by Hart, Lane
“We’re all getting too old to pull that kind of shit. It’s time to take the Aces in a new direction, one with less bloodshed and more cash in our pockets.”
“Finally!” Nash laughs. “I guess the girl hasn’t got you in a complete pussy fog.”
“A pussy fog?” I huff.
“You better win tonight,” he remarks as he starts for the door. “If you don’t, Fiasco will never let you live it down.”
“I know,” I grumble. “You think I can take him?” I ask.
“Depends on how good the pussy is. Guess we’re all going to find out,” Nash answers with a smirk before walking out of my office.
In other words, he doesn’t think I can beat Fiasco in a fair fight, not unless I’m absolutely fucking ruthless.
Even though we bring the boat in early tonight, it’s still almost two a.m. when we all rumble back to the clubhouse. All of the Aces are here along with our employees and most of the club girls. There are even some prospective members from other clubs we’re considering patching over.
I wave Nash over as soon as I get off my bike. “Let’s get this over with. Make sure Fiasco understands the terms. Three rounds, three minutes each. If there’s no clear winner, we keep going until it’s settled. No other rules.”
“No other rules?” Nash protests. “Fiasco has got fifty pounds on you, man! You sure you don’t want to at least…”
“No other rules,” I interrupt him. “I don’t want him claiming he lost on some technicality and whining about this shit later. Besides, he can’t remember more than two things at a time. He’d forget any rules we set before we start.”
“All right,” Nash agrees as he turns away. “This is going to be a fucking train wreck,” he mutters under his breath as he walks towards our audience. “We start in five, everyone!” he roars above the din of conversation. “Fiasco, get your ass into the cage and get ready!”
I take off my cut and t-shirt, laying them over the seat of my bike before I head over to the cage behind our clubhouse. While I wait outside the chain-link gate, I dig a cigarette out of the half-crushed pack in the pocket of my jeans, lighting it up before I start taking off my belt. I throw my wallet, knife, and smokes on the ground along with the belt, then concentrate on my cigarette as the crowd gathers and Fiasco gets ready on the other side of the cage, removing all his shit too.
Once Nash leads Fiasco through the gate opposite me, he waves me to come on in. I drop my smoke and grind it under my boot, then climb into the cage with the two men. Nash doesn’t bother with any fancy announcements or any sort of ceremony. Everyone gathered here knows what this is about, and why we’re squaring off.
“Anything you two want to say to each other before we get started?” Nash asks as I approach.
“Yeah,” Fiasco grunts. “I fucking hate this, but I fucking hate a hypocrite even more. Being president doesn’t mean you get to live by a different set of rules than the rest of us. We elected you because you’re smart, and you were fair. I’m gonna make sure you remember that by beating it into your stubborn head.”
“You’re right,” I tell Fiasco. I can’t help but crack a smile at the confusion in his narrowed eyes as he takes a step back. “I’ve been a hypocrite about Naomi. I made up a rule so everyone would leave her alone and you wouldn’t fuck with her while I tried to sort out how I feel about her. She’s got me knotted up a bit, but she’s the only thing fucking with me right now. Nothing about that girl or about how I deal with her is going to bring any trouble to the club.”
“You’re goddamn right it isn’t,” Fiasco scoffs. “’Cuz I’m going to smack you around and then go take her back to my place, get her out of your hair permanently. She’s causing fucking problems, and if you can’t see it, I’ll have to beat you until your vision clears up.”
“I’ve warned you too many times about thinking with your dick, Fiasco. You might have yourself convinced you’re doing something noble for the club, but we both know what you’re after here.” I don’t even recognize the growl that has become my voice as I feel the jealous rage building up inside of me. “You will never lay another hand on that woman. I admitted I made a mistake in how I dealt with her and the club. I should have been more specific from the start. No one fucking touches Naomi except for me.” Turning to the crowd, I raise my voice to roar at the rest of the gathered Aces. “She’s mine, and if any of you sons-of-bitches have a mind to test me, I’ll shut your whore mouths just like I’m going to shut his!” I jab a finger at Fiasco as I finish, then turn my back on him as I stomp across the cage.
“Well, I guess that’s it for the talking,” Nash comments. “On my signal, fight!” he yells, right before he toots an air horn he has clutched in his fist. He leaps backwards as Fiasco and I rush each other.
I hear a cheer go up from the crowd gathered around the cage right before I’m deafened by Fiasco’s fist to my ear. I managed to block most of the punch and twist away from him, but the impact still rattled me down to my knees. He doesn’t let up at all, throwing haymakers that I have to leap away from, twisting and dodging while covering my head until he wears himself out.
This idea of mine, fighting Fiasco for three rounds, sounded a lot better in my head. Now that he’s actually nailing me with his fists like he’s got something to prove, I’m starting to think I may have fucked up. I can feel a trickle of blood from my ear; and while I’m managing to stay just out of his reach, seconds that stretch into eternity pass with him showing no signs of slowing down or getting tired. It’s all I can do to avoid getting hammered into the ground by the big bastard, and the only punches I’ve been able to land seem to just bounce off his thick skull.
When Nash finally blows the air horn again minutes or years later, I stagger backwards as Fiasco throws his hands into the air.
“That’s what you get, president bitch!” he roars, stomping back to the other side of the cage.
“Watch your mouth, Fiasco,” Nash cautions him. “Don’t be disrespectful or escalate this beyond this fight. You okay?” he asks, turning his attention to me as I lean on the cage, gasping for air.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I reassure him with a wave. “Just waiting for him to gas out, you know, the old rope-a-dope, that sort of thing,” I manage to chuckle.
“He’s not going to get tired,” Nash frowns at me. “You know how long he’s worked for that construction company. He’s been swinging a hammer all day for years. That’s before he comes out and bounces drunks on the boat at night. You’re ten years older and a whole lotta pounds lighter than him. Jesus, Malcolm, how did you think this was going to go?”
“This fight ain’t fucking over yet,” I grit out. “Toot your little goddamn horn and stay out of the way, Nash. I can only be the president as long as I earn it. I fucked up, and now I’m going to set it right.”
“By letting Fiasco murder you?” Nash scoffs.
“Blow your horn and shut up,” I growl as I march back to the center of the ring.
Nash complies, and just as he predicted, Fiasco is back on me again in an instant. He rushes in with another haymaker; and after watching him in the first round, I can see that swinging for the fences seems to be his go-to move. This time, I duck under his arm easily, twisting back to punch him in the kidney, and then hit him again in his belly, driving my fist up as hard as I can.
The move works, sort of. Fiasco staggers to the side with an explosion of breath, his mouth moving wordlessly as he tries to find the air to cuss. He clenches his belly as he swings a huge backhand at me, which I easily jump back from. I knocked the wind out of him, but when my fist met his stomach, my wrist popped, sending a bolt of pain all the way up my arm. Hitting his abs felt like punching a brick wall, and from the numbness in my hand, I’m not sure who got the worst of the exchange.
I change tactics again since I can’t feel my right hand, rushing forward as Fiasco straightens and slamming my elbow into his chin. His head rocks back; but instead of staggering backwards, he lunge
s towards me, wrapping one of his massive arms around my neck. He pulls me downward until I’m almost completely bent over, and then uses his free hand to swing upward, trying to strike my face.
I manage to get my hands in the way to block most of the blows; but no matter how I twist my neck, I can’t break free of his headlock. I kick at his leg, trying to take him to the ground, but I might as well be trying to kick down an oak tree. His arm squeezes my neck like a python with a body odor problem, stifling my breath. In desperation, I spread my hands in front of my face; and as Fiasco takes the opportunity to ram a punch into my face, I grab at his fist and use both hands to spread his fingers open. As soon as I manage to loosen his fist, I grab his pinky finger; and with every ounce of strength I can muster, I twist it away from his hand.
“FUCK!” Fiasco screeches as he lets go of my neck, dropping me to one knee as he releases me and practically runs to the other side of the cage. Shaking his injured hand, he holds it up to show everyone that his pinky finger is now sticking out perpendicular to the rest of his digits. “You cheap-ass bitch!” he roars as he grabs the dislocated finger, jerking it back into position with a stifled sob. He leans back against the cage wall as I regain my feet, pushing my hair back out of my face.
“We are the Dirty Aces, remember?” I mutter as I spit out a line of blood from my busted lip. “I told you I was going to fuck you up,” I remind him.
“You nasty mother-fucker…” Fiasco snarls as he steps forward, just before Nash blows his horn.
“That’s round two!” Nash calls. “Can you continue?” he asks, nodding towards Fiasco.
“You’re damned right I can,” he agrees as he shakes his injured hand. “I don’t punch with my pinky. Tear it off, next time, I’ll just shove it up your ass!”
“Okay,” Nash says, rolling his eyes as he turns towards me. “You’re looking a little worse for wear, prez. You still in for round three?”
“I know how this fucking looks,” I reply. “It looks like I’m getting my ass kicked.”
“Yeah, it does. If you don’t put Fiasco on his ass this round, the crowd will have to decide the winner, because I’m not letting this continue. You’d better do something, Malcolm. Don’t let this spiral any further out of control. If you lose to him…”
“Stop making me tell you to shut up, Nash,” I snarl.
“Round three it is then!” Nash calls out to everyone as he blows the horn once again.
Red-faced and furious, Fiasco runs towards my side of the cage, his right hand cocked for the same opening haymaker he threw the last two rounds. I was ready last time and thought that taking the fight to his body would wear him down. I was wrong. His midsection is, if possible, even harder than his thick skull. There’s nothing I can hit him with that is going to put him down before he manages to get in a shot that turns off my lights.
Unless…when I duck under his punch, his fist crashes into the gate, the bone in his dislocated pinky finger shifting as it slams into the metal. In the last two rounds, he had spun back to me so quickly I couldn’t retaliate; but this time he visibly cringes and hesitates a moment, his right arm dropping as a spasm of pain rips through him.
I don’t waste my chance. Fiasco is a few inches taller than I am, so when I leap onto him and wrap my arms around his neck, I know I must look ridiculous, like a child getting a piggy-back ride from his father. I try to jerk his head back to get my forearm across his windpipe; but as soon as Fiasco feels me climbing him, he drops his head forward, tucking his chin and protecting himself.
I grab his face and throw my weight backwards, trying to shift this concrete-smashing giant off balance and take him to the ground. That completely fails as Fiasco simply spins around slightly bent forward, and then begins slamming his back into the cage trying to shake me off. I keep one arm pressuring his chin, trying to force it upward, while with the other I hammer heavy punches into the side of his face.
With an uncharacteristic high-pitched screech, Fiasco abruptly surges forward away from the cage wall, leaps into the air with me still clinging to his back, and spins around to crash down onto the wooden floor of the cage. When his body weight slams down on me, I almost lose my grip; but when he begins speaking, my fury redoubles and I feel my strength returning.
“You want to fight like a cheap little-bitch?” Fiasco huffs as he squirms on top of me. He begins trying to throw his elbows back into my stomach, but he’s so wide compared to me that he can only graze me. “I’m going to pound you into this floor, then I’m going to go pound Naomi into your bed. You hear me, Malcolm? I love you, prez, but I’m going to put you down!”
I force my arm over his mouth and chin, which he is still tucking down as hard as his iron-neck muscles will allow. “You will never touch Naomi,” I hiss into his ear. “You will never look at Naomi,” I continue, as I use my free hand to punch him in the eye. “You’re never even going to smell Naomi,” I roar.
“Goddamned dirty mother….” Fiasco manages to choke out as I jam my forearm across his neck. As soon as my arm is in position, I use my free hand to lock my grip across his neck.
Fiasco bucks and thrashes on top of me like a shark hauled out of the ocean. I take a deep breath and hold on for all I am worth, knowing that if he breaks free, and if the crowd judges this fight…I’m going to lose. My only chance is to put my old friend down for a nap. And unless I can knock him unconscious, he will take Naomi away.
“You…won’t…have…her!” I roar as the thought sends a final surge of strength through my body. Fiasco’s thrashing slows, but my words must inspire something within him as well, because he suddenly rolls to his side and begins forcing himself up onto his hands and knees while I’m still clinging onto him, throwing all my weight into strangling him.
My face is pressed into Fiasco’s shoulder, and I can see that his face has turned an inhuman shade of purple, his tongue actually gagging out of his wide-open mouth. I can also see him curl his huge fist up, and I have no defense as it rises once more towards my uncovered face, attempting to hammer me off of his back. I close my eyes to brace myself for the impact.
Chapter Fourteen
Naomi
* * *
As soon as I hear the rumble of Malcolm’s bike, I roll over in his bed and put my back to the door, pretending to be asleep.
I started to go home to sleep in my own bed, but the truth was, I wanted to know who won tonight. Besides, Malcolm and I made a deal, one I plan to keep. I’m trying really hard to trust him, even if he is a dick for putting me in this position.
True, I guess it’s my own fault for putting myself in this position, stealing from my father and getting caught stealing from the MC to pay him back.
I hear the front door open and close, then the sound of heavy footsteps growing louder on the hardwood floor as he stomps toward the bedroom. His feet stop abruptly before resuming their course toward the bed.
“Wake up, honey,” Malcolm’s gruff voice says in the darkness before he turns a lamp on. “Time to go to Fiasco’s…”
“What?” I exclaim when I shoot straight up in bed to look at him. “You lost?”
“Of course not,” he says as he removes his jeans, his shirt already missing. And in the glow of the light, I can see cuts and bruises scattered over his flesh and his face…wow, his handsome face has seen better days. Despite the swelling, his lips are lifted in a grin. He peels the covers back and then lies down in his bed beside me naked. “I choked the shit out of that big bastard and forced him to tap out. Now, how about you climb on top of me and ride my dick to thank me for winning. Let’s see if you can make me tap out on that ass.”
A scoff leaves my lips. “Go fuck yourself, Malcolm.”
When I lay my head back down on the pillow, I roll to my side away from him.
“Come on, honey, don’t be that way,” he says with his rough, smoker’s chuckle. Moving toward me underneath the covers, he presses the front of his body to my backside. Then, he not so subtly reach
es around to slide his fingers down into the front of my panties that I’m wearing with just one of his t-shirts.
“I was never going to lose,” he says. “I just needed to let off a little steam, put the fucker in his place. Fiasco’s a decent fighter, just not as good as I am.”
If his words are supposed to make me feel better, they don’t. Now it sounds like he offered me up in a fight just for shits and giggles.
Malcolm lowers my panties in the back, and then I feel his dick poking me in my ass cheeks, right down the center of my crease. He rubs his hard shaft through my damp folds, my body turned on even if I’m still pissed at him.
“You didn’t miss me today?” he asks.
“No.”
“Not even a little?” On the word little, he eases his blunt head inside of my cunt and pulls it right back out.
“No,” I lie as I grab a fistful of sheets.
“Well, I missed you and this pussy,” Malcolm tells me, his lips finding the skin around the opening of my shirt collar. “Every time my fist landed, it was for this pussy.” He eases his dick inside again and retreats. “And for these tits.” Malcolm reaches around and squeezes a handful, making my entrance weep even more for him, allowing him to enter her a few more inches. Malcolm’s deep masculine grunt of pleasure against my ear sends a wave of heat through my body, turning my limbs to liquid.
“That’s it. Just relax and let me have you. I promise it’ll feel good,” he whispers. “You know you want it.”
With another scoff at his arrogance, I try to squirm away from him, but Malcolm doesn’t let me. He rolls me over, pinning my back to the mattress, his face hovering right above mine.
“What’s the problem, honey? I felt how much you want me, so why the hell are you playing hard to get?”
“I’m mad at you, Malcolm! What you did…it was really fucked up. You treated me like-like I’m an object you can just throw away!”