The Mercenary

Mercy

"You killed it out there, Mercy!" Amelia smiled sweetly as she walked by my side. We walk through a crowd of people who are huddled too close for comfort, just to see two people bleed.

As we get out of the crowd, a man tried to hand me a dry piece of cloth, but I shake my head and keep walking. I look to the floor beside me, collect the saliva and blood in my mouth, spit it onto the floor, wipe my mouth with my shirt, and then take my shirt off. Underneath, I wore only a black bralette, but it almost seemed like an organized outfit with my black joggers and shoes.

"They don't call you Merc for nothing!" Mr. Archer told me as he handed me a small envelope. I hand it to Amelia, so she can count the contents. Mr. Archer smiles, knowing all of my cash is there. "So, Mercenary, assuming you hold up your name in your fights, you'll keep making this much money every week until we hit a year or I decide you're good enough to move up." I nod, already having known this deal.

Amelia & I look around and then at each other. "I think I can handle it." I say like the smart ass I am.

"Don't forget, babygirl..." He puts his hand to his neck and motions as if he's cutting his own throat with his thumb, "If you lose a fight in this first year, you're out." Amelia and I nod before heading for the door. I turn around at the entrance and look at the large, open basement filled with warm bodies that want blood. Fight Club style.

"I think you deserve a drink." Amelia suggested as I let the door slam behind us. She moves to get beside me and puts her arm around my shoulder.

"I've got to clean up first. I smell like boy sweat and blood." I remind her, as I always have to.

"My two favorite things." She kisses my cheek and smiles sweetly.

"You and I didn't wear these heels to go home alone, babygirl." She says as I look down at my Nike sneakers. "Here," She pulls a pair of heels from her purse, "Put these on."

"How did you even fit those in there?" I ask, amazed, as she hands me a pair of black heels that have to be at least 4 inches tall.

"Don't doubt me." Is her response as I stare at the shoes for a second. I take them from her and continuing to walk around the side of the building, into the nightclub. The bouncer doesn't stop us or seem to even notice as he continues to card the other potential guests.

I immediately walk to the bathroom, weaving through everyone and keeping my head down. In the bathroom, I wipe up my face, which hurts a little where I'd gotten hit. I look at myself in the mirror and notice a cut in my lip, where most of the blood had come from. Now that the blood is dry, I wet a new paper towel and dab at the dried blood, cleaning it the best I can before taking a breath and climbing onto the dirty, porcelain sink.

I take my shoes off one at a time and replace them with these black heels. As if on cue, Amelia makes her way into the bathroom, too. She takes my shoes and puts them in her bag not caring that they're covered in sweat and blood and probably smell terribly.

"So," She takes out the envelope from Mr. Archer. "What's the budget?" I tell her to take $500 for herself. She smiles and hugs me, telling me I look beautiful, then goes on her way.

I tell her to have fun and that I'll come find her when it's time to leave. We both leave the bathroom, her going toward the dancefloor, and I go to the car.

I walk outside, put her bag under the front seat of my car, and try to make my way back inside, which is going to take a minute, because there's a crowd of men laughing and joking as they walk toward the door. I don't want to get caught up with them. That would be something bad waiting to happen, even if I am a fighter. The bouncer took his time IDing all of them.

"Hey, beautiful!" One of the men yells, but I ignore it, hoping he wasn't talking to me. "Hey!" He yells again, obviously already intoxicated. He starts stumbling his way away from his friends, toward me.

"Hey!" The bouncer yells toward him, but he isn't listening. "Get your fucking friend before I kick you all to the curb!" He is still making his way closer to me as the bouncer counts down like a mother would, and none of the boys in that group have enough brain cells to listen to the bouncer.

"Hey, baby. Come in with me! Let me buy you a drink!" The man said, finally coming close enough to lay a hand on my shoulder. It's okay for a second, but then he lets his hand move toward my breasts. I immediately grab his arm. "You've got an amazing grip, girly." He smirks, "That'll come in handy later." He emphasizes the "handy" then blows a kiss at me, which is the last straw.

I take his hand and quickly spin him around, making it possible for me to perform my favorite move. I look at his back then take my pointer fingers and, on both sides of the man's neck, I jab his pressure points. He very quickly puddles to the ground like jello, as if all of his joints and bones have become liquid.

"Nice one," The bouncer compliments. "Too bad I'm gonna have to take the credit for it."

"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely not understanding.

"We can't have a nice young lady like you serving jail time." He compliments again, but not with a flirty tone. I take it and smile to him.

"Thank you." Is my response as I nod and pass him to enter the club again.

Inside, I immediately start to look for Amelia, hoping she wants to dance with me instead of some random guys. I find her, but I also see her already grinding on a tall, blonde man. I gave her a wink as we made eye contact, to which she smiles, and I turn to go toward the bar.

"Vodka straight and strong." I request, taking a seat at the bar. The bartender nods as I pull out my phone.

"Thanks." I say, taking the shot glass from him. I raise my shot toward him, then down it as someone sits down beside me. I glance at them, then ask for two more shots.

The bartender drops two shots in front of me, letting me know that they're all on the house, meaning I get them for free. I thank him and turn to the newly filled barstool next to me.

"Hey, there, stranger." I slide one shot to the tall, dark haired man sitting beside me. His hair is poorly braided, but his cologne hasn't changed in almost 10 years. I dial up my native accent and ask, "What's a fuckin' kiwi like you doing all the way out 'ere, mate?"

"Mercedes?" The person on the stool next to me asks. We exchange smiles at first, then he immediately looks panicked. "Whoa!" He very quickly pulls his thumb up to my lip and rubs some blood away then looks at his hand.

"Just peachy." My Aussie accent is now almost completely gone.

"Damn, it's been a while, huh?" His accent is just as strong as ever. He didn't further question my busted lip, and I doubt he could see my bruising in the club's low lighting.

"I guess it has..." I pull out a few bills and hand them to the bartender. "Reunion shots?" I turn to the man and he shrugs. "Reunion shots!"

The bartender lines up some shots for us. As soon as we down one, he's got another ready for us. Catching up is going to make this a long night.