Novel & Cerita Fight Club Fan Art

A massive dirt clearing surrounded by a circle of pine trunks, holding thick netted fencing, fight club chic but make it rustic. Quirky without a doubt, but the setting is not the problem. Leo and River are in the middle of the ring bare knuckle sparring. Both topless. Both sweaty. Both wearing gray fucking sweatpants. I don’t remember giving my legs permission, but they stagger forward anyway, trying to offer me up as tribute. My brain’s screaming to look away, my eyes tell my brain to get fucked.

They had all gathered to discuss yesterdays events. Sorin tiredly plopped himself into grass , his shoulders aching from the fight he had fought yesterday. Since he always wore a mask during the fight , his face didn't get hurt or had any bruises but his body suffered because of that. Often aching and filled with bruises he got from the fists of the fighters aimed right at his bare body. "Did you talk to her?" Elijiah asked. "Yes, I talked to her and I warned her not to open her mouth" Sorin answered.

I growled, scrambling to my feet. The last guy swung a punch, and I barely dodged, countering with a sharp jab to his jaw. He staggered, and I followed up with a knee to his stomach. Take that, jerk. “Who’s next?” I demanded, surveying the crowd. The club was silent now, eyes glued to the chaos. The five men lay defeated at my feet, groaning and unable to move. Weak jerks. Then, amidst the hushed crowd, a slow clap broke the silence.

My jaw dropped and my breath hitched in my chest when my eyes fell on the words written above the familiar picture. “Girl punches guy who tried to grope her in a nightclub!”

I have to admit, if I had a mate as fine as Sheridan, I’d watch her coming and going as long as possible, too. Trey turns back to me and Simmon. His eyes narrow on me. “Hey, Alex,” his voice drips bitterness. “You still on to fight Friday?” “Last I checked, I was still on the schedule.” I quit working at the Fight Club as a bouncer a few weeks ago, but fighting is good for my bear. “Good.” Trey shows his teeth in a macabre grin. “We have a special guest ready to fight you. Be ready.” I watch him stride away. He’s a big, bad wolf, but not as dangerous as I am.

Three other victorious fighters from earlier matches trailed in as well, all of them tall, muscular futas with hungry eyes and growing bulges in their shorts. “Club rules, rookie,” Carla said, voice low and mocking. “You lose… you pay. And tonight you’re the locker room bitch.” Roxy tried to stand tall, but her legs were still shaky. “Fuck you. I’m not….” A heavy hand from behind shoved her forward. One of the other fighters, a tall Black futa named Jax grabbed Roxy’s sports bra and ripped it off in one brutal yank, exposing her firm breasts and hard nipples.

The door swings open, revealing Dalton and a few others. We step out and head toward the door, leaving the cars behind. Flint has Dalton knock and slide a note through the mail slot. When the door swings back open, it’s packed inside again. Does the fight club operate all the time? Are there really that many people into betting, fighting, and risking it all? Terry steps out from the crowd, but he’s not sporting that cocky grin and vibe he had yesterday. He looks cautious, uncertain. More of Terry’s crew gathers around him, forming a protective barrier.

The man behind me smiled, drunk and entitled. I slapped his hand away. He laughed and grabbed me again. I was ready to punch him. One hard hook to the jaw and I’d be free. But before I could raise my fist, the man was gone. Down. On the floor. Rafa was on top of him. Fists flew. One, two, three strikes brutal, fast, unrelenting. The man screamed as Rafa smashed his face in, blood slicking his knuckles like crimson paint. His eyes, those gorgeous, dark eyes were murderous. He didn’t blink. Didn’t pause. Didn’t care that the whole club was watching.

Tre had no idea that I didn’t play around either. I saw the pack members stand up and one guy bumped the prospect, Eric Coleman, with his shoulder. I put my beer down and moved forward in my seat as I watched them. One pack member threw the first punch and all hell broke loose as the brewing storm finally exploded into a full-blown fist fight.

If he gives me another chance, I won’t. “Fucking bitch,” he yells. The other man tosses me to the ground and cactus needles pierce my arms and back. The man I kicked boots me in the ribs and I roll, trying to protect myself. “Fucking spic. What the hell is our club fucking doing with a piece of brown meat?”