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"They have their uses."
"And after that fifteen minutes, there's the whole rest of the day to kill," Regina quipped grimly. Marguerite made an amused noise of agreement. They sat quietly shoulder to shoulder.
"I get it," Regina said at last. "He was a total shit to her and broke her, so this was evening the score. She did what she did tonight without any understanding or compassion for who and what he is, and he did the same thing the night he hurt her. But still..."
"Two acts of malicious harm rarely cancel one another out," Marguerite supplied the rest of what Regina was feeling. "Typically, they only make things worse on both sides."
"He was trying so hard. I can't even describe it."
"He would have faced this eventually. If not here, like this, in another way. The question is if he's progressed enough to find his way back without you guiding him." Marguerite nudged her knee with her own. "He's always focused on his physical strength. You helped him see he's stronger inside than he ever knew. It's what a Dom who loves you does. Have faith in that love."
Marius didn't want to think about faith, love, understanding or patience. He wanted to pound on flesh until he reached blood, bone and quivering muscle. He parked in the alley and beat on the back door, stepping back as it was opened by a tall, scarred Asian Indian man who went by the short name of Sisk. Sisk didn't speak, only nodded when Marius told him he was scheduled to fight and Tal was his manager. Marius stripped off his jacket as he moved through the dark, dank hallway that smelled of sweat and men. There were no show ponies here, no eye candy, no showmanship or good-natured characters like Top Hat.
This was down and dirty fighting where injuries and the occasional death was the norm. The bettors were the dark end of the spectrum high rollers. Crime lords and their underlings, drug dealers who liked fights of any kind, seedy, shifty-eyed guys like his father who did things in the shadows and came here to watch live violence for entertainment, the bloodier the better.
The first event was the appetizer and warm-up. In an open area loosely ringed by the shouting crowd of spectators, nearly a dozen guys were engaged in a violent brawl. Weaving, ducking, punching, kicking, biting--a brutal free-for-all. Anyone signed up to fight--meaning someone on whom the bookies had taken odds--could jump in the ring and just start punching. Perfect for his mood. He stripped off his shirt and shoved through the crowd, slamming his fist into the first jaw that presented itself. The hit landed so hard it took the guy off his feet, spinning him around with a spurt of blood. He face-planted on the stained concrete.
Someone recognized Marius and the cry was taken up, a hot wave of noise. "Rabid, Rabid!"
Shutting everything else down, he waded into battle. He would keep fighting until he stood on a mountain of bodies. Or they buried him under them.
Regina found his car as she was making a circle around the parking area littered with trash and no cars. Attendees must be parking elsewhere. It sent a ripple of unease through her, because though the other fight she'd attended h
ad been illegal, there was illegal and there was criminal. This had the scent of the latter, which told all her smart brain cells she should get the hell out of here and regroup with Marius later.
But what happened if his state of mind kept him fighting until he was seriously injured...or worse? Not only was he spun up, but he was at a fight that might potentially have even less rules than usual.
The other venue had made it clear hot women were welcome at fights. She didn't know of many male-oriented events that didn't have the same policy. So ready or not, she was coming in. Parking next to his Civic and getting out of her car, she shrugged all her confidence and armor in place, marching up to the scarred gray alley door to knock on it.
"You lost, honey?"
She squashed a nervous start at the drawl. Turning, she saw a knot of men sitting in the shadows, sharing whatever their drug of choice was. The one who'd spoken to her was wiping the powder residue off his irritated nostrils.
"Not hardly," she said coolly. "I'm with one of the fighters. Rabid."
Another man grinned, showing oddly white teeth, a gold one winking in the middle. "Not here. No bitches allowed at this kind of fight. Rabid don't give a shit about you if he told you to come down here. Or he has a whore who likes being shared. Only pussy at this fight are fair game for all of us."
"Well, he didn't get the memo." She rapped sharply on the door again, without obvious hurry, and casually tried the latch, finding it locked. Praying someone would answer, she leaned on the wall next to the door, crossed her arms and eyeballed them with all the icy calm she was used to employing as a Mistress. However, the creeping fear sliding up her vitals told her that veneer wouldn't withstand the first man willing to break through it. She'd made a mistake. Now she had to figure out how to get out of it. Wits and calm were her best defense. Working in a prison had taught her that, too.
"I'll get my cell out of the car and call him," she said, putting bored annoyance in her voice.
As she straightened, they rose. Her panic climbed as others came out of the shadows.
"Yeah, you could make a break for that fancy car of yours," the ringleader said. He rubbed a hand over his crotch, a revolting gesture. He had a large, bald head, dark clothes and a sleeve tattoo that seemed to feature a lot of skulls. He could qualify as the poster child for lowlifes. "It's more fun to chase a girl."
"In your dreams," she said. Examining her nearest options, she saw a piece of rebar had been left next to the door, maybe to prop it open. There were a couple garbage cans, a small stack of bricks and a metal bucket with a mop in it. She picked up the rebar. "Stay the fuck away from me."
"Sure, honey." He nodded to the men on his right and put his hand on his belt. "I'm going to beat this bitch into submission and then fuck her ass. Take her down."
Blood. The repetitive thud of flesh on flesh. Screams as an arm broke somewhere. The roar of the crowd, like a TV gone to static late at night. When he was growing up, the old TV set in his room hadn't had cable, long past when everyone else had gotten their 100+ channels. One of the three channels it received played the national anthem in the small hours of the night before it went to that soft rush of white noise. He'd leave it on in the graveyard hours, so things couldn't get him in the dark. A futile wish.
"Look in that mirror by yourself and see what's not fucked-up. What's worth saving."
"What do you want for yourself?"
He'd dropped four before he tagged out of the ring and stood in the corner behind the crowd. As he caught his breath and knuckled blood off his chin, he watched the other fighters. He was scheduled for the fifth fight of the evening. But he already knew he wouldn't be hanging around for it. Tal would give him hell about it and they'd take some heat from the organizer. He'd figure out how to make it up to Tal. Fuck the rest of these assholes.
He'd tipped the top boiling rage out of his system, and other stuff was crowding in. Siren...all the Mistresses he'd harmed. He thought of Marguerite, who'd given him the first glimpse of what he really wanted. Regina had expanded that to a widescreen, panoramic view. She'd shown him it was okay for him to love and want. And maybe let himself be loved in return.
