “You can leave your backpack here.” She pointed toward the ground behind the bar. Reluctantly I set it down. I couldn’t keep it on me when I worked. She rummaged in a small chamber to the left of the bar and appeared with a mop and a bucket. “You can start by cleaning the changing room. The first fighters will arrive in about two hours. Until then everything should be clean.”
I hesitated. She frowned. “What? Too good for cleaning?”
“No,” I said quickly. I wasn’t too good for anything. And I’d cleaned up every possible disgusting thing in my life. “It’s just I haven’t eaten anything since last night and I feel a bit faint.”
I hated to admit it. But the fridge was still empty and I was still out of money. And dad didn’t seem concerned about food at all. Either he ate out wherever he went at night or he lived on air alone. Pity crossed her face, making me regret my words. Pity had been something I had been submitted to too often. It had always made me feel small and worthless. With a mother who sold her body on the street, my teachers and the social workers had always been very forthcoming with their pity, but never with a way out of the mess. The guy from yesterday, when he’d bought me food, it hadn’t felt like an act of charity for some reason.
Cheryl set down the mop and bucket, and grabbed something from a fridge behind the bar. She put a coke down in front of me, then she turned and went back through the swing door. She showed up with a grilled cheese sandwich and fries, both cold. “They are from last night but the kitchen isn’t open yet.”
I didn’t care. I wolfed down everything within a few minutes and washed it down with the cold coke. “Thanks,” I said with a big smile.
She searched my face, then shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but how old are you?”
“I’m old enough to work here,” I said. I knew I needed to be twenty-one to work in a place like this, so I didn’t mention that I’d finished high school this year.
She looked doubtful. “Be careful, Chick,” she said simply and pushed the mop into my arms. I took it, picked up the bucket and headed for the door with the red neon sign reading changing room. I wedged it open with my elbow and slipped in.
There were several open shower stalls, a wall of lockers, and a few benches inside. The white-tiled ground wa
s covered with bloodstains and a few dirty towels. Great. They’d probably been lying here for days. The smell of beer and sweat hung in the air. Good thing that I’d learned to deal with stuff like that thanks to my mother. I began mopping and was still at it when the door opened again, and two men – thirty-five, perhaps forty – stepped in, tattooed from head to toe. I paused.
Their eyes wandered over me, resting on my flip-flops and dress. I smiled anyway. I’d quickly learned that it was easier to disarm people with a smile than with anger or fear, especially if you were a small woman. They nodded at me, disinterested. When the first began to tug at his shirt, I quickly excused myself and headed out. I didn’t want to watch them undressing. They might get the wrong idea.
A few guests were already mingling around the now red lit bar, obviously impatient for drinks. Cheryl was nowhere in sight. I set down the bucket and the mop, and hurried toward the counter. Once behind it, I faced the group of thirsty men, smiling. “So what can I get you?”
Beer was the way to go obviously. Relief flooded me. That request was one I could handle. If they’d asked for cocktails or long drinks, I’d have been lost. Half of them took what was on tap and I handed the full glasses over to them, the other half chose bottles. I quickly scanned the fridge. There were only three bottles of beer left. I doubted they would last long. These guys looked like they considered a crate of beer a good appetizer.
Where was Cheryl?
When I was starting to get nervous, she finally walked through the door, looking slightly disheveled. Her skirt was askew, her top put on the wrong way and her lipstick was gone. I didn’t say anything. Had she already earned some extra money with a customer? I glanced around toward the few men gathered at the tables and the bar. Some of them were throwing me curious glances but none of them appeared like they were about to offer me money for having sex. I relaxed slightly. I knew I was particularly touchy about the subject but I’d be out of this bar, desperate for money or not, the moment one of them put down money in front of me for sex. There was a strange atmosphere in the bar anyway. People were exchanging money, and talking in hushed voices. There was someone in the corner who got approached by every customer and noted something on his iPad once they’d handed him money. He was a very round, very small man with a mousy face. I assumed he was taking their bets. I didn’t know anything about the laws in Nevada, but this couldn’t possibly be legal.
None of my business.
“Doll? Give me a beer, would you?” a man in his sixties said.
I flushed, then quickly reached for a glass. I was beginning to feel like this place might be prone to trouble.
Chapter Five
I pulled up into the parking lot of Roger’s Arena, killing the engine. My muscles were already taut with eagerness. The thrill of fighting still got me after all these years. In the cage it didn’t matter if your Father was Consigliere or construction worker. It didn’t matter what people thought of you. All that mattered was the moment, your fighting skills, your skill to read the enemy. It was one against one. Life was seldom as fair as that.
I stepped into Roger’s Arena. It was already crowded. The stench of old sweat and smoke hung in the air. It wasn’t an inviting place. People didn’t come here for the atmosphere or good food. They came for money and blood.
The first fight was about to start. The two opponents were already facing each other in the cage in the center. They weren’t the main attraction. Eyes turned to me, then quickly away, as I strode past the rows of tables with spectators. My fight was last. I’d fight the poor sucker who had proven to be the best over the last few weeks. Remo thought it was good to have me beat the strongest fighters to a bloody pulp in a cage to show everyone what kind of Enforcer the Camorra had. And I didn’t mind. It helped me remember the beginning, helped me stay grounded and vicious. Once you allowed yourself to grow pampered, you set yourself up for attack and for failure.
My eyes were drawn to the bar. It took me a moment to recognize her, not shivering and dripping wet like yesterday. She had long amber curls, sharp and yet elegant features. She was serving drinks to the men gathered at the bar; men with eyes like hungry wolves. She was focused on the task, oblivious to their staring. It was obvious that she didn’t have much experience working in a bar. She took too long drawing a simple beer. To be honest, I hadn’t expected her to start working here. That she had taken the job after seeing the cage told me two things: she was desperate and she’d seen worse in her life.
She glanced up, noticing my attention. I still waited for the inevitable reaction. It didn’t come. She smiled shyly, her eyes registering my clothes. No suit today. Black jeans and a black long sleeved shirt, my preferred style, but sometimes the suit was necessary. She hesitated, then quickly returned to the task of serving beer to an old fucker.
Who was this girl? And why wasn’t she scared?
Tearing my eyes away from her, I headed toward Roger who was talking to our bookie Griffin. I shook hands with both men. Then I nodded toward the bar. “New girl?”
Roger shrugged. “She showed up in my office today, looking for a job. I need new staff.” He regarded me uncertainly. “Do you want me to alert Stefano?”
Stefano was our romancer. He preyed on women, pretended to be in love with them, and eventually forced them to work in one of the Camorra’s whorehouses.
I didn’t get along with him. I shook my head. “She doesn’t fit the profile.”
I didn’t know how Stefano choose the girls he pursued, and I didn’t give a fuck.
“So how’s it going?” I nodded toward Griffin’s iPad where he managed all of the bets coming in.
“Good. The few idiots who have bet against you will bring us a lot of money.”
I nodded, but my eyes went over to the bar counter again. I wasn’t even sure why. I had driven the girl home last night on a whim, and that was it. “I’ll grab something to drink.”
Not waiting for them to reply, I made my way toward the bar. People chanced looks at me like they always did before looking away. It was annoying as fuck. But I’d worked hard to earn their fear.
I stopped in front of the counter and put my gym bag down beside me, then sat on a stool. The men at the other end of the bar threw uneasy glances my way. I recognized one of them as someone I’d paid a visit because of three grand recently. His arm was still in a cast.
The girl came over to me. Her skin was slightly tanned but didn’t have the unnatural bronze tinge of someone who went to the sunbeds like most of the women who worked in our places.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon again,” she said. She smiled that shy smile that reminded me of days long gone. Days I wanted to forget most of the time. She had a light sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and cornflower blue eyes with a darker ring around them. Now that her hair wasn’t dripping wet, it was dark auburn with natural golden highlights.
I rested my forearms on the counter, glad that my long sleeves covered my tattoo. There would be time for the revelation later. “I told you I frequented this place.”
“No suit, but all black. You like it dark, I suppose,” she teased.
I smirked. “You have no idea.”
Her brows drew together, then the smile returned. “What can I do for you?”
“A glass of water.”
“Water,” she repeated doubtfully, the corners of her mouth twitching. “That’s a first.” She let out a soft laugh.
I hadn’t changed into my fight boxers yet. I didn’t tell her that I had a fight scheduled that evening, which was one reason why I couldn’t drink, and that I had to break some legs in the morning, which was the other.
She handed me a glass of water. “There you go,” she said, walking around the bar and wiping a table next to me. I let my eyes trail over her body. Yesterday I hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to the details. She was thin and small, like someone who never knew if there would be food on the table, but managed to carry herself with a certain air of g
race despite her shabby clothes that didn’t allow for a good look at the shape of her body. She was wearing the same dress from yesterday, and those horrible flip-flops, still completely wrong for the temperatures.
“What brought you here?” I asked. Her father lived in a bad part of town. I couldn’t believe that she didn’t have somewhere else where she could stay. Anywhere else would have been better. With her freckles, shy smile and elegant features, she belonged to a nice suburb, not a fucked up neighborhood and definitely not in a fight club in mob territory. But the latter was my fault of course.
“I had to move in with my father because my mother is back in rehab,” she said without hesitation. There was no reservation, no caution. Easy prey in this world.
“Do I know your father?” I asked.
Her brows puckered. “Why would you?”
“I know a lot of people. And even more people know me,” I said with a shrug.
“If you’re famous you should tell me so I don’t embarrass myself with my ignorance,” she joked easily.
“Not famous,” I told her. Notorious was more like it.
She waved a hand at me. “Today you don’t look like a lawyer or business man by the way.”
“What do I look like then?”
A light blushed traveled up her throat. She gave a delicate shrug before she headed back behind the bar, then hesitated again, mustering my arms that I had propped up on the bar. “Perhaps you can help me get a few beer crates from the basement. I doubt Roger wants to do it, and I don’t think I’m strong enough. You look like you can carry two or three without breaking a sweat.”
She turned and walked over to the swing door, leading to the back, then threw a look over her shoulder to see if I was following.
I set down my glass on the counter and rose, curious. She seemed completely unaware of what I was. And I didn’t mean my rank in the mob. People were usually uneasy around me, even without seeing my tattoo. She wasn’t a good actress and I would have sensed fear if she harbored any. I followed her to the back and then the long staircase down into the storage. I knew the place. I’d used it for a couple more intense conversations with debtors. The door fell shut behind us. A flicker of suspicion shot through me. Nobody could be that trusting. Was this a set up? But that would have been equally stupid.