Page 23 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 3

“My stage name’s Big Red.”

My eyes scan down to her breasts, understanding the “Big” part. Those suckers have to be in the neighborhood of double D cups. “Have you been doing this long?”

She laughs and turns back toward the mirror, dragging a tube of bright red lipstick across her lips. “A little while. You dance?” I catch her eyes giving me a once over in the mirror.

“No. I’m … waiting on a friend.”

“She’s Ripley’s. Stay back if you know what’s good for you.” The dark-haired one from earlier, Bianca, winks at me and goes back to swiping through her phone.

“Ripley?” London’s eyes go wide before she runs her fingers through her hair. “He scares me. Him and that other guy, Jörgen. They’re just … big.”

You have no idea.

“Yeah, so tell us, girl.” The one with multi-colored hair pulls a chair up beside me. “What’s he like?”

With a shy smile, I shrug, not really sure what they’re asking about. Dick size? Personality? “He’s nice.”

“Nice?” Bianca’s head kicks back with a laugh. “Ripley does not have a reputation of nice.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s about as cold as they come. I think tonight is the first time I’ve heard him say more than three words. He’s so stiff and, I don’t know, serious. We thought he was gay until you came in here.”

Really? I want to ask if he’s fucked any of them, but one of the girls, a curvy brunette, waggles her brows before I get the chance and I know what’s coming.

“You slept with him yet? Does he have a big dick?”

Bianca hits her in the arm, and frowns, shaking her head. The brunette I’ve not yet met holds the spot she was hit and smiles.

“Oh c’mon. You all were thinking it. I’ll bet he’s hung like a fucking ox.” She bites her lip, and for whatever reason, a twinge of possession strikes a second time. It pisses me off that I give a shit. “He probably fucks like he fights.”

“Ripley fights?” I ask, suddenly intrigued.

“Holy shit, girl. Only once, but that was enough.” The girl slides her hand between her thighs and shivers. “He may not be magazine pretty with those scars, but take his shirt off and throw him into a fight and that man becomes a god.”

The look of confusion on my face must be obvious because Ella starts in after her. “So sometimes the bosses host a fight night down in the basement.”

“Testosterone-glutted wanna-be Fight Club,” Bianca interrupts, rolling her eyes, and lights up a cigarette.

“Anyway,” Ella continues, “A few weeks back, some guy was giving him shit. Challenged Ripley to fight. First time I’ve ever seen Ripley in that cage and boy was a beast, let me tell you what.”

“Fucked that dude up real bad.” Bianca shakes her head, taking a drag of her smoke. “I heard he nearly killed Enzo when he tried to stop the fight.”

“Who’s Enzo?” I ask.

“One of the Bertrand brothers. They own this club. Enzo is creepy as all hell. Makes my skin crawl.” Just like that, Ella gives Ripley’s mysterious boss a name.

“He is.” Brow furrowed, London’s lip crimps, and she turns back to the mirror.

“This club is a magnet for assholes, so watch yourself. Not that you have much to worry about with Ripley hawking you.” Raising a hand, Ella diverts her gaze from me. “No offense, but that bastard had me wet the whole fucking fight. Bitches still talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

I glance toward the voice, and a woman in a bright red dress with a plunging neckline saunters up to the group. Ella’s eyes widen, her face turned away from the woman and she straightens in her seat.

“Just talking about Ripley.” Bianca sucks in a long inhale and blows it up toward the dark-haired woman who must be in the neighborhood of fifty, I’d imagine.

“Oh? What about him?”