WineBar: The Complete Story

by Alexis Angel

  Michelle follows after me as we head down the long aisles, hurrying toward a cordoned area.

  “Hold on, this is a private area,” a security guy in a black suit stops us, stepping in front of us and staring us down. Thinking fast, I reach inside my purse and bring out my press pass from the Gazette. My departure from the newspaper was so hasty that I didn’t even bother with handing Ed my badge. And thank God for that, or else my plan would go up in flames this very minute.

  “I work for the Gazette,” I tell the bouncer, trying to sound as if I’m anxious - which isn’t hard, since I’m definitely very anxious. “There’s been a problem with our recording equipment, and the live stream has stopped. I need to speak with my editor right away!”

  “Uh,” he grunts, taking the pass out of my hands and squinting his eyes at it.

  “Alright, come with me,” he says, turning his back to me and walking down the aisle. With a parting nod toward Michelle, I trail after him, hardly believing that he bought into my lie. The Gazette is just a newspaper, which means that it’s pretty obvious there’s no live stream going on. Thankfully, this security guy seems blissfully unaware of that little detail.

  He leads me up a flight of stairs that seems to never end, and stops in front of a door where another security guy is standing, hands behind his back.

  “It’s a journalist from the Gazette,” he announces me, and the guy standing by the door simply nods and opens the door for me. With a triumphant smile, I step inside the room and look around.

  There are a few men sitting behind a glass panel, looking at the ring down below, and they haven’t noticed me yet. From where I’m standing I can already see Fat Ed's thinning hairline. I cough into my hand and most of the men look back with a startled expression; gritting my teeth, I take one step toward him.

  “You should be ashamed,” I say, looking each and every one of them in the eyes. Aside from Fat Ed, I also recognize Mr. Moreau, the Gazette’s owner, and one more person. He has a scar that goes from his chin to his lower lip, and this time I recognize him almost instantly: it’s Hunter’s agent. As I suspected, these guys must've all plotted together to put Hunter on a warpath.

  “Natalie… What the hell are you doing here?” Fat Ed cries out, surprised, and jumps up to his feet.

  “You should be ashamed of yourselves!” I repeat once more, allowing the rage to course through me. “You’re the reason they’re down there right now, fighting each other!”

  “Calm down, Natalie,” Mr. Moreau starts, standing up as well. “This is just business. It wasn’t personal.”

  “Of course it was personal. These men down there are friends… and look at what you’ve done!”

  “You still haven’t learned to shut that mouth of yours, have you?” Ed laughs, relaxing now that Moreau has his back. “Of course we were the ones behind this fight. But don’t act so innocent; you helped us, each step of the way. We have been trying to have them fight for ages now, but we only made progress the moment I pushed you into their arms… It was smooth sailing from there on.”

  “You sick bastard,” I growl, doing my best not to rush toward him and punch him straight in the face.

  “A very rich bastard,” he laughs, one hand over his paunch. “Do you think we care about these two idiots down there? We don’t. But they’re the means to an end…”

  “That’s right,” Moreau agrees, an evil glint in his eyes. “We’ve bought stakes in all the companies involved in this fight, and that right before anyone knew the fight was going to happen.”

  “Is money that important?” I hiss, now turning my attention to Hunter’s agent. He’s watching the scene unfold with a serene expression on his face, but the moment I point one accusing finger toward him, he narrows his eyes at me and clenches his jaw. “You’re his agent! How could you plot against him?”

  “It’s hard being his agent,” he merely shrugs, his voice flat and emotionless. “I wanted to leave him, and what better way to do it than with my pockets full of money?”

  “You lied to him…” I continue, realizing that he must have been the one whispering into Hunter’s ears, poisoning his mind.

  “And so did you,” he shrugs again, and Moreau and Ed start laughing, their voices making a shiver run up my spine. “Sure, we’ve made this fight happen… We got your little tape, leaked the story, and then we made Hunter believe our own version of events. But you were instrumental to all of it, you’d be wise to not forget about it.”

  “You’re going to pay for it…” I whisper, allowing my gaze to linger on each one of them - I want them to remember the face of the woman that’ll bring them down. Without a word more, I turn on my heels and march out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

  The moment I’m out of the booth, I start running as fast as I can, doing my best not to twist an ankle as I go down the stairs. Michelle’s already waiting for me there, anxiously tapping her foot against the floor.

  “So?”

  “Here,” I tell her with a smile, taking my old recorder out from my purse and pushing it into her hands. “Let’s do this.”

  Hunter

  Another hit to his jaw.

  Another hit to my side.

  Jab. Block. Shuffle position and dart. Block. Block. Block.

  I'm seeing red. Trying to stay calm.

  That's a haymaker headed my way that I see in slow motion and I pull my torso back. It misses me by a fraction of an inch and I see Logan's glove swing wide and travel by. I would have some serious shit to deal with if he had made contact with my fucking face.

  But I'm not going to dwell on that. I'm taking the initiative now. I'm jabbing. Moving left and jabbing. Heading right and jabbing. I feint and try to jab through his defenses but he blocks me.

  The rounds go on and I don't really pay attention.

  By the third round, it's safe to say that I'm exhausted. Sure, I've taken some hits. I've been pushed against the ropes once but I got out of it. I cornered Logan once too, but he was able to get out of it just like I was.

  It's the fifth round before I realize that I'm starting to get tired.

  Don't get me wrong. I can fuck with boxers for hours and hours on end. But one thing you gotta remember when you're fighting an enemy like Logan, it's that he's almost as good as me.

  I mean, don't fucking worry. I'm not being humble or anything. I'm just stating a fact that needs to be mentioned.

  Logan trains just as hard as me, if not more. Boxing is his life, much like it is mine. Logan may be my enemy, but remember, he takes this shit seriously too. And when I mean seriously, I mean if the two of us fought side by side, we could probably out-fight anyone the judges threw at us. That's why even though it would be a fucking blessing to have Logan on my side, it also means that it's a goddamn curse to have him as my opponent.

  Logan darts away as an uppercut travels up. However my arms on that thrust leave me open to attack.

  And attack he does. The first uppercut that he throws finally hits home and I feel the power of his fist as his glove hits me. My mind blanks out for a moment and I let the stars explode in my field of vision.

  Most people would get knocked out with a blow like that.

  But remember that I'm not most people.

  I'm a force of nature.

  Even still, I'm a bit dazed. It's all I can do to hold my gloves out and block Logan's shots.

  That's when the next hit comes. To my side.

  I double over and Logan takes a step back. He's getting ready to knock me the fuck out.

  It cannot end like this.

  I will not let it end like this.

  I have visions of the woman I love. Natalie. Enjoying Christmas dinner with Logan. It's the two of them. There's a third chair and a third placeholder set at the table. But it's empty. I know that it's mine.

  Images of Natalie speed through my brain. Her looking in sadness as Logan packs and leaves. Natalie and I moving in together but finding her looking with sorry at old pictures o
f her and Logan. No matter what we do, feeling that Logan is watching over us.

  I know, I know. You're thinking that this is fucking crazy that I would have all this go through my head during a fucking match.

  And normally you'd be right.

  But you haven't felt Logan's punch. And back to back in short order, it's fucked me up a bit.

  Until I realize all the shit that's flashing before my eyes is telling me one giant thing.

  There's no fucking way I can lose. No fucking way I can get knocked out.

  I don't know what I'm going to do. But I know I need to stay fighting Logan. I can't give up.

  I get my bearings and get away just in time as Logan comes sweeping down.

  I dodge and dart until I'm ready again and then I confront the motherfucker.

  Block. Block. Feint. Jab.

  This time, I connect home. I manage a nice, clean head shot. I packed each of those punches and this time it went home.

  He's dazed.

  I follow through.

  Next one to his head. He's dazed but he's aware enough to hold up his gloves and block the rest of my head shots. I aim for the torso and I go after him.

  My shots aren't as powerful as his, but they're more frequent and more of them connect.

  He's dazed. This is my classic attack. Move fast and hit hard with a multitude of quick shots.

  But Logan resists falling.

  He's got a gleam in his eye. A fury that keeps him going.

  He's fighting for her.

  The same as me.

  Natalie.

  The round ends and I go to my corner. Get cleaned up as best I can.

  We go at it again. This time we're both at the point where we collide with each other. Neither of us is willing to concede. We've stopped listening to our bodies.

  Again the round ends without surrender on either side.

  And it goes forth like this for fucking ever.

  By the 10th round, I'm exhausted.

  I know Logan is too. We're just a hair more sluggish.

  We can't give up. I get that now. Neither of us is able to move away from what motivates us. See, we're motivated more by the future now than by the past.

  I can understand why he would try to take me out of the picture and leak shit to the press.

  In my pain, I can even understand that Natalie may have been doing her job.

  And the future? That's Natalie. I have to keep fighting. I have to stand up.

  But that's just the thing. Neither of us can stand much longer.

  And out of the corner of my eye, that's when I start to fucking hallucinate.

  Because I swear to motherfucking all that is holy, I seriously see Natalie running down the aisle towards the ring.

  I wonder if this is the beginning of the end. I'm dazed and fucking confused and Logan is going to capitalize on this and one last well timed powerful head shot is going to end this shit for me.

  But I can tell he's distracted.

  Good.

  That means he's seeing her—

  Wait.

  What exactly is she even doing?

  I know now that I'm not hallucinating because Natalie has forced herself past everyone, including the people watching the ring. She's twisted and gyrated her way through and she's holding onto the floor of the ring.

  And she's angling herself to get up in here.

  Her hands are holding onto the rope and she's pulling herself. There's no one around to stop her.

  Fuck. Maybe Logan hit me really fucking hard?

  But no, he definitely sees her too now. There is almost no pretense of us fighting as we just sort of shuffle around, our gazes drawn toward where she's now climbing up the rope.

  She keeps saying,

  "Stop the fight!"

  Logan

  "Stop the fight!"

  I can hardly believe what I'm seeing. Natalie has stolen the announcer's microphone and climbed onto the ring. And she isn't alone. Another reporter, Michelle, is with her.

  The referee is standing against the rope, clearly confused. He walks over to Natalie and asks her to leave but she's refusing.

  Adrenaline is still surging through my body, and I'm trying to steady my breathing.

  The entire arena is gasping. Even they can't believe their eyes. I don't think ever, in the history of boxing, something like this has happened. It must be a matter of minutes before security swarms the ring.

  The entire Pay Per View network must be crapping in their fucking cornflakes. Viewers have spent billions of dollars to watch the "Fight of the Century" and now two reporters are interrupting it.

  It's the MGM Arena. Things like that don't happen. And just as predicted, I see security guards walking down the arena stairs. But Natalie doesn't waste any time.

  She's holding a recorder in her hands and is now holding it up to the microphone.

  The voice of a man can be heard.

  “Of course we were the ones behind this fight,” the voice growls, “But don’t act so innocent; you helped us, each step of the way. We have been trying to have them fight for ages now, but we only made progress the moment I pushed you into their arms… It was smooth sailing from there on.”

  I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is that the voice of Natalie's Editor in Chief?

  There's more.

  The recording continues, and then another man joins the fray, "That’s right. We’ve bought stakes in all the companies involved in this fight, and right before anyone knew the fight was going to happen."

  Then it’s Natalie’s voice over the speaker, “Is money that important? You’re his agent! How could you plot against him?”

  To my surprise, I recognize the next voice: it belongs to Hunter’s agent, a guy I’ve never been able to trust. “It’s hard being his agent. I wanted to leave him, and what better way to do it than with my pockets full of money?”

  “You lied to him…” Natalie’s disembodied voice continues.

  “And so did you. Sure, we’ve made this fight happen… We got your little tape, leaked the story, and then we made Hunter believe our own version of events.” That’s when Natalie stops the tape, the words of Hunter’s agent hanging in the air like poisonous gas.

  “That’s the Gazette for you,” Natalie says into the micro, and then she just smiles up into one of the private booths and drops the mic.

  I look over at Hunter and his jaw is hanging open. It's clear he's in as much shock as I am. There's a new realization spreading across his face—it's the realization that he was manipulated.

  For Hunter and I both, it's a moment of clarity.

  By now, the crowd is showing their disapproval. They are boos coming from the stands, and then a chant forms. At first it's barely audible, and then it grows in intensity. Hunter and I are both able to hear what they are chanting. "Ban the Gazette! Ban the Gazette! Ban the Gazette!"

  It's clear that the Gazette's reputation is ruined. They might as well declare bankruptcy now and shut their doors. Their reputation is so badly damaged that they'll never be able to publish another serious article again.

  I can't help but smile.

  I'm glad the truth is out.

  Hunter and I were both manipulated.

  I walk over to Hunter. We give each other a knowing nod, and tap our gloves together.

  "Let's give up this fight," I say. "We don't need to do this. If no one fights, no one loses. And we uphold our promise to Sarah."

  "I like that plan," Hunter grins.

  I turn around and see security guards jump in the ring. Two men have Natalie and they are preparing to usher her off of the ring.

  "It's okay," I say. "She can stay. I have an announcement to make."

  I grab the microphone. "To our fans, we love you."

  As soon as I say this, the crowd goes crazy. The shouts and cheers and claps are deafening. The entire arena—all 16,000 people, are on their feet.

  "And because of this love," Hunter says, joining me on the microphon
e, "we have decided to end this fight."

  There's a murmur rippling through the crowd. They're still trying to figure out what exactly we are saying.

  "The truth is," I say, "years ago, Hunter and I made a promise to a girl that we'd never fight. She tragically died far too young, but her memory lives on and we want to keep that promise for her … and for us."

  The crowd is going crazy again. They're clapping and whistling their approval.

  "And we have another confession to make," Hunter says, looking over at Natalie.

  She's staring at both of us wide-eyed.

  "We're in love with a reporter, and she happens to be standing right in front of us tonight."

  Natalie

  It’s crazy how much the crowd is excited over the three of us being a "throuple." No one is angry and there isn’t a mob going crazy because they didn’t fight. I don’t want to just stand here, soaking up the attention from the crowd. I put my hand in each of theirs and the three of us step out of the ring and head toward the back.

  “How about we find a lounge or something?” Hunter says with fresh vitality. Never taking his eyes off me, he takes off his gloves.

  “I agree. I want to fuck you.” Logan says, exhaustion a distant memory. Like Hunter, he pulls off his gloves.

  I bite my lip and think about the last time the three of us fucked. It had been so hot and intense and I had been thinking about it almost non-stop since then. I wanted to feel them inside of me again. I nod my head and we make our way through the door and out into a hallway.

  I lead them in the direction of where the lounges are, the whole crowd roaring around us, everyone going completely insane. We’re being escorted by dozens of security guards, and this time nobody stops me as I make my way toward the VIP area.

  “She must know where it is,” Logan says.

  I laugh. “Maybe.”

  I see the door for one of the private lounges and start dragging them faster. We reach the doors and I fling one open. I look inside and see it’s empty, so I motion for Hunter and Logan to come in the lounge with me. We close and lock the doors behind us. The sexual tension and desire are there. It grabs ahold of us.