Page 1 of Driving My Obsession

ChapterOne

Ambrose

Club lights strobe above me, their pinkish-purple array casting a warm glow on what little skin I’ve left exposed. My leather jacket covers my arms, but the scars on my head and face are still on display. The place smells like sweat, like the walls have been painted with the stuff. They probably have been.

A woman with raven hair stumbles onto the stage. Black panties hug her hips, and a black-and-white sequined bra covers her tits. I can’t help but think of my mother as her hips begin to sway. As she gyrates along with the beat. She climbs the pole and hangs on by her thighs as she reaches back and unclips her bra, exposing one of the worst boob jobs I’ve ever seen. Puckered skin surrounds two huge bags of saline.

A topless blonde catches my eye, and she dons a soft, sweet look as she starts toward me. That expression fades when the lights flash and catch on my disfigurement. Disgust has a unique look to it. It’s so hard to hide.

I take out a stack of money and wave it in front of her as she tries to sashay past me.

Her throat constricts as she gulps, probably swallowing the bile that rose into her mouth at the thought of grinding against someone who looks like me. “I would, but I’m on my way to another private dance,” she says, looking toward the back rooms.

I lower my cash to my lap and allow her to think she’s fooled me. As she nears the back room, I look away, knowing she’ll glance back to see if I’m watching. Then the dirty little whore has the audacity to stroll to the bar and casually order a drink and sit down to talk to her coworkers. I hate liars. I’d rather you admit to my face that you don’t want to dance for me because of how I look. Don’t lie. Lying hurts worse.

She’d make a good target. That’s why I’m in this shithole, after all. To find the vessel to receive all the anger that pours from me like a never-ending fountain. I don’t get hard when I see these women with their goods on display. If anything, the opposite occurs and my dick tries to invert itself to get away from their filthy bodies.

The blonde walks by me again, as if I forgot about her lie. I pull her into me and she whimpers, but no one will hear it over the loud music.

I lean toward her ear. “I got these scars from surviving what should have killed me, you judgmental bitch.”

I release her and she scurries away, looking back at me with wide eyes as she runs toward the back room. She probably plans to tattle on me, so it’s time I make my exit.

I leave the club and get in my Jeep. I have somewhere I need to be, and I should have been there sooner, but my desire for revenge has been eating away at me recently. If I could resurrect the person who hurt me, I’d do what I should have done and pour my wrath into her. Since she’s no longer an option, another whore will have to do.

When I pull up to the warehouse, I struggle to find a parking spot amongst the tightly packed cars. Stifling warm air engulfs me as I leave my Jeep behind and head inside.

I walk into a roaring crowd. Fists fly toward the stage as a fight rages on in the center of the room. Blood splatters across the makeshift ring’s concrete floor, and bodies collide with the filthy ropes marking its perimeter.

I recognize one of the fighters. Boris is a Slavic beast. Despite his tiny stature comparatively, he’s a monster in the ring. Had I been here earlier, I’d have had time to play the crowd for this fight. The fresh faces almost always bet against him, not realizing the power contained in that smaller body. They also don’t realize he fights dirty. Darby, the club’s owner, doesn’t have any rules to break, probably because he thinks it makes for a more interesting experience when someone’s fucking ear gets ripped off and spat onto the concrete.

It kinda does.

The bell rings, signifying the end of the fight, and Boris charges off the stage. His wide smile peeks through the blood coating his face like a gory mask.

He spots me in the crowd and heads toward me. “Beautiful fight,” he says, a thick Slavic accent coating his words.

“Looked good.”

“Felt good, too.” He gives me a rough pat on the back before heading toward the locker rooms.

The sharp scents of blood and sweat fill my nose as I suck in a breath and weave through the crowd. They’re focused on the two men readying to fight the next match, and that’s fine with me. It gives me a chance to study their faces and find my mark. I don’t want to screw up and swindle the same fucker twice.

I spot a new face in the crowd, his dirty fist gripping a wad of bills as he counts out what he’s just won. The idiot might as well be waving a sign with my name on it. Judging by the smile on his face, he’s already won a few others tonight. Sure would be a shame if he lost while he was on a streak.

“You got a bet on this fight?” I shout over the roar around us.

He offers a glance my way, then returns his gaze to the men.

I pull out a wad of money to rival his, and that gets his attention. “I’m willing to put everything on the underdog,” I say. “If I lose, you’ll get twice what you put in. You game?”

His eyes go to his winnings. He’s weighing it up in his mind, and the bait is too tempting to pass by. The underdog in this fight hasn’t won since he joined our little club eight weeks ago, but he’s due for a win tonight. This guy doesn’t know that, though. Only I know.

I set it up, after all.

“Tell you what,” I shout. “I’ll give you till the end of the first round to decide.”

The man nibbles his lower lip and turns his attention to the ring. The fighters circle each other a few times before the bigger guy takes a swing and sends the underdog against the ropes. The one-sided beating continues for a few more minutes before the schmuck to my left eyes the fighters once more and shakes my hand.

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