Death Blow Page 3

  She saw the eyebrows of the other bouncer fly up over his dark glasses. He motioned the other guard’s arm away, and invited her inside with a flick of his chin.

  “Head to the bar,” he told her. “The bartender will take care of you until Cassandra is available.”

  Lila thanked them both with a forced smile, and stepped past them. She took a better look at the ring now, focused on the very clear image of two enormous men beating the shit out of each other. As Lila walked to the bar, she saw it in slow motion—the bigger one, dark-haired and kind of evil looking, jumped at his opponent from across the ring, foot up, fast moving, and planted his sole right in the chest of his fair-complexioned opponent. The kick rung out in the arena with a sickening crack, and half of the audience went crazy with celebratory cheers, while the other half loudly and ruthlessly booed him.

  “Kill ‘im, Trevi!” A blonde-haired woman with soft pink lipstick and an expensive-looking dress shrieked at the dark-haired fighter. “Rip his fucking face off!” A strand of her bouffant fell into her eyes as she punctuated her supportive scream with a shake of her head.

  Lila tried to take in other details of the place. The Club was amazingly sleek and dark, almost exactly like Lila had pictured it. Lots of accent lighting, a stark, bright white with the occasional flash of red somewhere. The bar, opposite the fighting ring, was a beautifully lit rectangular orb, its glow switching rhythmically from white to blood red. The bar stools were plush red velvet and chrome, and the enormous floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the bar had the letters CM engraved on it in enormous, florid lettering. The shelves were lined with alcohol, and extensive. Lila saw bottles of things she’d never heard of before.

  The sound of another brutal impact hit the air and Lila jumped a bit. The dark-haired behemoth had felled his opponent, and judging from the blood pooling on the floor of the ring, he’d done it with a swift and fatal blow to the face. Half the stadium seats erupted in raucous support, standing and stomping and throwing money at the fighter, while the losing half sat dejectedly in their seats.

  “Hey, you Lila?”

  Lila’s head snapped back to the bar, where a pretty, petite redhead was smiling at her.

  “Yep.” Lila closed the distance to the glowing bar top, holding out her hand. “Lila Collins.”

  The girl grinned wide at her now, showing a row of perfect, white teeth. “Cassandra told me about you, said great things.” She held out her hand, slim and soft with sequined nails. “I’m Raechelle, one of the regular bartenders here at Club Malevolence.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lila caught them carrying the fair-haired fighter’s body out of the ring. She tried not to focus on it, taking Raechelle’s hand and smiling. “Nice to meet you, Raechelle.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. Now get back here.” Raechelle motioned to where Lila could get behind the bar, and she walked over to meet her there. When Lila could see her full body, she realized that Raechelle, too, was wearing a slinky sequined dress and—yep, there they were—a different pair of Louboutins. Raechelle caught her staring. “Not a bad work uniform, eh?” she grinned.

  “Not at all,” Lila smiled.

  “Okay, so, put your purse down there, that’s where we keep our stuff—don’t ever bring too much, you won’t need it for one thing, and we don’t want it here for another.” Lila put her clutch in a box in a bottom cubby behind the bar. She liked Raechelle already, and a part of her was surprised to realize that this atmosphere, though violent and jarring, made her feel excited. “Tonight we’re just going to have you running drinks, to see if you can handle yourself”—Raechelle winked at Lila—“and then if we like you, we’ll move you up.” Lila nodded, rubbing her hands together and inspecting the crowd. It was a big one, but not unmanageable, and Lila knew she’d be busy but not overwhelmed. “Now, we’re at a break here, which means…?” Raechelle looked to Lila, to see if she’d picked up on the tempo yet.

  “Drinks, drinks, drinks,” said Lila in response. She flashed a smile and cracked her knuckles. “And I’m ready.”

  Raechelle held out her hand for a high-five. She was very cute, despite being all sexed up by her attire, and her wavy red hair gave her a childlike manner. Her hazel eyes were sharp and peppy, and she had a button nose that gave her face a sort of doll-like finish. Lila’d liked her instantly, and she imagined everyone else did, too.

  “Great, Lila. Let’s do this.” Raechelle began furiously making drinks as she talked to Lila, who stood and watched on amazed. She’d never seen a bartender wield bottles so effortlessly and so quickly. “The great thing about this place is everyone here’s a regular. We know what they all drink. They know what it all costs. They know who we are and we know who they are.”

  “That’ll be a nice change,” Lila laughed. “The place I work at now, even the people who’ve been coming there for years give me a hard time about the beer prices, and we’re talking Budweiser here.” Raechelle laughed, finishing off the third drink in front of her with a lemon twist.

  “Great news, Lila—this is the place you work at now. These go over to that threesome in the corner, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Boudin and their daughter, Deidre.” Lila scoped them out, spotted them, and nodded. She picked up a small cocktail tray, put the drinks on it, and inspected them.

  “So this is a lemon drop, a mojito and—what kind of scotch is that?” Lila asked, pointing to them as she named them. Raechelle took a beat, then cracked a huge smile and smacked Lila’s ass.

  “You precocious little shit!” she laughed. “I love it. That’s Macallan 18. Bet you can guess who gets what as well.”

  Lila swept the tray up into her hands and winked. “I’ll figure it out when I get over there.” She turned and walked in the family’s direction. She felt amazing. She’d never expected herself to drop into this environment so easily, but now that she had, she never wanted to leave. She weaved in and out of the patrons, all of them looked like millionaires, and yet she didn’t feel small among them, not like she normally did at the Dirty Pint. A man in the ring mopped up the blood and prepared the arena for the next fight, he looked up and caught Lila’s eye and nodded at her. She nodded back. She could get used to this. She really could.

  She arrived at the family, suddenly realizing she hadn’t asked about any protocol in terms of speaking to patrons, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Professional, she decided, go for that. She had a split second to decide which of the women got which drink. Here went nothing.

  “We’ve got a mojito for the Mrs.,” she said, putting it down in front of the wife, who smiled enthusiastically. Nailed it, thought Lila. “A lemon drop for Deidre here,” she set the ornate glass down in front of the daughter. “And finally, the Macallan 18 for the father of the household.” 100% success rate.

  “My, my, a new girl!” said the wife. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Lila.”

  “First night?” asked the father, not really looking at Lila, but past her, to the ring.

  “Can you tell?” Lila joked, bringing her voice down.

  “Not at all. Thank you.” The daughter, Deidre, dismissed her rather coolly, but it was time for Lila to get back to the bar anyway.

  “Wave me over if you need anything else,” Lila started to turn.

  “Will do,” said Mr. Boudin. He raised a hand up to take Lila’s. “Welcome to the Club,” he said. She felt something slide from his hand to hers—paper, definitely folded up money.

  “Thank you, Mr. Boudin,” she said, walking away without looking at her hand. Once she got back to the bar she checked discretely…and almost fainted right then and there. Mr. Boudin had slipped a $100 into her hand.

  “Oh god, what’s wrong?” Raechelle asked, not pausing in her vigorous shaking of a drink.

  “Mr. Boudin just…” Lila trailed off.

  “Ah, yeah, he’s a good tipper,” Raechelle smiled, pouring the concoction into a high-stemmed glass. “Careful around him, though, he gets handsy after a couple,
and it’s really uncomfortable with his daughter around. Did you figure out the drink orders?” Her eyes gleamed mischievously.

  “You’re goddamn right I did,” said Lila, folding the bill back up. “Why do you think he slipped me a hundred?” She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it yet.

  “Hah! You think he slipped you a hundred dollar bill for any reason other than your ass looks incredible in that dress?” Raechelle set a few more drinks down in front of Lila. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, eyeing Lila’s uncomfortable holding of the bill. “You can just slip that in your purse. They don’t take stock of how much the patrons give us and no one’s going to steal from you here.”

  “I don’t know, I heard bad things about redheaded stepchildren,” Lila jabbed playfully.

  “Hey!” Raechelle yelped. “I’m very sensitive about my hair color!” The girls shared a laugh together. Lila really liked Raechelle already. They were going to have a lot of fun working together. “These go to the two men sitting over there,” she pointed, “and then these two go to the man and the woman in the top row, right over there,” again pointing. “Rich and Andy are the two guys, the appletini to Rich—I know, I know—and the Jameson rocks to Andy. Lisa and Tory are the women, and let’s see you guess again.” Raechelle winked at Lila and went back to slinging drinks. As many people as there were still sitting in their seats, there were tons at the bar now, laughing, reenacting the fight, trading money, lamenting the loss. Raechelle handled the crowd like a pro, never seemed harried, always chatted with whoever she was focused on then.

  Lila headed off into the crowd. The ring was clean and clear, and two new men were lining up to fight. She forced herself not to look at them. Lila felt flustered looking at the gigantic arms of the last two fighters, their muscular chests, and the number of muscles she could see in their defined abs. It’d been awhile since she saw a really raw, male body like that, and for a girl who hadn’t gotten laid in months, it was a lot to handle. She couldn’t afford to get distracted; she had to keep it together right now.

  A couple trips back and forth, and Lila was swimming smoothly. She’d been worried about striking the right tone, but the patrons seemed to love her. She knew already that her memory and her intuition were always good, and she was killing it in that department right now. Her and Raechelle had a great shorthand and already seemed to be so in tune that between the two of them, they’d kept the patron mood up and on a steady incline.

  The two new fighters were in the ring now, eyeing each other feistily, pacing back and forth. Lila was reminded of dogs, spotting each other from far away and preparing to fight. The bell rang a couple times, letting people know that the fight was about to start, and the crowd that had previously swarmed the bar dispersed almost immediately back to their seats.

  Lila swam upstream of the crowd, back to the bar. When she made it out of the throng, she saw Cassandra sitting on one of the bar stools, dwarfed by a big gentleman standing behind her. Tonight, she looked stunning in a tight crimson number, offset in sexiness only by the strappy gold heels that made their way up her calves. Her blonde hair was coifed and curled, and the jewels around her ears, neck, and hands were casting their own small spheres of sparkles. She and Raechelle were talking, both laughing, while the man behind her stood by silently, but amused.

  “Ah!” Raechelle exclaimed as she spotted Lila. “Here she is, woman of the hour.”

  Cassandra and the man turned to look at her, both smiling interestedly. Cassandra hopped off her stool and pulled Lila into a hug that caught her off guard.

  “Raechelle was just tellin’ us what a wonderful job you’ve done tonight, Lila!” she practically squealed. “I of course trusted myself to know when a girl might have a good head on her shoulders, but you are somethin’ else, sugar.” The man behind her moved forward slightly, eyes sparkling with something Lila couldn’t quite interpret. “This here’s my husband, Lyle Moran, the owner of Club Malevolence.”

  “Hey Lila, how are ya?” The man’s drawl surprised Lila, but he had that genteel softness about his accent that made him sound moneyed and important. He took Lila’s hand into a firm shake. She caught sight of his bejeweled Rolex just peeking out from the sleeve of his crisp white cuff. His grey suit looked very expensive, and fit him very well. He was maybe around 55, 60—a fair amount older than Cassandra, it looked like—and had a pleasant, chiseled face that had only gone slightly with age. His hair was a nice, light silver, and his blue eyes were crinkled and bright. But there was something about him that, when he took Lila’s hand, left her feeling a little nervous.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Moran,” she said, mustering up the best smile she could.

  “Aw hell, girl, call me Lyle. Mr. Moran—“

  “—was your father?” interjected Cassandra playfully.

  “Naw, just makes me feel old.” All three of them laughed at his joke, and Lila reminded herself to join in just in time.

  “Seriously, I was just telling them, if they don’t keep you around, they’re crazy,” said Raechelle, winking at Lila.

  “Oh, we’re keepin’ her,” beamed Cassandra. “Raechelle says it looked like you done worked here all your life.” She and Lyle exchanged a glance, and then Lyle locked eyes with Lila and smiled at her again.

  The bell rung again. Cassandra leapt back up onto her stool and pulled Lila close. “Come here, I want you to watch this next one closely.” Lila let herself be drawn in, framed by Cassandra and Lyle, all four of them facing the ring. “See that big one there?” She pointed at one of the fighters in the ring. “That’s our son, Jackson.”

  “Yep, our pride and joy,” added Lyle.

  Lila’s stomach turned. Jackson must have been 6’4” and about 4’ wide at the shoulders. He was built and rippling and rock-hard in any place visible to the eye. He had dark, tousled hair and bright, blue, wolf-like eyes. His brow was bent and tense in cold, murderous focus, and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Lila felt a pain in her mouth by proxy. Most alarming of all, Lila felt like she’d seen Jackson before, somewhere, but she couldn’t place where or when she might have met him. His face just hit Lila, and to her surprise, she felt a little bit of cold sweat form on her palms mere seconds after laying eyes on him.

  The fighters settled across from each other. The bell rang. The crowd hushed, and everyone in the room fixated on the ring.

  Jackson took up a guarded stance fast and furiously. He bobbed back and forth, fists up, eyes steady. His opponent was smaller than him, muscular but lean and only about 5’9”. Plus, he seemed way less serious than Jackson was. Lila’s stomach cramped now, not at Jackson’s face, but at how even she, with as little as she knew about fighting, knew that Jackson’s opponent was about to get his ass kicked.

  “I know that guy looks little,” Cassandra whispered into Lila’s ear, “but he’s one of the top fighters, actually.” Lila was surprised. “He took some crazy martial arts somethin’ and kicks the shit out of everyone, ‘scuse my French.”

  So far the two men had only danced around each other a little bit, Jackson rigid and serious, the smaller man lax and loose.

  “Well, he may’ve kicked the shit outta others,” Lyle broke in, “but Jackson’s about to kick the shit outta him.”

  “He better,” Cassandra added, “or we’re out a lot of money, honey.”

  As if on cue, Jackson struck forward with a fist, jabbing into the space where his opponent’s head had previously been. The small guy dodged quickly, and then just as swiftly, he darted around Jackson and socked him in the stomach. Gasps and groans erupted from the Jackson supporters as he doubled over, just a little bit, never dropping his guard.

  “Shit, boy, come on,” Lila heard Lyle mutter under his breath.

  Jackson and his opponent danced around a bit more, the crowd beginning to yell loudly, jeer or hiss depending on whom they were supporting. Jackson dipped low this time and swung a hammer fist out, but again his opponent was too fast for him, and this time, he cracked Jac
kson a swift kick to the face. Everyone winced collectively, and then the small man’s supporters erupted into applause and cheers.

  “God,” Lila groaned, “is that allowed?”

  “No rules,” Cassandra replied automatically, not taking her eyes away from the ring.

  Lila wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but she knew she was rooting for Jackson, somewhere deep down in her gut. She felt the blows he took as if they were her own.

  Jackson flew forward with his whole body, it seemed, and the small man was lost under it for a second. In a flash, Jackson had taken his opponent’s head into a lock and punched him once, vicious and powerful, in the face. The man’s nose was bleeding all over the ring now, trailing red wherever Jackson moved him. The small man’s arms came up to Jackson’s enormous forearm, clawing for a way out, when Jackson swiftly switched his grip on the man’s head and proceeded to flip his opponent all the way over and onto his back. The sound that the small man made, hitting the mat like he did, sent a shockwave through the crowd.

  Jackson supporters were going crazy, all but Cassandra and Lyle. They sat stoically while the crowd raged. The same woman Lila had noted earlier, with the bouffant and the pink lipstick, was again screaming bloody murder, this time for Jackson. Lila wondered if she had a thing for dark-haired fighters. The woman stood up in her seat raising herself and her voice above the fracas, and shrieked, “Lay him out, Jackson!” As if rehearsed, the half of the crowd there supporting Jackson started chanting it in unison.

  Jack-son! Jack-son!

  Jackson didn’t even seem to notice. He didn’t seem to hear, he didn’t pay any attention to the people loudly losing their heads over him. He eyed the small man, now struggling to get up off the ground. As he got up onto all fours, Jackson mercilessly kicked him in the ribs, and the small man spun over and curled up in pain. The blonde bouffant lady and many other people now were up, the chant still going, women tearing their hair and holding their arms out to Jackson, men pumping their fists at him. Lila couldn’t believe the money that was filling the air, passing from patron to patron, waving through the air at the ring.