Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

My words die in my throat when I find myself face-to-chest with a wall of solid muscle. Tasha takes my elbow and pulls me back a step.

“What do ya want?” The large man looks mean, terrifying actually, and a small, condescending smile lifts one corner of his mouth. Strangely, when I look at him, I’m reminded of Dax. Except this man’s brown eyes are cold and unwelcoming whereas Dax’s are slightly warmer and friendlier. The reality of where I am and what I’m doing takes hold, causing my stomach to cramp with anxiety.

“I-I-”

Tasha gracefully steps in front of me, slithering right up close to the huge man. I let her take over. My nerves are shot to shit. It’s quite clear—I’m not cut out for illegal activities.

“We’re here to see Dax.” She says it so casually that even I believe she has every right to be here demanding to be let inside.

An odd look passes over the man’s handsome face, then it lights up with some sort of understanding. He looks us up and down lustfully, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His scrutiny makes me feel as if I were naked and splayed out in front of him. I feel cheap and more than a little pissed off.

“Of course you’re ‘ere fer Dax. ‘Nuff said, yeah?” He smiles, opening the door wider, letting us enter. “Two, eh? Dad’s gone all out tonight. Dax will be quite pleased, I’m sure. If he wins that is.” Big and Creepy lets out a deep chuckle, sending another round of goose bumps across my neck.

Tasha plays the part perfectly, going along with whatever he says. “Yes, he will.”

The man grins and I have to hold in a gasp. He really does look just like Dax. One of his brothers, maybe? I know Dax has several. I just don’t know their names, not that I’m about to introduce myself to Mr. Scary.

He nods his chin toward another door at the end of a short hall. “Thanks,” Tasha tosses over her shoulder, walking confidently towards the door, swaying her hips as we pass.

“It’s me pleasure, or should I say, Dax’s?” He gives us one more lecherous look and winks before returning his attention to the entrance.

“Creepy, but hot,” Tasha whispers. I nod, still too frightened to speak. Behind the next door we can hear the dull roar of a large group of people. Tasha reaches out and grips the doorknob, pulling it open slowly.

As we step through, the crowd howls with delight. It’s so loud I have the urge to cover my ears with my hands. The place is packed with people, every one of whom has their full attention on the elevated ring in the center of the room. The ring is brightly lit with spotlights, standing out in the sea of darkness surrounding it.

My senses are so overwhelmed I’m not sure what to do first. Thank god for Tasha. She grips my arm and pushes me forward.

“Right. C’mon, then. Let’s watch your man fight.”

Her words break me out of my trance, as does the constant jostling of the other patrons as we make our way up front. “He’s not my man, Tash.” Not for lack of wishing.

“Well, not yet anyway,” she says, smiling as we weave in and out of the lively crowd. “Maybe by the end of tonight.”

Great. Now I feel all awkward and pressured to make an impression on Dax. It’s bad enough that not only did I sneak off to an illegal fight club, but I also let Tasha do me up like some tart in order to make Dax think I’m desirable. I run a nervous hand down the tight-fitting shirt and jeans she made me wear, hoping to hide my overwhelming anxiety. What if I vomit? God, that would be just like me, ruining everything with a bout of sick.

“Look! Dax is fighting next. We almost missed it!”

We’re finally close enough to see what’s going on in the ring—honestly, it’s more like a cage than a ring. Elevated a few meters off the cement floor is a boxing ring, but there’s some sort of tall, black chain link around the perimeter, extending up a good ways above us.

“This is so awesome!” Tasha bounces up and down on her toes, clapping like a kid in a candy store.

“Awesome?” I stare at her incredulously. “This is going to be barbaric!”

“Pfft, lighten up Kate. It’s hot to watch two built guys fight.” She glares at me reproachfully. “It’s sport, no different than our footy matches.”

Not wanting to argue the blatant differences between football and illegal fighting, I stand in place gaping, my eyes glued to the cage. Tasha has gone mental. There’s nothing hot about this. Scanning the area, my eyes find Dax, standing in one corner, rocking his head back and forth on his shoulders. He bounces around on his bare feet while punching the air in front of him. And he’s doing it shirtless.

Watching his sinewy muscles stretch and flex with each movement does something to me. Fiery heat licks up my body, starting from the bottom of my feet and traveling all the way to the top of my head. Suddenly, it’s very, very warm in here.

Tasha laughs. “See, admit it. It is hot. You’re blushing so hard right now!”

“Shut it, Tash,” I grumble, attempting to look unaffected. Who am I kidding? Of course I’m affected. It’s Dax! A nearly naked Dax—every muscle of his perfect body on display for my viewing pleasure. I lick my lips at the thought of tasting that tan skin, from his ripped shoulders down to the glorious six-pack that tapers on his waist.

“Ladiiieees and gentlemeeennn! Tonight is your lucky night. Right now, we have a great fight for you! Most of you know that tonight is our welterweight championship fiiiiight!”

Everyone around us explodes with excitement, cheering and yelling and whistling in response.

“In the blue corner, weighing in at one hundred ninety-nine pounds we have—” he pauses dramatically, “Noaaaaah Bakerrrrr!”