Jared then paired up the other Keja with another of the Pagoris. The Keja was exhaling tiny thorns which I guessed were poisonous to some degree. However, as his opponent had the power to deflect or negate anything thrown at him with just the wave of his hand, the thorns simply hit the floor each time. I never got to see what effect exactly the thorns could have as Jared stopped the duel on realising they were both as good as each other.
The last two Pagoris were next – one being the annoying but cute Slaphead. He winked at me before confidently heading to the northern point of the building. His gift was so extraordinary that the whole thing was over in seconds. He had the power to cause temporary sensory paralysis, rendering his opponent blind, deaf, and mute. As such, he was shooting his superhuman breath blindly – literally.
I was next. And I lacked an opponent.
Jared sighed and stared at me through narrowed eyes. I half expected him to say ‘I’m afraid there’s no one to duel with you, you’ll have to run along home.’ But instead, he started removing his jacket.
“I guess I’ll have to be your duelling partner.”
Here’s an excerpt of my contemporary romance story, ‘From Rags’
CHAPTER ONE
It was amazing how alcohol had the power to make people think they were attractive, mused Jaxxon. Or, in this case, some sort of gift to women. Thank God there was the bar to separate her from this bald, heavy-set bloke who was so drunk that both his eyes were fighting for one corner. For the past half hour, while he swayed and slurred, he had been flirting shamelessly with her. His ‘come hither’ smile revealed a set of Nicorette stained teeth – oh wait, it wasn’t actually a full set. And ‘flirting’ wasn’t quite accurate. Not unless you considered dirty talk, sexual innuendos, and being given flashes of body parts to be flirtatious behaviour. More like sick-minded crap.
Needless to say, she wasn’t inspired to welcome him into her arms and body. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t getting the message. Even the words ‘get the fuck out of my face’ hadn’t fazed him. Jaxxon was now itching to get out of the dingy, stuffy pub – she was tired, hungry, and feeling homicidal. But she was pretty sure that Joe, the landlord of the pub, wouldn’t be too impressed if his barmaid up and left. Jaxxon cast a quick glance at her quickly aging, flabby boss only to find him smiling at her in mock sympathy.
After serving another bloke – this one was smiling shyly at her and blushing like a virgin on a first date – Jaxxon switched her attention back to the pen and clipboard in front of her, noting what needed stocking up on, and all the while wondering how she managed to attract oddballs and plonkers. Not that there was much chance of her being approached by someone who might spark her interest in here. The pub didn’t exactly appeal to the youthful. In fact, looking around at the punters, the place looked like a bloody nursing home.
The bald weirdo was now suggesting a ‘fuck festival’ with him and his five friends – all of who shared two things in common. One, they were over the age of fifty. Two, they had beer guts. She respectfully declined, but his persistence earned him a ‘sod off you sick perv’ from her. Still, he was unfazed.
Then he leaned across the bar, and by the look in his eyes, Jaxxon knew he was about to touch her. Jaxxon and ‘touch’ didn’t go well together. “Don’t dare,” she warned. He ignored that warning and abruptly reached out and squeezed her breast painfully hard. Pure reflex, she gripped the pen tightly and stabbed the web-like skin between the thumb and forefinger of his roaming hand − not enough to draw blood, but enough to wrench a cry of pain from him.
“Hurts like fuck, doesn’t it,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
The creepy old sod actually grinned at her. Apparently pain made him horny. Oh great – now, in his drunken mind, she had just flirted back. No doubt he would have stayed exactly where he was, hoping for more, if his friend hadn’t dragged him away.
Joe joined Jaxxon’s side, chuckling. “Another satisfied customer.”
“He’s one sick bastard.”
“Sick bastards love you and your mean-arse streak.”
“It’s not mean to be honest and straight with people or insist on them not being perverted.”
He nodded toward a particular table not far from the bar where a pair of bashful-looking blokes sat, dressed in leather. “The two submissives are here again. They still want you to be their Dom?” Joe chuckled again.
“You enjoy all this far too much.”
“This place used to be boring ’til you started working here. It might help if you didn’t look even spicier when you’re fuming. It seems to get their blood running.”
“You say all the right things,” said Jaxxon sarcastically.
“Oi, if I gave you a compliment or any sweet words, you’d laugh in my face ‒ just like you do with all the others.”
He was right there, which, she supposed, was why she had never been with a truly decent bloke. Somehow, she always ended up with controlling, clingy weirdoes. It seemed like ‘nice’ blokes were often too intimidated by her take-no-prisoners mentality to even approach her.
At the same time as the door flew open, a gruff voice rang out, “Jaxxon!”
Sigh. She had actually expected her twat-of-a-neighbour earlier. He must have taken longer at his drug dealer’s flat than she’d anticipated. “Yes, Sean, what can I get you? Budweiser? Guinness? Cyanide?”
“Where is she?” he demanded as he stood opposite Jaxxon, panting like a Bull Mastiff.
“She?” enquired Joe.
Sean looked at him, wearing a bitter smile. “Imagine my surprise when I get back to my flat to find no Celia, and no kid. Gone. Clothes and all.”
“Good,” said Jaxxon. “All’s going to plan then.”
“You helped his woman run off?” asked Joe, not all that surprised or bothered.
Jaxxon held up her hand. “Correction: I helped a beaten, mistreated, petrified woman and a bruised, starving, frightened little girl have a new start somewhere away from this threat to their lives and sanity.”
“You interfering bitch,” growled Sean.
“What can I say – it’s a gift.”
“You put ideas in her head. Celia wouldn’t have left me like that.”
“No she wouldn’t have,” agreed Jaxxon. “She was too scared to take a piss without your say-so.”
“Where did you get the idea that you had the right to stick your nose in?”
“I’m sure Jesus said something about loving thy neighbours.”
He spread his hands over the bar, his face contorting as his anger intensified. “Where’s Celia?”
Jaxxon then noticed the tear in the arm of his jacket. She smirked. “So you tried to break into my flat and ended up being used as a chew toy.”
“That dog is a hellhound.”
“A much loved hellhound. And I better not get back to find your blood all over the carpet of my flat.” She had found the beautiful Great Dane, Bronty, about a month or so ago lying in an alleyway covered in bites and scratches. Without hesitation she took him back to her flat and got to work on his injuries. From that point on, Bronty had seemed to decide she was his, and had remained with her even once he was fully healed. Since then, her flat hadn’t been broken into even once.
The first time her flat – which was more or less one single room – had been ‘visited’, she had been both shocked and enraged. But soon she got used to these regular ‘visits’ from who appeared to be mostly drug addicts looking for money. Occasionally, they took some of her underwear, too. It was difficult to experience any anxiety over it anymore. How could she feel territorial about a place that was not ‘home’, but merely shelter? Besides, Jaxxon didn’t have much by way of possessions that she could call her own, especially not anything of worth.
She would never forget the day, about three months back when she found that not only had her flat been broken into, but the culprit was still inside. Not an addict looking for something they could sell, b
ut a twelve year old boy, looking for food. Little David revealed that although he lived with his mum in the flat above Jaxxon’s, the woman was hardly ever home; when she was, she barely took any notice of him.
Despite his insistence that he remain with his mum, who he was very protective of, Jaxxon might have contacted the authorities if she hadn’t known from personal experience that going into care didn’t mean you would be any better off. So she had taken him to meet a friend of hers who worked in the bakery at the corner of their street. Nora had told him that if he came each day just before closing time, she would give him any pastries or other foods that were left over. Thank God. Jaxxon made a mental note to check on him later.
“Where are they?”
Sean’s growl snatched Jaxxon from her thoughts. She groaned. “Are you still here?”
“I won’t ask you again.”
“I’m curious, Sean, do you even know how old your little girl is? What date her birthday is? What her favourite food was to eat – when you bothered feeding her, of course.” If the man had truly known anything about Celia and their daughter then he would have known about Celia’s sister, who lived a few towns away. And if he had then suspected that that was where they were, he would have been right.
Sean leaned across the bar, his face becoming an ugly shade of purple, his bloodshot eyes bulging. “You’ve always looked down your nose at me.”
“Now really, Sean, you make it impossible not to. You’re an abusive, twisted, weak little twat, who enjoys trying to assault young girls in his free time.”
His smirk was crooked and callous. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” So close, he’d come so close to having that delicious body once. Even though it had been eight years ago, Sean could still remember how arousing she’d looked in her school uniform that day. And just how much more arousing she’d looked when he and his friends were tearing it off her. So close. “I’d told Nick you wouldn’t just lie there, shaking with fear, and not fight back. McKenzie had taught you better than that – before he went off and became famous as a Formula One driver, that is. If Nick had listened to me and tied you up like I told him to, I reckon that afternoon in the alley would’ve turned out very differently.”
“Such a shame.” She didn’t let it show that the memories were grating on her control, or that the mention of Connor, however fleeting, had brassed her off.
“You think that what we had in mind for you that day was bad? You think that what I did to Celia and the kid was bad? It will be nothing compared to what I do to you if you don’t cough up what I want to know. Oh yeah, I’d have a lot of fun with you. Even more fun than what I had with that little daughter of mine.”
Sick, perverted, evil bastard! Anger made her quick; without thought, she grabbed a fistful of his greasy dark hair and slammed his face down hard on the bar. Once. Twice. Three times. “You ever even attempt to touch me with these paedophilic hands of yours and not only will I castrate you but I’ll ram your balls up your arse when I’m done.” She released his hair with a shove.
Although Sean, steaming with infuriation, quietly made his way to the door with that stealthy walk he had, she wasn’t mistakenly under the impression that that was the end of the matter. She was right.
“Don’t be surprised if Don decides he wants his rent money early,” he yelled as he reached the door.
Ah, yes. She had the company of her Wookie lookalike landlord and his grubby paws to look forward to later, when he came asking where his rent money was. It wouldn’t take much convincing from Sean to make Don be awkward. It was even possible that Wookie Don would repeat his cheeky offer that Jaxxon could pay her rent with her body. She’d just have to knee the perverted old fart in the balls like she did last time.
Sean began, “And another thing—”
“Oh, for the love of God, why don’t you just piss off out of here!” A moment after a scowling Sean had left, she heard Joe groan loudly. “What?”
“There’s an old man over there who’s been watching the whole thing, and rubbing his crotch like crazy at the same time.”
Oh bloody wonderful. Another sick perv.
Richie eyed the masturbating old age pensioner with the same disgust as the young barmaid and the landlord. Not that Richie blamed him for being affected so strongly by the barmaid he had heard being called ‘Jaxxon’. God, no. This girl was a walking wet dream. He was willing to bet that she could make even a gay dick rise to attention. She was unique. Fresh. And exactly what he had been scouting for. The tabloids would love her. He could have her on billboards all across the country.
Christ, it was difficult not to be mesmerised by her. She didn’t even seem to realise how she naturally commanded the attention of those around her. He doubted she was aware of just how sensual her every move was, either. The fluid, graceful way in which she conducted herself was almost feline. The inner strength she had was so apparent that it was like she wore it. Yet, there was no conceitedness about her; she wasn’t gazing around to see who might be looking at her, and she wasn’t dressed to impress. She just was. And that was enough for any man to want her.
There was also her beauty. No, ‘beauty’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Beauty’ seemed to imply a certain degree of innocence. This young woman’s appearance was not in the least bit angelic. That face, that body, that sultry voice…It was a package meant to tempt a man to sin.
When looking at those long, wild, chocolate-brown ringlets, a man would only think of fisting his hands in them while covering her mouth with his own. When gazing at those large, wild, brown eyes framed by a thick set of eyelashes, a man would want nothing more than to see them glazed over and dreamy after an orgasm. And those lips…Christ, it was as if they had been purposely designed to service a man’s dick. The smooth olive skin would beckon even a priest. What’s more, she wasn’t wafer thin like most of the girls he worked with. No. This girl had curves in all the right places. Very nice set of breasts.
When her emotions were running high, it was impossible to look away from her. Anger was a good look for her, making her unique eyes feral and become somehow hypnotic. There were no real words to explain it. Whatever it was, it made his dick twitch. Just like everything else about her.
Sinful. That was what she was.
Just what he needed.
Jaxxon had long ago noticed the long-legged, sandy-haired bloke who was sat in the far corner, alone. She had also noticed that his eyes seemed to follow her every movement. She was used to being stared at in this place, though she could never, for the life of her, fathom what it was that people thought was worth staring at. She blamed the big breasts, and the fact that she was usually the youngest female in here.
However, this bloke looked at her differently. Like he was studying her. Like she was some kind of weird artefact that needed to be carefully appraised. She didn’t like that. Although he was dressed as casually as all the other punters, there was something about him that suggested he somehow didn’t belong.
When his eyes met hers, Jaxxon raised a brow questioningly. Her philosophy had always been if you have something to say, say it. In response, he mimicked her movement. His expression seemed to be daring her to approach him and act on her agitation. She merely snorted. He was very much mistaken if he thought that a little staring would unnerve her – when you worked in a dodgy place like this, you had to learn to get used to it pretty quickly. Maybe he would have had a chance at unnerving her if he was dressed in leather like the submissives…Why were they even still here?
Throughout her entire shift, his gaze remained settled on her. Though it hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still, she had ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His gaze was studious. When he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected him to approach her. But he didn’t. He went to Joe. For a moment, Jaxxon wondered if she had gotten it wrong; if it had been Joe that he was concentrated on all along. Quickly, she discarded that notion. No, she had felt his gaze
.
“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side. “This punter here would like to speak to you.”
“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking here to want to have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any of them.
“So he’s paying me one hundred to accommodate a ten minute talk with you, and I’m really fond of money so—”
“One hundred…to talk?”
“Just a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all. What kind of person paid that kind of money for someone to talk to them? Why hadn’t the oddball just approached her himself?
Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seeing as your shift hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your employer.”
She scowled at Joe, but he simply smiled, and left them to have their private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was reassuring.
“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a conversation with someone—”
“Oh really, you think so?”
He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight, that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me very far.”
She nodded, conceding that.
“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately, and I understood that it would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”
“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes. Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach her, thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a non-existent modelling job. But a partner of a modelling agency?