Chapter 1
Chapter One
The lights were on him, and the ring bounced with each step.
He kept his eyes on the man across from him, bouncing on his feet.
He was smaller, leaner than he. But what his opponent didn’t know was what he had up his sleeve.
The man on the other side of the ring came right at him, openly swinging at his face.
He ducked underneath the coming fist and brought his own up.
He hardened his knuckles, making them become stone.
He struck the man right underneath his sharpened chin.
He watched his head turn to the left as he took three steps back.
His back struck the cage, a line of blood spilled from the rip in his lip.
Lionel wiped at his own blood spilling from his brow. He could feel the threat of a bruise and a black eye start to form. The man across from him tried to right himself, but he kept falling back against the chain link. One eye was swollen shut, and he had a cauliflower ear start to form.
“It’s not too late to quit, Markos.” Lionel’s southern drawl touched the man, brought him back around.
With a blood-stained smile, he bounced right back toward him. “Oh hell no. There's fifteen grand on the table. I’ll be damned if I lose to you.” Quick on his feet, Markos brought his left leg up; the foot struck Lionel right in the ribcage. He let Markos get a few more jabs that struck him.
They hurt, Lionel couldn’t lie. But he couldn’t let himself be discovered. “You have one hell of a kick, boy.”
“And you a punch old man.”
Now. Hit him now. Another high swing came at him; he backed up.
The crowd was roaring, giving him a high that no drug could ever touch.
It was like a hurricane running wild within his mind.
He came up behind Markos and connected his elbow to his upper back.
He heard the young athlete's lungs deflate.
He swiped his feet right out from underneath him.
His body hit the ring hard. Lionel was right on top of him. He flipped his body over and brought Markos’s legs up behind him, bending him at an angle. The boy screamed. He reached out and smacked the ring three times. “I give. I give!”
The crowd screamed and booed Lionel. Markos was one of the strongest lightweights and a huge up-and-coming star. He tossed Markos off him, and he lay on the ring for a moment to catch his breath. There was a mixture of sweat and blood in his eye that made it sting.
After a moment, he forced himself to sit. He reached up and pulled his hair out of the bun. It fell in long ringlets to his lower back. Sweat drenched his face and the ends of his hair. Lionel forced himself to his feet as he limped to the door of the gate.
His manager, a fat, plump old man, came right up to him with a bottle of water.
“Come on, Lion, open your mouth.” Lionel opened his mouth, and his manager reached in and took out his mouth guard.
Looking at his teeth. “Good news, you have all your pearly whites. Too bad for Markos, though, you knocked three of his out and gave him a solid concussion. How the hell do you do that?” He kept trying to place an ice pack against his eyebrow.
Lionel pushed him off, “I’m fine, Matteo.” He snatched the ice pack from the man and pressed it against his brow. Already feeling the colors fade from around him.
The only time he had ever felt something, or seen the colors of the world, was when he was pounding his fist into another’s face and tasting the thrill of the fight.
He rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension from before.
“Lion, my boy, you’re gonna go far in this business.
” Lionel followed Matteo through the roaring people.
Many were trying to touch him, to throw things at him. Lionel was hated, and he thrived in that environment. Simply because it pushed him to fight harder, to taste more of the thrill. To feel the fear, he shoves into his opponent's face.
He enjoyed every bit of it—
“In the office.” Matteo opened a bulletproof door that’s covered in bars and plastic. When he opened it, all Lionel could smell was booze, cigarettes, and the heavy sweat from other men.
His nose crinkled at the scent. It was strong and uncomfortable for him.
Matteo closed the door behind him, and the sound of the crowd was all but cut off.
The silence was overwhelming. His manager found the large swivel chair and sat down.
He reached underneath the desk and found a lockbox. “Sit, Lion.”
Lionel rolled his eyes, knowing it would’ve been a fool's battle to try to fight his manager on how to pronounce his name right.
He pulled the chair out and sat down. He could feel all his muscles cry out in pain.
His jaw was sore, and so was his head. He pressed the ice pack against his brow again, enjoying the cooling sensation.
“So, the bets weren’t good against you tonight. You had five thousand versus Markos’s fifteen. That’s twenty thousand total.” He reached into the lockbox after putting in the code, “With my cut, you’ll get thirteen thousand and fifty dollars. How does that sound?”
Lionel shrugged his shoulders, “That’s fine.”
Matteo only chuckled as he pulled out the fifty and hundred-dollar bills. “I’m surprised you trust me as much as you do.”
“Trust?” Lionel raised his busted brow, “Matteo, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. But I know you wouldn’t cheat me.”
Matteo glanced at him, “How do you know that?”
“Because you know, I would kill you if you ever do.”
* * *
With his pockets full of money and his hands deep in his leather jacket, Lionel followed the empty street. It was late at night, nearing 1:00 AM on a Thursday night. Cars weren’t driving through the roads, and the streetlights were blinking.
He let out a slow breath, and a plume of white followed.
It was cold, almost twenty degrees. He kicked at a random can; he had no one to go home to, and his next fight wouldn’t be for a few days.
He had a decent amount of money, and his rent was already paid for that month.
Maybe I can hit the gym and work out again.
It won’t hurt to do it twice in a day. He shrugged his stiff shoulders.
His body was fighting him on the idea. He wandered down the street for a few more blocks before the sound of music caught him off guard. He turned and followed it. The further he went down the side street, the lighter the alley became.
As he rounded the corner, a large neon sign with a male devil riding a pole, licking it, flickered. The Horny Devils.
Lionel could see that the parking lot was overflowing with patrons.
There was one car, however, that stood out to him; it was a pearlescent pink Chrysler 300.
He stood there for a moment, surprised. Well, ain’t that nice.
Someone is rolling in money. He was about to turn away when his curiosity piqued.
Ah fuck it. I have nothing else going on.
He walked to the front doors of the strip club when a female bouncer stopped him. “I.D.” She held out her hand, waiting.
Lionel gave her a quick look over, “You? A bouncer?”
The young woman’s face remained unmoved, “No I.D? No dick. Get the fuck away from my bar.”
“Okay, okay.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, showing her his driver's license. “Damn.”
She gave him a quick once-over before looking at his I.D. “Been around a long time, Gargoyle?”
He shoved his wallet back into his pocket, “Yeah? And what’s your point?” He was about to turn around and walk away, but he had already gone this far.
She grasped the front of his shirt and forced him down to her height, her eyes had shifted to a bright yellow. “Next time, don’t be so quick to judge.” The female bouncer shoved him back, as she hissed at him. Fangs bared.
He raised his hands, “Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”
She retracted her fangs before motioning with her head, “Go in. And don’t touch the property unless you want to buy extra time with them. You hear me?”
“Jesus, this place can’t be that good.” Lionel walked through the doors, letting it swing behind him. And within the second he stepped through, to blinking twice, he was surrounded by flashing lights, and the sound of loud music.
His ears accustomed the sound of screaming, and roaring was not expecting the sudden thumping of music. Every single table was taken, the only place that was remotely open was the bar.
The strip club was definitely higher end.
There wasn’t any carpet on the floor, but stunning wood floors.
The walls weren’t stained with nicotine, but painted a soft grey to help balance the décor.
Many were famous drag queens, and others were higher end paintings.
The tables were handmade, he could tell by the craftsmanship.
The stage was also higher up, and well made.
Concreate that was painted to look like wood, and the single pole in the center was rose gold.
There were a few other poles around that were surrounded by cages, and men were dancing in them, dressed as angels with very…little to the imagination. They didn’t tuck, and he saw almost everything.
They had beautiful bodies as if sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Many of the men had hungry looks as he walked through the door. Lionel had that effect on people. Men, and women.
He kept looking around the strip club, there were many waiters who wore a bowtie, g-string and heels. Their legs sexily toned. None however, caught his attention. So, he moved his gaze back to the bar.
The bar was lit by a black light, it was easier on the eyes. There were a few men sitting there nursing beers, or some other liquor. Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Would it? I have nothing else better to do. He kept his hands deep in his jacket and went to the bar.
The music shifted to something a bit more mellow, calmer than the harsh techno that was playing when he first came in. Lionel sat down on one of the few open seats and sighed.