Wolverine pulled around the back of the liquor store and groaned when he saw his bike parked next to an overflowing dumpster. From the number of trucks in the parking lot and the loud cheers and pounding music sounding from inside he knew it was fight night.
Aw shit, does she get off on torturing me?
He recalled grudgingly the way he’d glared at the little slip of a girl perched nervously on a bar stool at that hellhole in Laughlin City, sipping iron tinged tap water hesitantly as she stared at him, scared witless as he unsheathed his claws and threatened to take down a couple of rednecks and a shotgun toting bartender. The way he’d walked out of the bar and left her there with those assholes, not knowing or caring if what happened to her after he stalked out to his old camper, searching for answers.
And here he was again, except this time the thing he was searching for had probably parked it’s cute little ass on a barstool and was laughing herself silly about pulling one over on the Wolverine.
He snarled to himself as he walked in, ignoring the current fight in the cage and looking over to the bar. He almost expected to see her there in her old green cloak, clutching a glass of dirty water, momentarily going back in time. She wasn’t there, so she surveyed the screaming, jostling crowd and took a sniff.
Ugh, bad idea. The place smelled like piss and pigs. Gritting through the nauseating odors assaulting his senses, he finally picked up her smoky scent and raised his eyes to the far side of the bar.
And Wolverine’s jaw hit the floor. Actually his whole head almost hit the floor when his vision swam in front of him and he had to grab the bar to steady himself.
Rogue was in the cage, reaching through the wire to grab a shot of whiskey from the eager hand of some dumb redneck who’d thrust it at her. All gussied up in her emerald green and black leather shirt and pants, ass kicking knee high combat boots hugging every inch of her legs, she was deadliness wrapped up in sin and leather gloves. Wolverine checked his chin for drool, unsure if it was lust or the slavering before murder that made his mouth water.
Rogue leaned on one forearm against the side of the cage and tossed back the shot easily, then leaned over and dragged up a cigar from where it was smoldering in an ashtray on a stool in her corner. She took a drag and worked her jaw, rolling the taste in her mouth, before she threw the shot glass over the cage to let it shatter on the concrete floor on the other side. She put the cigar back down, and blew a stream of smoke through the wire into the face of the guy who’d given her the shot. She gave the asshole a saucy smile, then turned around to watch a couple of bouncers drag the unconscious form of a giant trucker looking fuck across the floor of the cage to dump him unceremoniously outside the gate.
The emcee picked up his mic and started shouting over the blaring music and boisterous crowd. “Alright, people! That’s four down and tonight’s champ is still going strong! Who wants to try their hand against the little lady! In addition to the $2000 pot you get the chance to get your hands all over this hot number!” And he gestured at Rogue, who was fannying around the ring, milking the crowd.
Is she blowing fucking kisses?
Wolverine growled harshly, causing a dyed blonde bimbo near him to squeak and drop her drink. He glared into her wide eyes and she took off, tottering as fast as her hooker heels could carry her away from the scary man at the bar.
He returned his attention to the cage where Rogue was swaggering around the edges, a cigar crammed in the corner of her mouth, taunting the crowd of screaming men around the cage. She wiggled her ass as she bent over to pretend to adjust her boot laces, purposefully driving the crowd into a frenzy.
The emcee continued to scream into the mic. “C’mon lads, no one wants to take on the lady? Are you all pussies?! Who wants to risk their life for shot at heaven? Takers, takers, any takers?! Ah, here we go! A new challenger!”
Wolverine snarled again and started towards the cage, only to stop with an evil grin spreading across his face as he watched a young blonde man in a baseball cap, maybe early 20s, step to the door of the cage, calling out to the emcee. He looked like a fucking college kid.
This should be hilarious.
Wolverine changed his mind about slashing the cage open, returned to the bar, ordered a double bourbon, and kicked back to see what would happen. The punk stepped into the cage and took off his jacket, flexing some unexpected wiry muscles in a dirty wife beater. Rogue put down her cigar and swaggered over to him as the emcee continued to talk up the combatants and urge people to place more bets. He could see the blonde’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what the guy was saying over the noise in the bar. The look on his face made it pretty clear he was talking some major smut to his girl. Wolverine’s fist tightened as the urge to snap out 3 feet of adamantium surged. To his chagrin, Rogue’s faced softened and she leaned towards the blonde, one finger twirling a white lock by her face. She said something back and the blonde laughed, a smug smirk on his face.
Flirting...grrrrr.
Wolverine’s chagrin turned to delight when the bell sounded and Rogue launched a surprisingly brutal knee to Blondie’s gut. The guy doubled over, his eyes wide with pain at what Wolverine desperately hoped was a ruptured large intestine. Rogue then jerked her other knee up to crack into the blonde’s jaw, snapping his head back just in time for her to lay an expert snake strike to the back of his neck, knocking the would-be Romeo out for the count.
The crowd went insane, screaming and cheering, and Rogue waggled her way around the cage again, strutting and grabbing drinks thrust at her through the wire, grinning like the Cheshire cat all the while.
Alright, maybe killing her can wait.
Wolverine ordered another double and lit a cigar, ready to enjoy the next victim. And the next, and the next. She beat the piss out of all of them and he was extremely entertained as he watched her knock some senseless in seconds and others she toyed with, letting them think they had the advantage before she got them in a hold or landed just the right blow to knock their teeth out or flood their eyes with blood from cuts she opened on their foreheads. He had to practically hang onto the bar to keep from falling over with uncontrolled laughter when she got one guy in an arm lock, which threatened to rip his shoulder from the socket, and demanded he scream for his mommy before she let him go and knocked him out with a kick to the head.
Hot damn, she’s on a tear.
Wolverine watched as she brought the pain to the 10th contender of the evening with a nice and nasty poke in the eye, then skipped back and laughed as the moron scrubbed at his face. She was all control and conniving and let him put her in a bear hug from behind, struggling like it was hurting for a minute and letting the oaf grin and twirl her around like it was the goddamn prom, then she slammed her head back into his nose, probably breaking it. But this guy did not know when to quit. Maybe it was getting his ass handed to him by a girl who weighed a buck twenty five soaking wet or the fantasy that he might get a chance at seeing what was under that leather if he won, but he wasn’t backing down and Rogue was making him pay the price one painful knock at a time.
Wolverine had gone way past laughing to being speechless at her fighting skills, which were something a couple of notches above what she’d ever shown in training sessions or on missions. She was all about the game, tripping back and forth between toying with her opponent and letting him feel like he got the upper hand for a moment, then batting him down to the floor again with a kick or a punch. She was pure ferocity wrapped in a sassy package, all helpless sweetness one moment and striking like a cobra the next.
Rogue finally put the poor guy of his misery with a hit to the throat that would’ve have put the guy on a ventilator if she hadn’t pulled her punch a wee bit. The emcee was barking for another contender but even the temptation of groping Rogue in the cage wasn’t enticing any more idiots to try their hand and get their asses kicked in front of everyone.
“C’mon, c’mon! No one! None?! You going to let her walk out of her with your money and every stitch of clothing still in place. Is no one willing to take on this little spitfire?!” The crowd was getting antsy, unhappy at the prospect of seeing Rogue waltz out with their hard earned dollars and nary a hair out of place on her pretty little head.
Wolverine cracked his neck and stalked through the crowd, making sure to throw a few snarls and growls and flexes at anyone who gawked at him too closely.
Yeh, don’t let them forget who owns this shit.
He wasn't going to fight. He was going to drag her crazy ass out of there before the crowd turned ugly.
Show’s over kid, time to go home.
He got to the gate and yelled, “Hey!” to Rogue, trying to get her attention.
The emcee’s whirled around and locked eyes on Wolverine. His eyes practically bugged out of his head in delight at the sight of the familiar hairy man. “Alright people, alriiiiiiiiight!!! We have a major treat for you now!!! What we have here is the man who has never lost a fight in this cage!!! The undisputed King of the Ring, your own Canadian Brawler, the Wooooooolverine!!!!” And the crowd went fucking nuts. Apparently his reputation on the cage circuit hadn’t diminished in the year since he’d last fought. The guy on the mic was practically foaming at the mouth at this stroke of good luck.
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Chapter End Notes:
Oh, you know what's coming next.