Fighter: A Bad Boy Romance

by Autumn Avery

  “Great. You’re a life saver. I’ll see you then.”

  “See ya!” she says. I hang up, feeling a little better about the day. Not sure if any of my regulars will be in tonight, but probably not. That means I’ll actually have to work the crowd and maybe even dance, which I really don’t want to do.

  I have suffered from mild social anxiety since I was a kid, and the enormous crowds at the club really do a number on me. It’s why I’m so glad I have my regulars who I can hang out with in private and avoid all that. The girls who really have to work out in the main room not only have to work a lot harder than me but also make far less money.

  But that’s life I guess. Some jerk in a sports car hollers at me as he speeds past. “Ay, baby. Shake that thang!”

  I flip him the bird as he drives off.

  Christ, I think. I’m gonna have to shave my legs.

  10

  Ty

  I’m sitting in my truck staring at the old rusted sign above the run down warehouse: Gourmet Meats.

  Yeah, right. Nothing gourmet about this place, and it certainly hasn’t sold meat in years, if it ever did. The only meat going in and out of this place is mine and the other son of a bitch I’ll be squaring up against tonight. That and the crowd of screaming men and gangsters that will be watching.

  Of course it won’t be much of a square off. We already know how this is going to go.

  Down in the third.

  I hear Nicky’s Cockney accent swimming through my mind as I mentally prepare. On any other night I’d be getting myself pumped up to pummel whoever I was up against. I’m usually the favorite, and that’s why Nicky came to me. The odds on me are probably astronomical, and he’ll make a fortune betting against me. It’s gotten harder and harder to find someone willing to fight me lately. I’m known for my right hand, which has a reputation for knocking out even the biggest of men. A jaw’s a jaw my father used to say. Doesn’t matter how big the guy is, he’s still got a jaw, and that’s where you hit him.

  The place is already packed. I can see a few stragglers trickling in, but I know once I get in there it’ll be thick with bodies, all pumped up on drugs and alcohol, ready to watch two guys pound each other to a pulp.

  I got into the fights after the accident. I quit going to regular training for my organized MMA career. I was just too depressed. Eventually I knew I had to do something. The tattoo shop just doesn’t bring in enough money, and the first time my mom needed money I knew I had to do something. My trainer wouldn’t have me back, and getting back into the legitimate scene would take too long. So the underground it was.

  I did well from the get go. Most of the guys don’t have the training I have, and I became a big name in the scene pretty quickly. Some of the other gangsters, Nicky’s small time competition, offered to back me, but I never work well with a boss trying to tell me what to do. I’m a bit of a loner, especially now. So I turned them all down and managed myself. Probably made more money that way too.

  And now, tonight, I’m going to be taking my first dive ever.

  Nothing left to do but to do it, I think as I push open the driver’s side door. The familiar squeal of the metal hinges echoes through the parking lot as I step onto the wet pavement. I slam the door, take in a deep breath of the night air and make my way to the warehouse.

  There’s a door around the back being guarded by two guys trying their best to look like late night bums just having a smoke. They recognize me immediately.

  “Ty,” one of them says respectfully, blowing smoke through his lips.

  “Ready to kick some ass?” the other asks, almost rhetorically. All I can do is nod as they move aside and open the door for me. They probably have bets on me. Why wouldn’t they? I’m a huge favorite tonight. The other guy must be out of his mind even going up against me. He’s probably a young gun looking to make a name for himself by knocking out one of the vets. I almost feel bad letting those guys down out there. They don’t make much, and if they put a lot down on me tonight they’re going to take a pretty big hit.

  The thick door slams shut behind me, sealing me in the darkness of the back hallway, lit by bare light bulbs hanging every six feet from the chipped plaster ceiling. I stride down the all too familiar cement floor to the grimy bathroom that doubles as a locker room.

  I take a seat at my usual bench. Normally I’d be getting all fired up right now, strutting around, pounding my chest, rubbing my hands against my knuckles. But not tonight. Tonight I’m contemplating my situation, trying to think of a way out of this. But my mom needs care. I need the money, and I am already committed to Nicky.

  Nothing left to it but to do it.

  It’s then that I hear three sets of footsteps in the hall. There’s no question who it is.

  “All right, boyo?” I hear Nicky say as he steps into the room. I don’t look up. I just keep my eyes on what is probably a spot of old blood on the floor at my feet. “Ready to get this party started?”

  I take a minute to answer, running my tongue across my teeth, clenching and unclenching my fists.

  “Ay,” Don chimes in. “The man asked you a question.”

  “Shut up,” I growl.

  “What did you say to me?” Don says, stepping forward. Finally, I look up. I can see he’s pretty pissed. I stand and remind him that I’m not someone he should be fucking with.

  “You heard me, you little shit. This is between me and your boss, not me and you. Now shut the fuck up before I knock your front teeth out and flush them down the toilet.”

  Don looks to Nicky for support, but Nicky’s laughing softly to himself. For reasons I can’t explain, Nicky likes me, even though he is constantly reminding me that he’s top dog. Vinnie’s chuckling as well, one hand over his mouth. Don’s lowest on the totem pole here, and I can see his rage threatening to boil over. But he backs off. He knows I can follow through on my threats.

  “Don’t you worry, Don,” Nicky says. “Ty ain’t gonna do nothin’ is he?”

  He steps closer to me, looking me up and down like I’m his prized pony getting ready for the races.

  “Don’t forget who you’re working for,” Vinnie says from behind him. Nicky gets even closer. I can smell the cigar smoke on his wool overcoat, and can see the tiniest of mustard stains on his white silk shirt.

  “Oh, Ty’s a good boy. He ain’t forgettin’ nothing,” Nicky says with a lick of his lips. I want to grimace when he grins and I get a look at those yellow chunks of bone in his mouth that he calls teeth. I feel a tightness growing in my chest, and it’s taking everything I have not to lose it.

  “Now, what’d we agree on again, Ty?” Nicky says. He’s trying to goad me. Remind me he owns me. Let me know once again that he’s the boss.

  “I go down in the third,” I say flatly, not breaking eye contact with him.

  “That’s right. Now that’s not hard is it? You’ll be a good boy and do what you know is best,” he says, and with a chuckle, pats me on the head and turns around. Everything in me wants to blast him in the back of the neck, knock out his two boys and drag him outside and toss him into the river.

  But I don’t do that. I just stand there, my whole body shaking, as the three gangsters walk out the door.

  * * *

  “All right, guys. You all know the rules. Let’s keep it as clean as possible,” Calvin the referee jokes. We all know basically anything goes in these things. I’m staring at my opponent across the ring from me in the center of the warehouse. The crowd is thick tonight, and the whole place is hazy with cigar smoke. Men are laughing and cheering already, excited, having placed their bets and ready to ride out the rush of the event.

  I was right. He’s young. Probably about twenty-two, and very wiry. He’ll try to be fast and catch me off guard. He thinks I’m old and he’ll try to take advantage of that. If this was any other night, I’d have his ass on the ground before the middle of the first round. Kid probably hasn’t been hit by anyone with a real fist before in his life. He�
�s still got a baby face to. Nice skin. No scars.

  The bell dings and we go at it. Just like I suspected, he comes in quick, fists flying like he thinks he’s Bruce Lee. I dodge them easily. He’s predictable. He swings a right hook and I duck and give him a right in the ribs, which actually knocks him back. He buckles over but regains his composure pretty quickly. Yeah, this kid’s a wuss. I had an opening right there to end the fight. This is killing me.

  I bob and weave for most of the round. He lands a few jabs that just glance off my cheeks, and a few body shots that feel like they came from a pissed off middle schooler.

  The second round goes about the same, but I almost fuck things up when I hit him with a jab. I fight southpaw, right foot forward even though I’m a righty. You twist your hips right and step into it and your jab can become a knock out blow. Not many guys know that and they try to knock you out with the big back hand haymakers. The boy came in and it was just reflex. I twisted my hips and fired out and hit him right in the jaw. He went down, and I actually thought it was over. The crowd went nuts. I looked over at Nicky, and I couldn’t believe what I saw.

  He was pissed, and he was actually showing it. Nicky never shows emotion. Even when he’s ready to fuck somebody up, he’s always stony or laughing to himself. But when I looked at him there, with the young boy on the mat, he was pissed.

  He must have a lot riding on this, I thought.

  Now I’m back in my corner and the kid’s on his feet. He’s shaky. Anyone with any sense could see that the fight is mine. I stay in my corner for a second and look over at Nicky. He’s glaring at me, telling me with his eyes that I better not fuck this up. Don looks like he wants to kill me, and Vinnie is just smiling. He’s laughing at me. To him this is all a big game. He works for Nicky and lives vicariously through him, loving every second of him making me his bitch.

  I can’t help but wonder how much Nicky has riding on this game tonight. He’ll have the bookies in his pocket too if they don’t have enough cash to deliver. I look back at my opponent, still shaky on his feet, but still the same look of determination on his face.

  He still thinks he can do this.

  He thinks I’m old and weak.

  And Nicky thinks I’m someone he can walk all over.

  And that’s when I make my decision.

  I step out into the ring and the kid comes at me swinging. He’s too fucked up to strategize anymore. If he’d ever had any coaching he would be pacing himself, but he’s young, eager and stupid, and he’s out for blood.

  I duck his haymaker and the follow up jab. I step back, circling so I can get Nicky in my field of vision. The boy swings and I duck and fire back, putting the full force of my legs into the blow.

  My knuckles connect with his chin, and I hear a sickening crack. I broke his jaw.

  The boy’s eyes roll back and he topples over and slams down on the mat.

  Knockout blow.

  Nicky looks like someone just called him a cock sucker in front of his parents.

  How about that, dickhead? I think.

  I look at him, look down at the boy, then back at Nicky and shrug.

  Fuck that. No one owns me.

  11

  Jenny

  None of my regulars are coming in tonight. I texted all of them: Tom, Frank, Jeremy and his wife Carol, and Charles. Usually I can let one of them know I’m working and they’ll come in, order champagne, book the room and I’ll sit there and listen to their problems. But not tonight. No one’s coming in tonight, and that means I’m going to have to work the room.

  I hate working the room. I might even have to dance. It’s the worst. Not only do I just hate dancing, but you make less money, and you have to deal with the biggest assholes. The guys without any money are the ones who go to the stage and throw dollar bills at you. But they only throw about twenty bucks at the most. I can make six hundred an hour in the champagne room, and I don’t have to get my top off or feel like a piece of meat.

  The men who come to see me do it because they want someone to talk to. Some of them have lost their wives, or have never had a wife, or are just older and lonely and need someone to listen to their problems. They don’t want me for sex, they don’t want me to get naked, they just want someone to give them a little companionship, and that’s what I’m good at. I like to listen, and I like to give advice. I make them all feel special, because they are. We’re all special, and everyone should have someone they can talk to.

  Some of them want to spoil me even more. I’ve had offers to live with them for a yearly stipend, or men who have offered to buy me a car or a new television. But I turn them down for all that. I’ll work at the club, I’ll talk to them, but I don’t want my entire life being run by another person. I don’t want to uproot my children. I don’t want to set an example for my daughter. I want her to make her own choices and not grow up thinking men are nothing but a meal ticket. I don’t want to believe that either.

  I look in the mirror and take a deep breath. I’ve put on more make up than normal, and I’ve sexed it up a bit. I’m wearing stockings and a thong, and I actually have a laced bra under my t-shirt, giving me another layer to strip off if I actually end up going topless.

  I check my cell to see if Alicia has called to tell me she’s on her way. It’s getting close to eight so she should be getting here soon. Just as I’m finishing up my eyeliner, I hear a knock at the door. Bruno and Chester, my two pitbulls, go apeshit and start barking.

  “Shh, it’s just Alicia,” I say, patting them on the head. They cool down just a bit, but they won’t go out of attack mode until they see her.

  I step out of the bathroom and through the kitchen.

  “Hey, Alicia,” I say as I grab the handle. “You didn’t call to let me know—”

  But as the door swings open I see it’s not Alicia standing there; it’s Ty.

  “Oh, shit,” are the first words out of my mouth.

  “Nice to see you too,” he says, forcing a smile.

  “You’re … you’re bleeding,” I manage to say. And he really is. His face is cut in several places and he’s holding his side with one hand. He looks pretty roughed up.

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” he says. “But I gotta come in.”

  He doesn’t even wait for me to respond; he just shoulders past me into the kitchen.

  “Hey, wait a second!” I say, whirling around. “My dogs!”

  I stop dead. I can’t believe it. The dogs aren’t barking. They aren’t growling. Hell, they aren’t even on full alert. They’re wagging their tails and licking Ty’s outstretched hand.

  “Hey, boys,” he says calmly, stroking Bruno on the head. “How you doin’ tonight?”

  Chester rubs his head against Ty’s knee as he strokes him. This has literally never happened to anyone, let alone a man. And I am stunned. Ty has no reason to know this, so he is completely unfazed.

  “You got a bathroom?” he asks. I don’t know what to do, so I just point.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks,” he says. I stand frozen in the kitchen as the dogs follow him out of the room. He leaves the bathroom door open and I hear him turn the water on. “Sorry to just barge in on you like this, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  I snap out of it and march quickly over towards him.

  “Yeah, uh. What exactly is it that you think you’re doing?”

  I gasp as I reach the door. He’s got his shirt off, and I can see just how muscular he is. He’s ripped. There’s like zero body fat on him. His abs look like something carved out of marble, and the muscles in his arm look like they’re ready to pop out of the skin. He has more tattoos than the few I saw at the club. Tasteful as well. No dumb quotes or terrible portraits of ex-girlfriends.

  “Had a little trouble tonight. Need a place to crash.”

  “A place to crash,” I say, completely shocked at the audacity. “So you thought you’d just come here? I have children you know?!”

  “I know. Can’t be helped,”
he sighs, splashing water over his face.

  “You are not staying here,” I say firmly, trying to keep my voice down. The last thing I need is Ella or Josh coming out of their rooms and seeing him. I never bring men back here. I don’t want my children to see me dating unless it’s something serious that I know will last.

  “Say, do you sew?” he asks me, eyeing his forehead in the mirror.

  “Do I what?” I stutter, so taken aback by the question.

  “Sew. You ever sew? I got a pretty bad one here,” he says, and when he turns to me I understand. One of the cuts above his eye is bleeding pretty badly and definitely needs stitches.

  “If you need stitches, you go to the hospital. You don’t come here.”

  “Can’t,” he grumbles. “They’ll be looking for me at the hospitals. Can’t go home either. You’re stuck with me.”

  “I am not—”

  “Look, princess,” he snaps, turning towards me. “I saved your ass the other night, now you’re gonna return the favor. Now you don’t want the kids seeing me, fine. I’ll crash in the closet if you want. But I’m here for the night, and you’re gonna go get a needle and thread and sew my fucking forehead up, all right?”

  His words hit me in the chest and all the air escapes my lungs. I don’t even know what to say. I can’t do anything but stare. I’m so shocked that he thinks he can talk to me that way, but I’m also so turned on by his sweaty, chiseled body on full display before me. The man I was fantasizing about, rubbing myself to in the shower, is now standing in my bathroom, and somehow I’m upset about it.

  It’s like a civil war raging inside my body with my head saying, “Get rid of him! This is ridiculous!” And my vagina saying, “Jump his bones! Jump his bones!’

  “Okay, one second,” is what comes out when I open my mouth. I turn on my heels and go to the closet and rummage around until I find my old sewing kit, which is basically a mess of needles, bobs and threads in a pink shoebox. When I get back to the bathroom I find Ty sitting on the toilet, seat down, holding a large wad of paper towels over his cut.