Free Fighter: A Bad Boy Romance by Autumn Avery

Nicky and lives vicariously through him, loving every second of him making me his bitch.
    I can’t help but wonder how much Nicky has riding on this game tonight. He’ll have the bookies in his pocket too if they don’t have enough cash to deliver. I look back at my opponent, still shaky on his feet, but still the same look of determination on his face.
    He still thinks he can do this.
    He thinks I’m old and weak.
    And Nicky thinks I’m someone he can walk all over.
    And that’s when I make my decision.
    I step out into the ring and the kid comes at me swinging. He’s too fucked up to strategize anymore. If he’d ever had any coaching he would be pacing himself, but he’s young, eager and stupid, and he’s out for blood.
    I duck his haymaker and the follow up jab. I step back, circling so I can get Nicky in my field of vision. The boy swings and I duck and fire back, putting the full force of my legs into the blow.
    My knuckles connect with his chin, and I hear a sickening crack. I broke his jaw.
    The boy’s eyes roll back and he topples over and slams down on the mat.
    Knockout blow.
    Nicky looks like someone just called him a cock sucker in front of his parents.
    How about that, dickhead? I think.
    I look at him, look down at the boy, then back at Nicky and shrug.
    Fuck that. No one owns me .

11

Jenny
    N one of my regulars are coming in tonight. I texted all of them: Tom, Frank, Jeremy and his wife Carol, and Charles. Usually I can let one of them know I’m working and they’ll come in, order champagne, book the room and I’ll sit there and listen to their problems. But not tonight. No one’s coming in tonight, and that means I’m going to have to work the room.
    I hate working the room. I might even have to dance. It’s the worst. Not only do I just hate dancing, but you make less money, and you have to deal with the biggest assholes. The guys without any money are the ones who go to the stage and throw dollar bills at you. But they only throw about twenty bucks at the most. I can make six hundred an hour in the champagne room, and I don’t have to get my top off or feel like a piece of meat.
    The men who come to see me do it because they want someone to talk to. Some of them have lost their wives, or have never had a wife, or are just older and lonely and need someone to listen to their problems. They don’t want me for sex, they don’t want me to get naked, they just want someone to give them a little companionship, and that’s what I’m good at. I like to listen, and I like to give advice. I make them all feel special, because they are. We’re all special, and everyone should have someone they can talk to.
    Some of them want to spoil me even more. I’ve had offers to live with them for a yearly stipend, or men who have offered to buy me a car or a new television. But I turn them down for all that. I’ll work at the club, I’ll talk to them, but I don’t want my entire life being run by another person. I don’t want to uproot my children. I don’t want to set an example for my daughter. I want her to make her own choices and not grow up thinking men are nothing but a meal ticket. I don’t want to believe that either.
    I look in the mirror and take a deep breath. I’ve put on more make up than normal, and I’ve sexed it up a bit. I’m wearing stockings and a thong, and I actually have a laced bra under my t-shirt, giving me another layer to strip off if I actually end up going topless.
    I check my cell to see if Alicia has called to tell me she’s on her way. It’s getting close to eight so she should be getting here soon. Just as I’m finishing up my eyeliner, I hear a knock at the door. Bruno and Chester, my two pitbulls, go apeshit and start barking.
    “Shh, it’s just Alicia,” I say, patting them on the head. They cool down just a bit, but they won’t go out of attack mode until they see her.
    I step out of the bathroom and through the kitchen.
    “Hey, Alicia,” I say as I