Page 125 of In Love and Revenge

‘Dove!’ I hiss, but she flaps away my concern, reaching for the buttons of her blouse.

The bouncer’s eyes widen as the swell of Dove’s generous breasts come into view, cupped in a deep maroon bra.

‘Fuck, you were hiding that rack beneath that shirt, weren’t you, love?’ The bouncer practically salivates as Dove stands with her hands on her hips.

‘Now let us in,’ she says.

‘Nipples too,’ he says, with another leery drag of his tongue over his lip.

Dove pulls the cups of her bra down for a couple of seconds, and the bouncer groans and adjusts the crotch of his trousers.

‘Juicy titties you got there, love. How about a feel and I’ll give you the full VIP tour?’

‘Fuck off. A deal’s a deal,’ she says, pulling her bra up and buttoning her blouse.

He chuckles like it was worth a try and wraps his meaty fingers around the large metal pole-shaped handle, pulling the thick, heavy door open.

‘Enjoy the whiskey,’ he says, his hot breath hitting me in the face as we slide past him.

‘What the hell is this place?’ I whisper to her as we descend some metal steps, lit by a single bulb hanging from a cord above. The scent of something metallic fills my nostrils as we reach the door at the bottom.

‘Well, I think it’s safe to say it isn’t just a bar,’ Dove says, linking her hand in mine. ‘You good?’

My heart’s hammering against my ribs. We could be about to walk into a drug lord’s den, or a brothel, or an organ-harvesting backstreet operating theatre.

I swallow thickly and nod. ‘Yeah. You?’

‘We’re here now. Let’s do this,’ she says, sounding much more confident than the clamminess of her palm suggests.

I take a deep breath as Dove opens the door and we walk through.

The inside space is dark and cramped. Hundreds of bodies stand shoulder to shoulder, jostling around, yelling and shouting. Glasses are thrust about wildly, the liquor inside them sloshing out and landing on clothing. But no one notices. No one cares. They’re all too busy looking at something.

‘What the hell?’ I squeak, squeezing Dove’s hand. She squeezes mine back and weaves us through the heaving crowd.

The scent of male sweat and cigarette smoke tickles my throat as the crowd swells around us, curse words flying, then suddenly replaced by cheers.

We move closer to the source of their attention, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh increases over the raucous yelling.

Dove freezes, her attention fixing on a man standing inside a wide, empty circle on the dank concrete floor. His silver-flecked hair is slick with sweat as he wipes his forehead with the back of his forearm. His hands are bound with gauze, and he’s shirtless.

The crowd moves, blocking out our view of his opponent, circling him inside the ring. The older guy spits some blood out on the floor, raising his fists back in front of his muscular torso.

‘Vance?’ Dove utters, her eyes widening.

There’s no way he heard her, but it’s like he can sense her presence, because he looks straight up and directly at us both, standing at the edge of the ring.

The momentary distraction provides his opponent a window of opportunity, and he swoops on it. The ripple of tattooed, corded back muscles is all I see before Vance is punched in the jaw and sent staggering.

The crowd erupts into another mass of curses and cheers as he drops to the floor, out cold.

A man calls out, ‘Hell’s Guardian! Undefeated champion.’

I look at Dove. She’s staring at the scene in shock.

A guy behind us roars with anger. ‘I lost a grand because of that piece of shit!’ he snarls.

I yank on Dove’s hand as the atmosphere around us plummets, and angry, liquor-fuelled men yell out threats and obscenities.