Fight Like A Girl

by A. D. Herrick

  I didn't realize I had been caught until it was too late. I didn’t even hear them coming. I remember smiling in relief as the building came into sight. My chest had swelled with hope. I was almost home free and then everything went black.

  It wasn’t until I woke, hogtied on my stomach, in the back of a van that I realized how wrong I had been.

  “There she is. There’s my little prizefighter.” The familiar voice should have given me comfort - hope. Only it didn’t. Unease sent shivers down my spine as Shank’s smiling face came into view beaming down at me. “I knew it would take more than a measly old rock to keep you down.”

  “What? Where am I? A rock?” I squirmed against my restraints, searching for a weakness. My muscles burned, stretched taut behind me.

  “I still can’t believe it worked.” A deep gruff voice laughed from behind me.

  “Man, I told ya. I could have been picked up by the majors if it wasn’t for that dickhead ratting me out.” Shank spit out venomously glancing past me to the other occupant of the van.

  I struggled to understand what was going on. I thought Shank was my friend. I thought he was loyal to Chaos. To me.

  So many questions swam through my mind. “Shank, what’s going on? Where’s Chaos?” I could feel the edges of panic sinking in.

  “Seems your brother was not only a snitch but he was also into some really fucked up shit. He owed me a square,” His thick finger popped me on the nose as though I were a small child. “And I came to collect. As for Chaos, I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He has his hands full enough already.” His smile was crazed matching the look in his eyes. I felt my stomach sink like a lead weight.

  Blinking back tears I tried not to think about the implications of his words. Chaos was a fighter. There’s no way they could take him down.

  “How much did Marco owe you? If you give me some time I can get you your money back. You don’t have to do this, Shank.” Leave it to my brother to get me into this mess. I should have known all this was Marco’s fault. If he wasn’t already dead I would have killed him myself.

  Shank laughed a deep-bellied laugh as though I had told the funniest joke imaginable. Perhaps in his mind, I had.

  “You are what your dear brother, Marco, put up on the auction block. How does it feel to know he drugged you up real good and had all of us come in the house while you were passed out on the couch? We had the whole auction right there with you in the room. Then the fucker had the nerve to bring you pizza before joining us to collect. You should be thanking me that fuckers is dead. It wasn’t just your skills he was putting up for bid, Princess. Things could have ended up a whole lot worse had I not come to your rescue. A whole lot worse.

  And you’re right. I don’t have to do this. But damn if I don’t want to. You don’t know how good it feels to finally be on top. Your brother cost me my career in the big leagues so I think it’s only fair I get you in return.” Shank gloated.

  The big leagues? The man was clearly delusional. I had no idea what he meant about me being on the auction block or what he meant about being on top and I didn't care. The thought of him and a bunch of other men coming in to stare at me while I slept made my skin crawl. A part of me wanted to believe him about Marco but an even bigger part of me said it didn’t matter.

  I didn’t care about Shank and his disillusioned fantasies of justice. I didn’t care about his personal vendetta against my brother. All I cared about was getting free and getting away from the psychotic freak I thought had been a friend.

  “You don’t have to do this. We’re friends. I swear I won’t say anything if you just let me go.” I pled.

  “Friends? Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Princess. You don’t have friends. You have servants. You walk around with your head held high acting like the Queen of Shiva. You treat everyone like they're beneath you. Too good to rub hands with the likes of us. You and your hero Chaos.” He let out a sick sinister laugh that left chills creeping down my spine.

  “I’m not worried about you telling a soul because you won’t last long enough to. With any luck, you’ll remember enough of what I taught you and make me enough money to get the fuck outta here. All I need is a few days of your time, Princess. Think you can manage that?” He hissed out bitterly as he sank out of sight.

  A whoosh of air was forced from my lungs as a thick boot landed a blow on my side reminding me he was still near. My body protested as it tried to curl in upon itself. It was no use. I was strung tight unable to protect myself from any further assaults. I had never felt more helpless in my life.

  The rest of the ride was made in uncomfortable silence. The driver of the van already knew which way to go. The only sounds that could be heard were the roaring of the road beneath us and the occasional tapping of buttons on a phone, leaving my mind a swarming mess of thoughts and emotions. Shank had been like a brother to me. He helped teach me how to fight. He was my friend. He was Chaos’s friend. None of this made any sense.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ginger

  “You’re up next, G. Don’t disappoint me.” I didn’t miss the threat in his voice. Shank’s gaze never left mine as his eyes narrowed into slits. “You get in there and you kick that scrawny bitch’s ass just like I taught you, you hear me?”

  “I’m not doing it. I’m not fighting.” I matched his stare, unwilling to back down.

  Shank’s meaty paw latched onto my ponytail, jerking my head back at an unnatural angle. “Get your ass out there and kick her ass or I will pass your pussy around like an offering plate during Sunday service. There’s a lotta guys out there that would pay good money to dip their wick in the sweet little G pot. I bet I could make a mint off your V-card alone. Guys would line up around the block to sample the goods no man has had the privilege of tasting. That just might be the money ticket to get me outta here. So, you better watch yourself because it’s sounding mighty tempting.” The thought of any man other than Chaos touching me was repulsive sending pangs of fear through my body. Bile churned in my stomach.

  Shank’s hot breath washed over my face as he used his height to dominate me. It was fruitless to fight against him. Shank has at least six inches on me and nearly a hundred pounds. I wouldn't survive one of his blows, even at half strength. I had been in the ring nearly every day. My body was too battered and haggard I would be lucky enough to remain standing long enough to swing out at him.

  “Your names about to be called. I suggest you get your shit together and get out there. You try any funny business and I'll make good on my word. I'll have you turned out before your hand reaches the door.” Shank released me abruptly sending me careening to the floor.

  “Quit lying around and get your ass out there.” Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out his switchblade. With the flick of his wrist, my binds were released. The tattered rope fell into my lap. I took a brief moment to watch them, imagining my own demise happening just as swift.

  “G,” Shank warned as though reading my mind.

  “Fuck you.” I spat, fighting against the nausea threatening my stomach as I rose from the floor.

  My knees knocked, legs threatening to buckle, as I stumbled out to the makeshift ring.

  Like all the fights before, the event was being housed in an old abandoned warehouse. A crude cage was built using chain length fence and road work signs held up by piled sandbags.

  There was nothing fancy here. The raging crowd was held back by menacing men, reminding me of chained dogs. They all looked the same, tall, bald, and pock-faced. If I hadn't known better I would have thought the look was a requirement.

  The Hunters ran the rings in this part of the state. Their signature was carved everywhere you looked. Egalitarianism at its finest. It was in everything, from the way they looked, dressed, down to the tattoos and their rides. They carved and inked their brand into the walls surrounding the cage and even on the cage itself.

  “Gentleman, we have a special treat for you tonight. We have Sweet Baby G vs.
Lionheart Lola. Betting will close in two minutes.” A loud voice boomed overhead through the loudspeakers.

  “Make me some money, G,” Shank yelled in my ear as he half guided, half dragged me through the thick crowd.

  Bring Em Out by T.I. blasted through the speakers, the song acting as a signal for the fighters to enter the cage. It was the same song played at every fight. The men in the crowd roared; some screaming filthy promises of sexual retribution if one of us lost. There was always some asshole in the crowd screaming out lewd comments and sexual innuendos.

  Shank ignored the shouts, shoving me through the cage door as the song changed from T.I. to Rihanna. “Bitch better have my money, pay me what you owe me…” The lyrics excited the crowd even more. I wasn't sure if it was because they identified with the song, demanding whichever woman they bet on to win needed to bring them money or if it was because they thought the song would elicit rage from one girl to the next. It was anyone's guess and frankly, I didn't care. I found the song repulsive and demeaning. It soured my stomach.

  Lionheart Lola stood before me. She was a mouse of a girl with a wild mane of golden hair with orange streaks that billowed around her narrow features. Hard lines were etched into her youthful face making her look much older than her true age. Thin pink scars littered across her face told the story of her life, the brutality she had faced and survived. Her time in captivity had hardened her making her a shell of herself. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, lacking any hope. It was as though she had resigned herself to her fate. Given up on any chance to escape.

  With her tiny fist balled up at her sides, I caught a glimpse of her knuckles. They were raw and angry, crusty scabs had begun to form over the fresh wounds. It was clear she had a fight just recent. Lola’s clothes hung limply on her petite frame, showcasing the drastic weight loss she had endured. My heart hurt for her.

  A loud horn blasted through the speakers, silencing the crowd, signaling the start of the fight. I felt myself retreating, pulling deep within the confines of my mind. It was intrinsic to survival and it chilled me to the bone at how easy it had become in just the two short days I had been here.

  I drew my fist up, adrenalin shot through my system wiping away the aches and pains in my limbs. Balancing my weight on the balls of my feet my training took over. I surveyed my opponent.

  I hadn’t lost a fight yet and I had a feeling that was the only reason I was still alive. Upon seeing the sheer determination in my eyes Lola drew in on herself even further than I thought possible. Wide sad eyes peered up at me glistening with unshed tears. It was the first sign she had given that anyone was home upstairs. The sight of her opening up threw me off balance. Indecisions warred within me.

  “Bye,” her voice was small and squeaky resembling a mouse, much like her size. That one word was like a sucker punch to the gut.

  My eyes dropped in shame. I felt a flood of remorse for what I was about to do. Just like the girl before, it was me or her.

  I chose me.

  I moved to attack, shuffling my feet I pulled back. Lola’s eyes widened comically.

  I hesitated.

  That was all it took. With ninja-like reflexes, Lola’s foot was up, sailing through the air. I was so caught off guard by the shift I forgot to block. Her foot caught me on the chin, snapping my head back on my shoulders.

  Lola’s satisfied smirk was the last thing I saw before everything went black.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chaos

  The smell of burnt flesh filled my nostrils leaving a satisfied smirk on my face.

  After barricading the doors on the Devil's clubhouse and dousing the building in a gasoline cocktail, I set the building ablaze. The sound of screams filled the sky, feeding the inner monster within me. The monster that craved death and destruction.

  With my back rested on the grill of my truck, my arms folded across my chest, I watched on as red and orange flames licked the night sky. The building itself burned so hot the flames were white, tipped with the dancing blue streaks.

  Perfection.

  It was the sight of perfection.

  Did I care that innocent lives were lost?

  Not one iota.

  The innocence of those lost would serve as a reminder to all who dare cross my path. It was a warning to those who had wronged me, who wronged G.

  I would not rest until my girl was safe in my arms. Any who dared lay a finger on her would follow the Devils into death.

  I watched the fire burn, luxuriating in the fear of the onlookers brave enough to step out of the safety of their homes to witness the scene.

  I relished in their parched faces and horror filled eyes.

  I wanted them to see.

  I wanted word to spread.

  I was coming for them all. Not a soul would be spared in my pursuit to save G.

  I would not rest until she was safely in my arms.

  Whistling I turned my back to the burning building and began loading my now empty gas cans into the back of my truck. The sun would be up soon and I didn't have much time left. I had one more stop to make before dawn. One more score to settle.

  I drove out to the Crows.

  With practiced ease, I chained the doors to the clubhouse, securing them with a padlock for extra measure. Walking around the large old farmhouse I splashed the walls with my kerosene-gas mixture. The gasoline provided the fast flame while the kerosene held the flames longevity. It was the perfect blend to bring the house down quickly.

  I struck a match, tossing it at the large wooden door of the clubhouse. A bright blue flame licked up the wall, devouring the accelerant like a starved bitch.

  It didn't take long for the screams to start. The front door buckled forward as the inhabitants fought to break free. The sound of panicked voices followed by angry screams brought a smile to my face.

  The tinkling of glass shattering only made me chuckle. Chairs and other household item sailed through the windows at the front of the house, making the flames burn brighter.

  As I did with the doors, I heavily saturated the sills of the windows, ensuring the blazing tomb would hold. The angry shouts soon turned into to desperate cries flooding me with elation. The sound was music to my ears.

  With a satisfied smile, I watched as the Devil’s brotherhood went up in flames.

  Hangman and a small group of his men had been out, exactly as planned, making this endeavor all too easy. If only there were a challenge to be had, then my night would have truly been filled.

  All it took was a phone call to bring my plan to fruition. A simple favor called in, enticing the Crow’s VP to a buffet of pussy. Unable to turn down such a delectable meal, Hangman didn't think twice before grabbing a handful of his brothers and jumping on his bike, leaving the club in his dust.

  They didn't make it far before the loud boom called their attention back, followed by the red and orange glow that lit up the night's sky. The old dried wood of the house had caught fire quickly before it crumbled, burying its inhabitants under its raging weight. The flames licked higher into the sky, reaching toward the heavens. I longed for a bag of marshmallows to truly make the night memorable.

  The thundering of the crew's bikes as they drew near sent a thrill of excitement through me.

  Tilting my neck to either side I felt the small bones pop, the feeling cathartic. Pulling out my Remington, I leaned across the hood of my truck. Lining my sights on the back of the pack, I pulled the trigger with ease.

  The rider went down, his bike sailing across the empty dirt road on its side.

  No one registered the sound of the shot as it ricocheted through the night nor did they noticed the missing man. I readjusted my stance and took out the next man. One by one I picked them off. The lack of awareness by the crew was disheartening, making it all too easy. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. I had hoped for a better reaction. I was begging for a fight.

  Hangman arrived alone, too focused on the fiery scene before him to notice his missing
men or the fact that I stood not 10 feet from him with a bat slung over my shoulder. He stood; his bike lay forgotten on the ground as he stared into the blaze. A look of shock and disbelief marred his face.

  It wasn't until my bat connected with his kneecap that he realized I was there. The resounding POP echoed through the night followed by his blood-curdling screams. The sound was music to my ears.

  “Hiya, Pal.” Wiggling my fingers at him in greeting I treated him with a saccharine smile.

  “Fuck,” He howled his hands wrapped around his crippled kneecap in a death grip.

  Too worried about his shattered appendage he gave me his back. He was either not the brightest crayon in the box or still in shock over the scene before him. Either way, he was making my job entirely too easy and I didn't like it. I didn’t like it one bit. Tipping the bat to the side of his body I took a solid swing, taking out my agitation on his body at his lack of fight.

  The sound of his humerus cracking was almost as sweet as G’s moans when I kissed her, almost.

  Dropping my head back I enjoyed the sound of his caterwauls. Hangman crumpled to his side, wailing in agony. “Come on kiddo, let's go for a walk. We have grown up shit to discuss so I'm going to need you to stop all that fussing before I do something I'll regret.”

  “I'll fucking kill you!” It was hard to take his threat seriously with him slobbering all over himself and crying like a bitch. Globs of mucus stuck to his face intermingling with his salty tears.

  I refrained from mentioning it to him. Instead, I slung his battered body over my shoulder along with my bat, whistling as I went.

  “What the fuck do you want?” He yowled; his shattered arm flopped against my back while his uninjured arm pelted my back with feeble blows.