Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

“Don’t bloody argue with me, lad!”

The venom in his voice keeps me from talking back. Silently, I leave the cage, stalking over to the heavy bag in the corner, and start punching it, pretending it’s my father’s face I’m hitting instead of cracked old vinyl.

As I do the various punches and kick combinations, each one in a specific order long ago committed to memory, I allow myself to imagine getting out of this place to have a life of my own. Where I get to choose what I do, who I fuck, and where no one else will have a goddamn say.

For now, I go along with dad’s way simply because it’s easier. The money is good and I get pussy brought right to my feet. Regardless, I cannot wait until my gig Saturday night. It’s the beginning of my plan to leave Hackney, and the club, behind.

Sweat is pouring off my face and body, making it difficult to see, but I keep pounding that sodding bag, too stubborn to back off and let my dad think he’s broken me.

“Oi!”

I give the bag one last good whack before snatching up a towel to wipe myself off. I need my brother giving me a pep talk like I need a second cock—It seems like a good idea until you realize it’s fucking useless.

“What do you want, Ethan?”

“Hey! Who put a goalpost up your arse?” He holds his hands up in mock offense.

I glare at my oldest brother. He can be so fucking stupid sometimes. Of all of us, Ethan is the only one who looks like dad—dark hair, light eyes, intimidating as fuck all. The rest of us are big like them, but blonde with dark eyes like our mum.

“Let me guess. Dad, of course. Who else would have you this aggro?” Ethan chuckles under his breath, but there’s no humor in his tone. “You have to ignore ninety percent of what the old codger says, Dax.”

“Easy for you to say. He’s not riding your ass like he is mine.”

I strip off my fingerless bag gloves, tossing them aside to grab my drink. Too late, I see Ethan’s hand whipping through the air.

“Ow!” My instinct is to rear back and punch my brother after he slaps the back of my head, but I suppress it, knowing Ethan will give as good as he gets. “What the hell was that for?”

“Because, you stupid knob, we share a room. Or have you forgotten?” My only answer is a rude grunt. “I work here with him every damn day, Dax. At least you have school and your music as an escape. You don’t hear him getting on me because you’re not here all the time.”

“School,” I scoff. “Yeah, that’s a real relaxing break from the club, Ethan. Stuck with a perpetual stiffy while surrounded by girls that I can’t fuck for fourteen days out of every month.” Scowling, I grab my water bottle and drink most of it in a few large gulps.

My oldest brother’s gray eyes soften, reflecting an age much wiser than his twenty-two years. “Trust me bro, take advantage of the freedom school gives you while you’re there. This…” he spins around with his arms spread wide, “is no paradise.”

Well crap. If this is the best it’s going to get, I need to get moving on that plan.

Kate

“This is so exciting! I’m so glad I wore this dress, it shows off my body perfectly.”

I stifle a giggle when Tasha hides her face and rolls her eyes so I can see it but Willa can’t. Willa is… well, let’s just say she only thinks about one thing—herself.

“Ellie, you alright?” I elbow my newest, and somehow suddenly my closest, friend, bouncing my knees with anticipation. Ellie and I live in the same building so we’ve bonded by walking to school together or doing class work. Ellie turns in her seat to face me, her big blue eyes wide with anxiety.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responds with a worried frown.

I must be scowling because she adds on to her statement, sounding somewhat more convincing. “Really, Kate. I’m brilliant.” I watch her wipe her hands on the super tight jeans I made her wear.

Fine. Hmph. She couldn’t be less fine if she were walking naked across the stage at the Royal Albert Hall.

Not wanting to start an argument on our girls’ night out, I keep my observations to myself. Frankly, I’m just chuffed that she came out with us. Ellie is… reticent to say the least.

The tube slows to a stop and Tasha jumps to her feet when they announce the station. “This is ours!”

We file out, laughing and chatting about everything and anything. The excitement of seeing a live band at a popular London pub has us all wound up like little children on a sugar high. Most of us are just over eighteen, so this is our first chance to go.

At the front entrance of the bar, we meet up with some of our other teammates and head inside. The Drunken Kitten is a noisy, jam-packed little place in a bohemian area of London, filled to the brim with people of all sorts.

Tasha leans close so I can hear her. “Let’s get a good spot!”