Wench With Wings (2 page)

High school graduation he had one thing in mind; get up enough money to go to college without the ‘dirt bag’ name and prove to himself that he would make something of himself. First he needed another job other than a motorcycle mechanic on nights and weekends and drove a Honda to boot because of it. Yes, he would keep that job but also get another as a laborer during the day. He started the day after his graduation and that Friday after his first week of being a laborer a couple of the guys hit up the bar and he went. Another first hit him that night; he became aware of the easy woman that would give it up for a night and he used them to give
his love then would walk away before they could throw him away. He didn’t just screw them like a one night stand, he made the best he could passionate love to them. He would touch them gently, spray soft kisses all over their body, smoothly glide into them, pleasure them till they came before he would take his pleasure and do the same. He put their cloths back on, held them while rubbing their back till they fell asleep than he would leave before they woke, never to see them again. Hey, he grew up with a family that he never felt loved by and girls that would never give him a chance, what else was he supposed to do? He had love to give, but he never gave them a chance to throw him away.

He liked being bloody, he liked pain physical ‘cause the mental abuse was just to
damn unbearable. Covered in tats that he only allowed the artist fifteen minutes at a time to do because the pain became numb and that wasn’t the point, so he’d come back night after night just for that fifteen minutes to relive the pain the right way as he thought it was; physical. If it was numb it was not worth enduring. Words were numb.

After six months of work, boos, hos and the fact that his tats were starting to be meaningless he knew he was getting out of control. He was saving enough money to start with the next step of his recovery. So he set his best friend to start looking for colleges. Dane Martmai
n was his only friend growing up. He always stayed close, always had his back and was as loyal as they come. He even waited a year to go to college just so they could go together. The one and only person that never threw him away and Ayden knew he never would; that he had faith in. He was smart, liked the arts and could have a career drawing. It was something he enjoyed and could defiantly make a name for himself in.

The news came from Dane that his life was going to start a good change. The college was one of the best art schools, had an underground fight ring run by an unbeatable women that fought against guys and she was also a tattoo artist
. It’s far away from the image he was given instead of the one he now created. He could finally start new, never be known as ‘dirt bag’ and he can prove himself anew. He went straight to applying for grants and got in, he had money saved and more would be by the time they started. He was in his glory.

They went to visit the college trying to get in to see the one that ran the fights or at least catch her name, number, something but nothing other than everyone saying about the same thing. ‘She finds you, you don’t find her.’ ‘Sign up, attend and if she thinks your worthy she’ll let you know.’ ‘Nobody talks of it out loud, not the fights, not when they will happen and ce
rtainly not to her about it. 'The women are completely bad ass, like ass kicking bad ass. She teaches only chic’s to fight. The girls fight the guys also so if you get in the ring with a girl which will be the first you’ll have to fight to move up the line. At first you won’t want to swing, but don’t hesitate long they will take advantage and kick your ass worse for it, they will demand your respect. Pity does not for them.

’
Bad ass fighting girls, a phantom chic that sounds more bad ass than he ever thought possible. What more could he ask for. This place fit him well. Yup, this was the school for him. This was defiantly the place he wanted and needed to be at to become the man he couldn’t wait to be. He was no longer the ‘dirt bag.' He could fight, he could get tats by a bad ass sounding women and most importantly, he could succeed with one of the best art schools to back him.

***

Chapter One:

And The Story Begins

A week in and to his relief, he finally figured out where to get a tat and by the goddess, he was hard just watching. Three beautiful women stood in front of him half naked, guns in hand, giving tats to three boys that squirmed. ‘Oh! They were in for a treat with him,’ he thought. His need for pain was more so overwhelming than the need to release himself with meaningless sex even though it’s been a week. He took a deep breath to settle his groin down because one of these women were the one he needed. He needed that fight and more so he wanted just that girl that would give it to him. He looked between the three chic’s that were a straggling array in front of him. Just by the way they looked he couldn’t determine which one it was he needed to meet but he had to be sure, he had to get it right the first approach, it had to be her and no other. There was no room for a mistake at this point. He would have to single her out right up front, it would show his strength of character to her. He thanked whatever goddess that was looking down on him because she sent all three women to greet him. He knew it would be the look in her eyes that gave her away, she had to mirror what the look in his eyes where; deeply scorn, courageous and not so much lost just searching for the new perfect victim their venom would paralyze. He looked into each of their eyes down the row than back again. It had to be the one in the middle. Not only was there a different kind of look in her eyes but it seemed fit that her so called body guards or lap dogs would bring up her flanks. He moved back to her eyes and he swore he saw a twinkle of delight.

She cocked her head so slightly no one could have possible noticed, not even him. She saw something deep in his look that intrigued her like no other has and she quickly changed her stance to more of a defensive one; one she never used. “You’ve stared long enough. Did you get your fill or would you like me to pour it out after I kick your snarky confidence down a notch
.”

He smirked because he knew, somehow that it would irk her and he wanted to push her as close to the edge as he could ‘
because that’s where he wanted her. It’s where she had him; right on the verge of grabbing a hold of her and plummeting to his death

“Wow! The shmuck can smirk, everyone! Could we get a round of applause for the scared weenie trying to act all
tuff?” No one laughed, didn’t even crack the smallest of smiles, but they did all give a couple claps.

“Impressive
. I’ve never seen a joke so entertaining that no one believed good enough to at least fake a smile. But hey, I could show you just what it means to be entertaining.” His flirtatious voice dripped of no sarcasm in the slightest and the genuine smile that reached his stone colored grey eyes light up sun touched at the end with a mischievous question. The strong un-faked confidence is what caught her eye. Though his stance was all wrong for his face, it was almost like he was cowering, slumped in defeat, she wondered why.

She
just stood there staring deeper into his eyes trying to see into every depth that just became physically noticeable. He shrugged, "Fuck it and fuck them!” He leaned a bit and raked his head over to the three waiting for their tats to be finished than looked back to her eyes, “I want you,” he paused, “to finish a tat for me.” He yanked his long sleeve shirt up and over his head in a seductive motion that covered his tat infested body than turned his back and peaked over his shoulder mischievously at her. “The wings of a wench… ah I mean, wrench.”

She had to think fast what other choice did she have but to regain her control that he stole. She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers with his and whipped him around with a bit of ‘show off’ strength and smiled an even better mischievous smile than his and said sweetly, “Ok!” He smirked, victoriously that she divulged in. Yup, she had him believing she was in the palm of his hand
, but really who had the power? She was about to literally put a gun to his skin, a palm to his back with a spurious loving caress and enjoy every bit of pain he would suffer at her hands. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to call it a true win because covered in the amount of tats he was; he must be able to endure the pain but she stilled smiled when she ready her gun. That first flinch would only be a small victory of his pain she would enjoy. But when she was entirely finished with him he would be on his knee until she throws him away like the trash he is.

Her smile faded when no flinch came and his sigh of relief when the gun touched home must have been the reason of his slumped defeat but it made her cringe instead, not from a failed victory, more of an arousal she had never felt before. Not one this frustrating anyway. How could him being enlightened with pain turn her on the way it did?

He didn’t endure the pain that was something he learned to throw away just like he had been. He learned to enjoy it, revel in it, take it hostage and create pleasure with it. She dug in trying to make it hurt as much as she could and he knew it. Time past and he sighed in depressed defeat.

“How long has it been?”

“I don’t know, maybe five minutes.”

“Well that’s
damn disappointing and irritating. You can stop, its already numb. Nice job, I really wanted your hand to touch me longer.” She jerked her hand off his back in disgust, she wasn’t done toying with him, but still she shut the gun off. When he turned over her eyes flew to his crotch and she saw his obvious turn on and was appalled but equally aroused, which made it appalling that much more to her. ‘Goddess what the hell is wrong with me,’ she thought than shook her eyes and looked up in his amused expression.

“Is it frustrating you enough to do something about the problem you caused me?”
He gestured his head towards his arousal.

“No, not frustrating, infuriating because of the idiocy of it.”

“Than is it the idiocy I see that has darkened your eyes with want or thee infuriating feeling that I have witnessed that your about to take me.”

“Take you! Ha! The only place I’m about to
take you is out with the trash,” she spit out. He reels back eyes wide.

“Would you really be able to throw me away? I
think I look like a souvenir to you, with that look in your eyes you spotted something
shinny
to play with. I think you want to prop me up on a middle shelf, so you can gaze at me all night while your thoughts of what you want to do to me dance in your head.” While saying it he stood up and grabbed his shirt putting it back on, than kisses her on her cheek nonchalantly and leans into her ear to whisper, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time. Maybe you could get rid of the rest of the eyes in this room so you can do to me what I know you’ll be thinking about until this time tomorrow. Just don’t lose too much sleep, I don’t like mine dead.”

“Oh! You’ll be the one that’s dead, buddy.” He snuffed a laugh turning his back and walking out.

“Wholly mother goddess! Did I really just witness that? That boys got you cracking,” Jos laughed.

“Seriously! Mother of fuck! The only thing you just witnessed Jocelyn, is a boy that is
so
gonna fall by my hand to his knees and beg for me not to ensue more. Can you believe him? No one talks to me like that and gets away with it, not unscathed anyway, and the fucker didn’t even pay me.” She reeled.

“He’ll pay and a higher price I’m sur
e. Let’s go get some shots. Screw this place for the day!”

“Agreed!
You coming Gwen?” Gwen was third in the pact; pretty much the omega and the best thing to clean up messes; all of them not just the physical ones. She has a way about her just to state the facts without judgment. She was almost like the mother hen, standing back letting her kids make their own mistakes than just stating the obvious they didn’t see.

“Na, go ahead, I’ll close up shop.”

“Thanks chic!”

Three shots later she began the ‘text tree.’

Comhrac ~ 11 ~ CHB ~ JP & RD ~ CW & NJ ~ BK & TS

She needed to beat someone and considering his number wasn’t on the list yet anyone would do. ‘Yet’ She cursed herself. She heard about him but wasn’t sure of him worthy, she sure as hell was now. She wanted to beat him. Bloody! She would get his number tomorrow. She hasn’t felt this uncontrolled since she was nine and that is about to change with her first strike. ‘Fuck it and fuck them,’ she thought then remembered he quoted her motto and it just infuriated her more. She’d loose the fight tonight if she didn’t get it under wraps so she ran the two miles to the fight destination. Leaping onto cars and flipping off, spinning foot first across buildings, hopping trash cans that made her smirk and swinging round house kicks around telephone poles. She stopped a few minutes away and gave some deep breaths collecting herself and slipping into ‘entertaining mode’ before flipping the switch to ‘destroy mode,’ the one where she would enjoy breaking her toys then fixing them, just to throw them away. She sighed, ‘Entertaining. Ha! Wait until you see my real entertaining mode, jerk.
'

She slipped into the
C
ampus
H
all
B
asement (the place she goes for more excitement is on campus; more illegal; more of a rush,) just before
11
o’clock, in stealth. Playing; the silent huntsman, peering around corners, slinking along the hall walls, ducking under windowed doors and scurrying the long stretches. When she finally reached the basement she was running on pure deviled excitement. This was her thing, her savior, her out. She scrambled threw the crowd, making herself unnoticed until the table platform that was set up in the middle and she drawled out as she hopped up on it, “Alright! Alright you pansies! Let’s get this show on the road! No one’s gonna make a buck if the waters stagnate and the animals are all dead! Who would be entertained? We want the loch ness monster, the crocodile king and the whittle ole lamb about to be devoured! Everyone knows the deal; pay the pretty ladies in red dresses to place your bets. No going in the ring or you will no longer be let in the circle. The winner is the one who don’t get knocked out first. You can tap out but you will no longer get a chance at a knock out. The list of three fights went out on your phones, JP & RD, CW & NJ, BK & TS. Pick your fights, pick your bets, send in your texts. An ‘ok’ will be sent back with your payments. Enjoy the night of good fights!”