Free Ultimate Prize by Lolita Lopez

Chapter One
    Bored beyond belief, Zel Tesla dragged his gaze away from the gyrating, whip-cracking dancer
    entertaining the room. Heady cigar smoke melded with the faint aromas of aged rums and cognacs in the
    VIP room of Las Vegas’ hottest gentleman’s club. An invitation-only crowd of promoters, agents, fighters
    and hangers-on packed the darkened space.
    Smirking, Zel noticed his sparring partner, Gary, surreptitiously adjusting himself. A little farther down,
    Mace McCoy, his soon-to-be opponent, relaxed in his chair and sipped his beer. Stocky and heavily
    muscled, Mace had always reminded Zel of a bulldog. He even had the pronounced lower jaw and
    underbite. Their eyes met briefly across the darkness. Even in the friendly atmosphere of the get-together,
    the spark of aggressiveness and competition reared its head. For the first time in quite a while, Zel was
    actually looking forward to a fight. Worthy opponents were few and far between.
    Zel’s gaze returned to the performer on the low dais at the front of the room. Dressed like a Gothic
    pixie, the young woman in shiny black latex panties and side-lacing red stiletto thigh-high boots danced
    seductively and swung her whip. Brittle streaks of red wax clung to her perky breasts.
    While her show appeared to enthrall the rest of the room, it did very little for Zel. She brought visions
    of flogging and boot-licking to his mind, neither of which he found particularly sexy. Luckily the two
    previous performers had appealed to him. For the most part, so far Troupe Eros, an infamous touring
    group of exotic dancers and burlesques, impressed him. For once the upper management of Lazzo
    Promotions, the parent company that promoted and profited from a trio of mixed martial arts leagues, had
    chosen a worthy entertainment for their mixer prior to the Caged World Championships.
    The curtain fell as the Gothic pixie’s dance ended. Hip-hop music filtered through the sound system,
    masking the sounds of the stage being struck and reset. Scantily clad waitresses roamed the room, offering
    alcoholic beverages and cigars. Zel dismissed a waitress by lifting his glass of ice water. Smiling
    understandingly, she moved along to the next patron. Curious as to the next performer, Zel picked up the
    glossy program resting on his lap and thumbed through the pages.
    Before he could find the right page, the lights dimmed and a soft, pulsing Latin beat began playing. The
    curtain lifted to reveal a bathroom and dressing area reminiscent of the art deco heydays of Miami. Black-
    and-white-checkered floor and subway tiles lent an air of realism to the set. A white clawfoot tub sat
    downstage, a black lacquered vanity and tufted chartreuse bench just to its right. An armoire stuffed with
    bright silks and satins and a dresser overflowing with lingerie rounded out the furniture props. A bottle of
    tequila, shot glass, saltshaker and bowl of limes perched atop the dresser. Gauzy white curtains framed a
    false balcony and billowed in a fake breeze. Potted palms gave the scene a South Beach feel.
    Brassy and bold, the salsa tune’s tempo and volume increased. Finally, a colorfully costumed young
    woman strutted onto the stage, her ample hips swiveling side to side in perfect rhythm with her music.
    Enthusiastic applause greeted Chula Rubens, the world-renowned BBW burlesque.
    The sight of the voluptuous beauty paralyzed Zel—he couldn’t even lift his hands to clap.
    When the stage lights fully illuminated her face, he recognized her as the sultry, curvaceous goddess
    gracing the billboard near his training center. In that photograph, her shiny black hair splayed wildly about
    her head as she reclined against a mound of pink pillows, her luscious figure barely covered in upscale
    lingerie. Seeing the real thing eclipsed the billboard he’d often lusted after. Zel swallowed hard and
    watched.
    Tonight Chula wore a strapless hot pink gown similar to Carmen Miranda’s gaudy getup. As