A Lady Doesn't Tell.

Violence

To say that man is intimidating is an understatement. Stacy had asked him to take care of me, though, and I guess having a man like that in my corner would be a real asset. Kevin helped me onto the stage, and I was more than ready to dance.

Something I figured out quickly at Thrive was that I was somewhat of a natural on stage. I could shut off the world, turn on my blinders, and feel the music like I was the only person in the room. I transported myself from this world, where I was a pathetic runaway with nothing to my name, to another, where I was a powerful force of seductive, sexual energy. A goddess of the night. Men would bow before me just to witness my enchantments.

I took a deep breath as the song finished and ran one hand up the cold metal of the pole. Closing my eyes, I heard the beat of the next song begin and imagined I transformed into a flame, dancing with the fire that burned within my soul.

After about three hours, Kevin came back to let me know it was time for a break. He said I could head down to the dressing room to eat if I wanted but obviously, I hadn’t brought anything, and I think he already knew that.

“Well, there’s a two-drink limit when you’re working, but they’re on the house,” he said. “You’re more than welcome to stay up here at the bar. There’s some fruit we usually use for the drinks in the mini fridge. We rarely touch it, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, half embarrassed, swallowing my pride.

I poured myself a rum and Coke and sliced into an orange that had my mouth watering. The rum was cool and refreshing as it trickled down my throat. I settled on one of the stools, trying to zone out the room.

“Hey, Violence, right?”

I heard a man say from my right as he walked closer and gestured to the seat beside me. He looked to be in his late fifties. Well built—like the rest of the men up here. There must be steroids in the water or something. From afar, you’d think he had a full head of hair, but up close, I saw he was completely bald. Instead, tattoos lined his scalp and crept down onto his face. His neck and hands were inked, too. He looked like he could snap my neck in a heartbeat. But his smile was warm, something I wasn’t used to. And, like all the other men here, his suit screamed: I have money. A lot of fucking money.

“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the stool next to mine.

“Yes, of course. Please,” I said, keeping my voice polite.

Which it most definitely wasn’t. I hated small talk, or talking in general. Why did he need to be in my space? But I wasn’t about to say that. I needed this job. And apparently this orange, too. I couldn’t stop myself from devouring it. I’d grown too comfortable with semi-decent eating habits, and now I was suffering for it on two sugar packets and nerves.

“You’re an absolute dream up there, darling,” he said. “And your demeanor off stage, too. Most girls can’t help but hang off the guys up here. Nagging in our ears and trying to get into our beds. You’re a welcome change. Something akin to how a woman should behave.”

“No offense, sir, but I couldn’t care less for your bed or the money dripping off you. I’m just here to earn my own cash and eat my free orange.” I paused. “And you’re wrong if you think I behave anything like a fucking lady should.”

Shit. It just came out. Word vomit when I should’ve smiled and shoved it in a vault. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Haha! And a sharp tongue too. I guess that’s why they call you Violence, right?”

“Hmm. Something like that.”

“Would there possibly be another reason for the name?”

I raised an eyebrow and dropped the last orange peel onto my plate.

“Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t. A lady doesn’t tell her secrets.”

“Well,” he said with a grin, “that may be exactly what my club is looking for.”

He slid a white card across the bar toward me. It was blank except for an address. I’d seen these before. Underground fight clubs. It had been a long time, but I knew the signs. My father had owned one, and trained me to fight before I could even walk.

“When?” I asked. That was all I needed to know. Good, fast money. That’s what I needed.

“I knew I was right,” he said, eyes glittering. “I could see the fire in your eyes. Mondays and Fridays. 2 a.m. to 5 a.m.”

“And the password?”

He smirked. Testing me. Seeing if I knew how this worked. I did. But I wasn’t about to explain how or why.

“Firefly,” he finally said.

“Admission cost?”

“For you, Violence, I’ll cover your first round. Win that and you’ll have enough for the second and some to pocket. Just tell Benji at the desk that Ronaldo has you covered.”

He downed the rest of his drink, then turned to leave. But he paused again.

“Oh and this,” he added, pulling a thick stack of bills from his wallet and dropping it onto the bar. “A tip. For being such a lovely lady to watch tonight.”

I nodded and smiled like I should’ve done in the first place. I picked up the money and went to tuck it into the cup of my corset along with the business card but then I saw the amount.

Holy shit.

There had to be at least $500 here.

I’m definitely eating all those biscuits tonight.

If Ronaldo’s fight club was anything like my dad’s... maybe I could get back on my feet faster than I thought.