“You gotta keep an eye on your portfolio,” Blaze calls over his shoulder. He gets what I’m saying.
Those fuckers deserve it. It’s the least I can do for Charley, even if it is more about my own personal satisfaction than her getting her vengeance.
Hitting them where it hurts the most is the best way to deal with bastards like that. I leave his house whistling a happy little tune.
I still have four hours before Charley gets off shift, but I don’t mind going and hanging at Elegance to watch her in those tiny little shorts and heels.
Most guys would get pissed at the thought of their woman dressing like that, having men stare at them, not me. Charley is her own woman who knows what she wants.
Having a deeper understanding of her reasons for wanting to dance at Elegance also means I will never ask her to stop.
The dancers at Elegance are treated well and always protected. People can look, but anyone who dares to touch I will personally shoot their dick off.
My woman. Sounds weird to think that, but it isn’t freaking me out anymore. The problem is, I don’t know if she will react the same.
Fury calls as I’m about leave and asks if I want to go to the Battleground with him. Stryker isn’t fighting, but another brother is, so it gives us a reason to be there. What the hell, I have some time, so tell him I’ll meet him there.
The Battleground isn’t too far from the clubhouse by Penn Mary Yard, the large rail yard that has warehouses all around. It’s a protected set up but is classed as neutral ground between any factions within the city. People who like to watch and take part in fights go there knowing if there is any trouble, they’ll end up under the old rail lines.
Stryker is with Fury when I arrive and I greet them with a chin dip.
“Opponent next week is fighting tonight,” Stryker confirms his presence.
“Excellent opportunity to observe then,” I slap his shoulder. Not many people can get away with that. I’m not worried.
We head inside. It’s busy because it’s a Saturday night, and from the board there are a lot of fights on the roster. Stryker knows his way around so we follow him to the heavyweight rings. Fury heads to the bar to grab us some beers and I stand beside Stryker and watch the two men in the ring beating the shit out of each other.
It’s bare knuckle, violent and bloody. I’ve watched a few fights in my time but never really enjoyed it as a sport. Stryker has yet to be beaten in any weight class.
Nero said a while back that scouts on the professional circuit have tried to entice him away but Stryker is the furthest thing from corporate you can get. He’d never let any big agent or sponsor tell him what to do.
He also does this for a reason. It’s not out of enjoyment for the sport either. If he isn’t breaking faces for the club, he uses this as an outlet for whatever rage he is holding under his skin.
“That the guy?” I ask, pointing at the man walking around the ring holding his arms up. He hasn’t won yet, he’s just showboating.
Stryker nods. “He’s from out of town.”
“What a fucking dick,” I say, watching him bob back and forth, shadow boxing while his opponent is given a medical assessment.
“Sometimes cockiness isn’t just for show,” Stryker says. “Sometimes its to hide a deeper issue.”
“Which one is it?”
“I think he is dangerous.”
“You scared he’ll take you?” I quip.
His dark eyes turn to me, and I hold up my hands.
“I’m not invincible,” he says, looking back at the fighter.
I’m about to tell him I never expected to hear him say shit like that but he beats me to it.
“I can kick his ass.”
My laughter draws attention to us and Stryker scowls at me. People are suddenly more interested in him than the fight. Before anyone can approach him, Stryker turns and vanishes into the crowd. Even I lose sight of him in less than five seconds.
The asshole in the ring was watching too, but he’s drawn back into the round and before the three minutes are up, he’s KO’d his opponent. He looks around to see if Stryker is anywhere to be seen but he’s long gone.
