that's what that was.
Even the idea of him makes my panties wet. I should have just let him have his way with me. Why didn't I?
Fear.
The grip my father had around me, my life...
I'm not weak, I'm not frail.
But, he was my father. I was raised to listen to him, to show him the utmost respect at all times. No matter what.
It was burned into my brain, into my soul, into every move and choice I made.
I fucking hated it.
'Ding, Ding!'
The loud bell rang, shaking me out of my daze. The fights had begun, first up tonight was a tall lanky guy named Gavel against a man named Titus. Both had been good fighters here, they fought together once before.
Gavel had his ass handed to him last time. You could see it in his eyes he wanted revenge. A blood thirsty snarl lifted on one side, sweat poured down his temples, his hands up ready to lunge.
The two men danced around each other in the circle, the crowed thundering together in one jostling, loud growl.
Every bone in my body shook, rattled from the intensity of screams and clapping. Shifting my eyes around the space, my father approached from the side.
“Cadence, pour me a drink, my dear.” He rested his elbow against the edge, twisting to watch the carnage inside the ring. “We have a good turn out tonight.”
“Yeah, seems that way.” My voice lacked interest in his hobby.
He shot his stare in my direction. “Not enjoying yourself?” A sneer peeked from the corner of his mouth.
I slammed the glass down hard, pouring his drink, not a word fell across my tongue.
He knows how I feel about this shit. Why would he even ask me that?
Lifting the glass, the liquid flowed effortlessly down his throat. “Well, don't worry. I have a surprise for you tonight.” He rested the empty cup on the bar, his hand raised to touch my shoulder.
Stepping back from his fingers I said, “I'm sure you do.”
“Sarcasm, my favorite. I think you'll enjoy this one.” He winked, strolling off towards his throne to watch the game.
The crashing of flesh against bone ricocheted behind the standing mass in front of me. I couldn't see what was going on, the fight had moved to the floor.
The sudden bellow from the crowd, and ding of the bell, signaled the fight was over. Titus stood, Gavel did not. His limp body dragged to the back by the aid of other fighters.
According to the guys at the bar waiting for the next fight to begin, he had been choked. Suffocated until his eyes rolled back in his skull and he finally passed out, hopefully.
You never really knew the true end result of someone dragged off, especially if they never came back to fight again after a loss like that.
Maybe they got frightened, they couldn't take it anymore, or maybe worse... There in that dirty ring, their final breath escaping their failing lungs.
I hated thinking about that. I was certain we had lost our fair share of fighters over the years. It baffles me that my dad is still a free man.
But, he had his fingers dipped in several different pockets. A payoff here, a bribe there; whatever it took to keep this place open, and out of the wrong person's eye.
The bell went off, and the next fight had started. Four finger Frankie vs. Hugo. These men were dirty fighters. Frankie had lost a digit during a previous fight, he stuck his hand into the other guys mouth trying to break his jaw, lost his finger instead.
Hugo, he was a massive wall of muscle and grit. A mouth full of broken teeth, scars crisscrossing the flesh of his face.
There was no waiting, or sizing up the other opponent, their bodies collided in one giant crash.
I didn't want to watch. Turning my eye to the room, I watched the engorged faces of the observers. Men drooling, hollering, fists flying through the air. Against the back entrance, a figure caught my eye. He was hard to make out, standing in the shadows.
Who is that? Why isn't he up close, barking along side the other assholes?
His arms were crossed tight, shoulder leaning against the wall.
Even the idea of him makes my panties wet. I should have just let him have his way with me. Why didn't I?
Fear.
The grip my father had around me, my life...
I'm not weak, I'm not frail.
But, he was my father. I was raised to listen to him, to show him the utmost respect at all times. No matter what.
It was burned into my brain, into my soul, into every move and choice I made.
I fucking hated it.
'Ding, Ding!'
The loud bell rang, shaking me out of my daze. The fights had begun, first up tonight was a tall lanky guy named Gavel against a man named Titus. Both had been good fighters here, they fought together once before.
Gavel had his ass handed to him last time. You could see it in his eyes he wanted revenge. A blood thirsty snarl lifted on one side, sweat poured down his temples, his hands up ready to lunge.
The two men danced around each other in the circle, the crowed thundering together in one jostling, loud growl.
Every bone in my body shook, rattled from the intensity of screams and clapping. Shifting my eyes around the space, my father approached from the side.
“Cadence, pour me a drink, my dear.” He rested his elbow against the edge, twisting to watch the carnage inside the ring. “We have a good turn out tonight.”
“Yeah, seems that way.” My voice lacked interest in his hobby.
He shot his stare in my direction. “Not enjoying yourself?” A sneer peeked from the corner of his mouth.
I slammed the glass down hard, pouring his drink, not a word fell across my tongue.
He knows how I feel about this shit. Why would he even ask me that?
Lifting the glass, the liquid flowed effortlessly down his throat. “Well, don't worry. I have a surprise for you tonight.” He rested the empty cup on the bar, his hand raised to touch my shoulder.
Stepping back from his fingers I said, “I'm sure you do.”
“Sarcasm, my favorite. I think you'll enjoy this one.” He winked, strolling off towards his throne to watch the game.
The crashing of flesh against bone ricocheted behind the standing mass in front of me. I couldn't see what was going on, the fight had moved to the floor.
The sudden bellow from the crowd, and ding of the bell, signaled the fight was over. Titus stood, Gavel did not. His limp body dragged to the back by the aid of other fighters.
According to the guys at the bar waiting for the next fight to begin, he had been choked. Suffocated until his eyes rolled back in his skull and he finally passed out, hopefully.
You never really knew the true end result of someone dragged off, especially if they never came back to fight again after a loss like that.
Maybe they got frightened, they couldn't take it anymore, or maybe worse... There in that dirty ring, their final breath escaping their failing lungs.
I hated thinking about that. I was certain we had lost our fair share of fighters over the years. It baffles me that my dad is still a free man.
But, he had his fingers dipped in several different pockets. A payoff here, a bribe there; whatever it took to keep this place open, and out of the wrong person's eye.
The bell went off, and the next fight had started. Four finger Frankie vs. Hugo. These men were dirty fighters. Frankie had lost a digit during a previous fight, he stuck his hand into the other guys mouth trying to break his jaw, lost his finger instead.
Hugo, he was a massive wall of muscle and grit. A mouth full of broken teeth, scars crisscrossing the flesh of his face.
There was no waiting, or sizing up the other opponent, their bodies collided in one giant crash.
I didn't want to watch. Turning my eye to the room, I watched the engorged faces of the observers. Men drooling, hollering, fists flying through the air. Against the back entrance, a figure caught my eye. He was hard to make out, standing in the shadows.
Who is that? Why isn't he up close, barking along side the other assholes?
His arms were crossed tight, shoulder leaning against the wall.
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