Jake shutters up behind Marcus, who's strolled off with his piece for the night. At least there wasn't an argument, but I don't miss the dark look in his eyes as they turn the corner. I get the tough decision he had to make there, fight or sex. Usually I’d choose sex but tonight is different.
"You ready?"
This comes from West. He doesn't need words. A nod will suffice and that's all he's gonna get when I'm trying to focus, now that we're finally heading out. He gives me a smirk and heads to the car. I walk over to my baby, Dot; my Ducati 916. Flame red, slick as hell and a throttle so throaty my insides weep with joy whilst passers-by hate me.
She's my pride and joy, a complete fixer upper that Rafe helped me with. We completed her six months ago and I've refused to travel in a car ever since. I never miss the pride in Rafe's eyes over Dot, our masterpiece but I also don't miss the sadness, probably because he's always talking about how I don't need him anymore.
I'm 18 in the morning, and still Rafe is the only person I will let past the walls I’ve built around myself. He saved me from the darkness, taught me how to have control over everything I wanted, made me feel safe even when I felt alone.
Helmet on, I give Dot a little rev and take off. They know I'll want to get in the zone and get my adrenaline pumping first and a quick run with this throttle beneath me will do just that. We're heading to the outskirts of the city tonight, to an old abandoned warehouse with dodgy as hell bouncers, cheap beer and queues a mile long full of people wanting a good time that involves money, blood, sweat and tears. Men will be flashing money at all who will look, and women will wear as little as possible hoping to bag themselves a slick fucker.
Usual Friday Fight Night means two rings, eight fights and sixteen fighters willing to risk their lives based on their skills and strength all for money, but mostly the high you get off the adrenaline pumping through your veins.
When the clock strikes a minute past midnight, I'll be on the cards.
Tonight, I fight.
*****
Getting my head in the right mindset I consider my life, remembering why I love the fight. The control.
I refuse to remember any of my life before twelve years ago. I started my life at six, a shell of a girl, feared a hug as much as my own shadow or the boogeyman. The nightmares that played over and over every night would ruin a grown man, let alone a small child. Rafe didn't really know what to do with me, so he made me fierce.
Rafe is pretty much my whole family, he keeps a roof over my head and food on the table. He was apparently my father's best friend since high school. Well, he drew the short straw since my mother dropped me at his front door at six years old like I meant nothing to her, like what we lived and experienced was nothing to her.
Instead, leaving me to deal with all this shit in my own head, where I refuse to accept or acknowledge the mess that led me here. Only allowing it to haunt my nightmares. In return, Rafe gets a dead best friend and a child. Like I said, short straw.
Rafe does everything you’d expect of a father. He is my biggest protector and supporter. He always put me first and taught me independence but if Rafe knew my plans for the night, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a stop to it and I'm not about to be caught now.
He'd been in the Armed Forces years prior as a sniper and was beyond practiced and skilled in Martial Arts as well as weapon. So, what does he do to help a six year old girl fight through the darkness? He teaches me MMA; Krav Maga, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai - you name it and I'll be shocked if I can't pull something out of the bag in that category.
I went from a scared little girl to taking Rafe down at 12 years old and I mean he's 6ft. 2" and built like he's competing for world’s strongest man.
I still train daily, I love the feeling of being in control of myself, of feeling a move and seeing it through, feeling my center and the power I have, my senses allowing me to feel my surroundings. There is nothing like it, well except sex, give me a man that’s gonna let me ride him as much as he wants to go all alpha on my ass, and it’s a close call.
This is the life I want, let my art flow onto skin during the day and pound it when the sun goes down, as long as I've got my bike I'm content. Money isn't an issue, my other skill set, that Rafe definitely doesn’t know about, is my ability to steal shit and people are willing to pay big for that. West knows but he wouldn't breathe a word to a soul. He's the one who named my thief persona 'Moon' as in Luna Moon, asshole, but it somehow stuck. It's even funnier that my last name is Steele, Luna 'Moon' Steele at your service.
People look at my 5ft 7" height and seemingly small frame and stroll on by. I wear loose fitted clothing to hide my definition underneath, there’s nothing better than catching them off guard. My dark brown wavy hair is usually thrown up in a ponytail or braids and it's a rare occasion for me to wear make-up, leaving my bright green eyes bare and myself unnoticeable.
Tonight is the first night I'll be able to fight.
