Blame It on the Pain Page 3

  He clears his throat. “You and another girl will be trading off. You'll be in the green outfit and she'll be in the red.”

  Awe, just like Christmas, I think before he continues with his sermon.

  “And when you're not working the ring. You'll be eye candy for the elite members. You are to serve them beers, whiskey, whatever their hearts desire in between rounds. Got it?”

  I nod my head. “Yes, sir.”

  He gives me another hard look. “And if you do anything to draw attention to this little operation we got going on here, it will take them a week to clean your brains off the pavement.”

  I shudder at his choice of words.

  “Got it. The first rule of fight club is that you don't talk about fight club.”

  He shoots me a look of annoyance and mumbles something under his breath that I don't catch.

  “So when do I start?' I ask eagerly.

  He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out two scraps of shiny green material. “In two hours. Get ready,” he says before throwing them at me.

  My mouth hangs open. “You mean, I start tonight?'

  He leans his elbows against the desk. “That gonna be a problem for you?”

  I quickly shake my head. “No. I would have just come more prepared if I had known is all.”

  He extends his thumb in the direction of the hallway. “Down the hall and to the left there's a dressing room for the ring girls. There is makeup and all that other girly shit in there.” He glances at his watch. “In fact, Lou-Lou should be in there getting ready right now. I suggest you make nice with her. The only fights we like around here are the ones that bring in money. Not no prissy cat fights. Last girl got fired for that,” he warns.

  “You won't have a problem,” I assure him. I make for the door when I abruptly turn around. “Um. So how much does this gig pay anyway?”

  He chuckles. “Well, you'll only be working one weekend night, every two weeks,” he says. My excitement sinks with those words. “But, you'll be making $800 for the night...plus tips.”

  I give him a genuine smile this time before I begin walking down the hallway.

  ***

  Lou-Lou turned out to be nicer than I thought she would be. With her honey-kissed skin, full lips, small stature, and big brown eyes...it was easy to see why she'd been hired.

  She flips her long dark hair over her shoulder and studies our reflection in the mirror before she ruffles my hair and winks. “We're like totally salt and peppa,” she squeaks. “The guys are totally gonna love us.”

  Rein in your inner bitch and be nice, Alyssa. I remind myself.

  I suck in my stomach and add a bit more bronzer to my mostly pale cheeks.

  She gives me another smile before she takes a few steps toward the door. I look at the clock on the wall. “Shit, is it time already?”

  She pops her gum and giggles. “No, silly. We need to take care of the fighters before the match.”

  Say what, now?

  “Take care of them...how?” She gives me a wink. “Use your imagination, girlfriend.”

  Jesus Christ, I knew there was a catch.

  Obviously, unfazed by my horrified expression she continues. “You're lucky. You're wearing green. That means you have Jackson...he's like mega hot. I mean, I've never been given the chance to try him out, but God, what I'd give to one day.” She playfully fans herself. “I'm stuck with some guy who's good looking, but dumb as a box of rocks.” She twists her hair around her finger. “See ya in a half hour, babes,” she calls out before she leaves.

  I spin my chair around to face the mirror again.

  Could I actually do...this?

  I mean...what I do on my own time, is pretty much the same thing. Except I do it with safe nerdy guys. Guys who are into anime, and play dungeons and dragons in their mother’s basements.

  Guys who I can control. Guys who will say and do whatever I want them to.

  Guys who know about my past, but are just so happy to have a real girl to play with, they couldn't care less.

  Guys who are really good at hacking computers and taking down certain things that always tend to pop up from time to time since that horrible day over two years ago.

  I take a deep breath and calm the tremors running through my stomach.

  “You only did it to yourself, Alyssa,” I remind myself, yet again before I stand up and begin walking down the hallway.

  I open the door.

  What I'm greeted with, is a sight I'm sure I'll never forget.

  Tanned, muscular, flesh- encompassed by the body of an Adonis.

  My eyes can't help but stare at the finest ass I have ever seen in my entire life. Two perfect globes...so ripe, I want to bite them.

  I bite my lip instead as my gaze spans over his gorgeous back. Broad, sturdy, powerful.

  I want to scratch my nails down that back, is my last thought...before he starts to turn around.

  He briskly runs the towel through his short, dark, hair. “Jesus, Ricardo. Don't you knock anymore?” he barks until he looks at me.

  I can't help but look down, but he quickly shifts the towel from his head, over to his package. Doesn't stop me from taking in his large, toned, thighs, though.

  Confusion is splashed all over his face. “You're not Ricardo,” he says in a deep and raspy voice.

  I shake my head. Still too transfixed by his body to speak.

  My God. His abs. His abs must be made of pure granite. I silently count them in my head. Yup, he's got an 8-pack.

  He clears his throat, and it's only then that I finally make my way up his body, but not before noticing the name scrawled over his left pectoral muscle in black ink- 'Lilly.'

  Yup, must be the girlfriend...or wife.

  I swallow my distaste over the fact that he obviously cheats on her, as I lift my gaze and take in his eyes. Wow, they're something else. Mesmerizing, stormy gray swirls that- I'm betting, would almost look dark blue in the right light.

  The rest of his face is just as striking. Full, yet masculine lips combined with a strong jawline. Lou-Lou was wrong- 'mega hot' doesn't even begin to describe how truly handsome he is.

  My gaze turns from one of appreciation to annoyance. “So, I'm guessing Ricardo is who you choose to cheat on your wife with then?”

  He opens his mouth in either shock, or in an attempt to defend himself, but I don't give him the chance. “Men like you, disgust me. There's no way in hell, I'm sleeping with you now, asshole. You can forget it.”

  He takes a step toward me. “What?” He looks dumbfounded as I back away from him. “Christ, there are so many things about that statement that's wrong, I don't even know where to start.”

  I hold up my hands. “Whatever, I don't fuck married men.”

  “Good thing I'm not married then,” he says.

  I stare at him wide-eyed.

  “Shit, that didn't come out the way it was supposed to. All I meant was that I'm not married. And if I was, I certainly wouldn't cheat on her. And furthermore, I wouldn't cheat on her with Ricardo- of all people.” He smirks. “Let's just say, he's not my type.” He looks me up and down, taking in my scantily clad uniform- which only consists of a shiny green bra top and matching booty shorts. “And I don't know who the hell you've been talking to, but you're not expected to fuck the fighters.”

  “But, Lou-Lou made it seem like—”

  He shakes his head. “Whatever you do, don't listen to Lou- Lou. She's very territorial, and likes to steer the new girls in the wrong direction. Just because she makes it her mission to fuck the fighters, doesn't mean that you have to.” He scratches his head. “Besides, if that was the case—why would you ever agree to do that anyway? Don't you value yourself at all?” he asks, his tone dripping with both disdain and curiosity.

  “I—” I start. I'm at a loss for words. On one hand, I'm appalled at how judgmental he is - but on the other...he's touched on something so personal.

  I open my mouth and attempt to answer him again,
but instead...I reach for the doorknob behind me and book it the hell out of the room.

  I run back down the hall and enter the dressing room. I lock myself inside the small toilet stall and fight back the tears for the second time that day.

  His words echo in my head as I look in the mirror. “Don't you value yourself at all?”

  I draw in a shaky breath and reapply my makeup expertly while I look myself in the eye.

  “No, Jackson. Not anymore.”

  Chapter 2 (Jackson)

  “And in this corner- weighing in at 235lbs of pure steel. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you- 'Jack the Ripperrrrrr,' ” the announcer yells, while I inwardly cringe.

  There are no words to describe how much I truly hate my stage name.

  Needless to say, I didn't choose it.

  Just like every other decision for the last 3 years, it was made for me.

  I have no control over my own life anymore. And I fucking hate it.

  Ricardo, my mob appointed coach; taps my back and whispers words of encouragement. I nod my head as he walks off to sit in the far corner.

  I look up at the camera positioned directly above the ring and give another nod. This one's for the devil himself, Bruno DeLuca.

  I'd only met him once, but I know for a fact that he watches every single match, without fail.

  I search the crowd for Tyrone, yes- that Tyrone who fought in Mike's place that horrible night. Funny how the world works. Shortly after I joined the 'DeLuca family', Tyrone ended up joining as well.

  Obviously, not of his own free will. He got involved with the wrong crowd, in his hometown of Alabama; and ended up going down for some shit that really wasn't his fault, but got put on him anyway.

  That's, of course, when DeLuca came in to save the day.

  Not only is Tyrone one hell of a fighter, but he's also my good friend and roommate. He's also the only person I talk to about Lilly in my darkest times.

  He's not scheduled to fight tonight, but we always show up to support one another.

  I lock eyes with him briefly. He gives me a big smile and fist pumps the air. “Give em' hell, J-man! Break bad on em',” he shouts in his thick southern accent.

  I try not to smirk, and study my opponent instead.

  I've got about an inch on him, but he's got a good 10-15lbs on me. From what Ricardo told me about him, he's more of a boxer, rather than an MMA fighter.

  This should be an interesting match.

  That's the other thing about DeLuca's fight club. It's pretty much anything goes. Even dirty style fighting.

  Especially dirty style fighting.

  My opponent rolls his shoulders and snorts.

  The announcer walks off and I hear the sound of the cage being locked around us.

  I assume my stance and the bell rings.

  Adrenaline pulses through me as he advances toward me and attempts a right jab to my face.

  I deflect and cock my arm at a 90-degree angle and get him with a right hook instead. He grunts and comes at me with another jab and quickly attempts to grab me. He almost had me for a second, but I get him with a sharp uppercut to his jaw.

  Blood spews out and he begins to stumble backward.

  Then I see it.

  Out in the crowd, I can't help but notice her in the second row.

  The same girl who entered my dressing room earlier.

  Only, it's not her long blonde hair, smokin' body, or beautiful hazel eyes that grab my attention this time.

  It's the utter fear I see in them.

  I look down and see that some asshole has his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist...and he's not letting up. It looks like she was trying to serve him a drink, but instead, he's forcing her to sit on his lap.

  His movements are only getting more aggressive, and no one's doing a damn thing about it. He then reaches up with his other hand and palms one of her breasts.

  That's when I lose my shit.

  I run over to the side of the cage. “Let her go! Now!”

  Both he and the crowd ignore me and begin to chant my name instead. I cock my head to the side and look at Ricardo. “Help her! Get her out of here!” I scream.

  He points to his ear and shakes his head.

  Fuck, he can't hear me.

  I scan the crowd for that asshole, Luke, who's supposed to be in charge of the ring girls. He looks over at her, but instead of helping her, he only shrugs and smiles at me.

  I growl and flip him the bird.

  I look out into the crowd for Tyrone and begin rattling the cage. The crowd cheers even louder then.

  Bastards.

  I begin scaling the cage, and finally, Tyrone looks at me. I point in her direction. “Get her out of here, now...” I start to say until I'm quickly yanked back.

  Something solid hit's my eye with enough force to turn my head and knock my mouth guard out.

  I can hear the crowd collectively gasp.

  I've never been hit dead on before. I've always been able to deflect it.

  My opponent smiles from ear to ear...but little does he know that he just unleashed hell.

  Out of the corner of my good eye, I see Tyrone heading in her direction.

  At least, she'll be safe now. This is no place for a girl like her, that's for sure.

  Visions of Lilly flash through my mind. The pain flows through me and I let my opponent have it.

  We start to grapple, but it's a lost cause for him. I'm hitting him with numerous elbow strikes, uppercuts, and jabs. I don't even realize that I've already knocked him out until someone bombards the cage and pulls me off of him.

  I almost take a swing at them, before I hear Ricardo's voice. “You got him, man. He's out. You did it,” he says.

  I stare down at my opponent and all I see is Mike...all I see is that night.

  Despite the crowds frantic cheers, I run out of there.

  ***

  After a shower, and a brisk visit with one of the mob doc's, it's declared that, although extremely swollen, there's no permanent damage to my eye.

  All the fights scheduled for the night are now over, so I grab my bag and head out into the cool late September night air.

  As soon as I step out...I'm immediately struck by a tiny fist to the face.

  What the hell?

  “Thanks a lot, dick,” a woman's voice yells.

  I look down and can hardly believe my eyes. It's the same blonde from earlier. Except this time, she looks beyond pissed.

  Not something I was expecting.

  I pull my bag up higher over my shoulder and stare at her. “You know, usually, damsel's in distress say 'thank you' after being saved.”

  She lifts her chin. “Fuck you,” she spews. “I really needed this job and now I'm fired.” She jabs a finger into my chest. “All because of you. Didn't anyone ever teach you how to mind your own business? I was fine in there.”

  I shake my head and begin walking. “You weren't fine. You were being assaulted.” I stop walking and look at her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  She tightens her leather jacket around her and crosses her arms over her chest. “I just told you. I got fired and I really needed that job.”

  I shrug. “Trust me, you're better off. This is no place for a girl like you.”

  “You don't even know me,” she whispers.

  Well, she has me there.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of cash. She begins to protest, but I give her no choice. “Here. Sorry for the inconvenience I caused you. Obviously, you really need the money or you wouldn't have punched me in the face over it. Word to the wise...not all men would react the same way I would to being punched, so be careful out there.”

  I continue walking, even though I can hear her footsteps following behind me. “Thanks, but I can't accept this. I like to earn my money.”

  She tries handing it back to me, but I decline. “Look, Luke owed you money for the night anyway. Consider this your payment from the club.”

>   She begins walking beside me. “How's your eye?”

  “Fine. No permanent damage.” I cross the street with her still in toe beside me. “Do you live around here or something?” I ask.

  She looks at me curiously and I see the corner of her lips twitch. “Well, unlike you. Yes, I'm a New Yorker.”

  “What gave it away?”

  She smiles and I see the hint of a dimple on the left side of her cheek peek out. “I don't know, but that's a wicked cool accent you got there, Boston.”

  I can't help but smile myself. She's good, I'll give her that much. “So, damsel, what's your name?”

  She shoots me an icy cold stare. “I'm not a damsel. And I'll tell you, if you promise to never call me that again.”

  “Deal, but that deals only in effect until the next time I see you.” I give her a wink. “Then all bet's are off,” I tease.

  “Alyssa.”

  I give her a smirk. “So does that mean you're planning on seeing me again in the future?”

  She shakes her head as we cross another street and walk down another block. “No offense, Jackson. But you're not really my type.”

  Not gonna lie, that stung a little. Then, I think about the reality of the situation and know that she's right. I already know that this girl deserves a lot better than someone like me. Not to mention the fact that dating isn't exactly my thing. “Yeah, you're probably right. Take care,” I say before I begin walking ahead of her.

  “Jackson,” she calls out and I can't help but turn around. “Thank you,” she says before she opens a car door.

  I nod my head, but can't help but wonder. “You drive?”

  “Yeah, I live on Long Island. Nassau County to be exact,” she says.

  “I thought you said before that you were a real New Yorker?”

  She snorts and her eyes shoot daggers at me. She lets out a slew of curses finally ending with, “I am a New Yorker, you Boston prick.”

  Then she slams her car door and guns the engine.

  That's when I notice it. It's a few years old...but she's definitely driving a BMW.

  She's obviously not that hard up for money after all. And I just gave her everything in my wallet.

  Shit, I guess it's true what they say.

  There really is a sucker born every minute.