Just 'cos I ain't paid enough to see things, don't mean I'm blind to what he does to her.

Every time she crosses the street towards me and I unclip the velour rope to let her into the club, I wanna follow her in. Protect her. Find a way to stop Kevo laying another finger on her. Don't get me wrong, she can handle herself; I've seen her knee a bloke in the bollocks just for trying to cop a feel of that exquisite arse. But she's different around Kevo. Still confident but… timid, almost. I don’t get it. Maybe never will.

As she sways past, all legs and tits in skin-tight scraps of material, them caramel eyes meet mine for a second. That's all it is, every time. A tiny nod of thanks and something passes between us before her perfume gives chase. It's magnetic. Expensive. She smells like angels should. But angels ain't meant to live in fear of arseholes like Kevo.

The queuing punters stamp to keep out the cold, most of them underdressed for the conditions, and secretly hate on anyone who goes in before 'em. But there's always one tosser after too many who thinks he's entitled. Gives me bunny. I fling him my usual line: "You got nuffin' to say and you're sayin' it too loud." They usually back down. Those that don't are either too stupid to know any different or soon learn.

I let in a group of birds tottering on wedge heels. All micro skirts, false eyelashes and the wrong colour foundation, but I’d still fuck half of ‘em. They climb the few steps, bubbly drunk, and pay Kelsey. The muted thud of the beat becomes clearer as they stumble inside, then returns to a dull, repetitive rhythm that shakes the windows above me.

Leighton brushes my back as he lets a young foursome through from his line that snakes in the opposite direction 'round the far edge of the converted warehouse. A car cruises by, lowered suspension, windows down, system up. The lads seem to be attempting the world record for most wankers in an Impreza. One of them honks the horn, and they leer and gesture at the girls in the queues, who pay no attention.

A mixed group enters when I step aside. I've already vetted 'em in line. No troublemakers. You get a feel for it, doing it as long as I have. Get to know the types. The bigheads. The dealers. The tweakers. The chancers. It's all second nature.

Kevo's clear he wants a two-to-one ratio of birds to blokes in the club. Not far off tonight. If it starts getting one-sided, I'll find a way to refuse entry. Job's hardly rocket science. Pay's alright, and the days are my own.

Did I see meself as hired muscle ten years ago? Hell no. But you take what life deals. Ain't many places'll employ a cat who's served a two-stretch. Nobody cares I was set up; they just see the record. So I put the word on the street when I got out, and Kevo called. All I did was show up, convince him there was no bad blood between me and Archie, and I was back in his good books. Sorted.

Three more birds and two blokes are swallowed into the swirling lasers and driving beat. As the door bangs shut, my mind wanders to Ashley. She's too good for this dump. Too good for 'im, that's for damn sure. Makes me mad thinking of how he treats her. I've seen the marks. Dunno why she don't run. Get away. He must have something over her. What I’d do to find out what it is.

But I ain’t paid enough for access to the truth.

I lose count of how many punters I let in. Turn a few away an' all, dealing with the fallout and moving 'em on. I'm showing one numpty how much his level of backchat pisses me off when the club door bangs open and Ashley storms out past me. She stalks into the road, oblivious to the traffic that screeches to a stop. She gives them the finger and ploughs on.

Dropping the bloke I have in a chokehold against the wall, I call to Leighton.

"Can you 'andle this monkey?"

He glances from me to Ashley's swaying strut, then at the fading queues and the geezer catching his breath. Nods. "Yeah, no worries, bruv."

“Cheers. Owe you one.”

He acknowledges, and I set off after Ashley. I step into the road, raising my hand, half as a courtesy to the drivers, half to tell 'em I'm crossing anyway. She's almost a block away by the time I'm across. I pick up the pace, focusing on the way the dark mane sways across her shoulder blades as them narrow hips rock and roll above that sexy arse anyone would sell their own mother to bite. Fuckin' unreal.

At the next side road, I catch up and fall in step. "Hey. You alright?"

She purses her lips, glossy in the amber street lights that bathe the uneven pavement. Her eyes are equally glossy. "Yeah." A deflated sigh escapes. "Just tired of his shit." She tilts her head to the side and pretends not to wipe a tear.

That's probably three times the number of words she's ever said to me. Her accent's plum; Home Counties or Berkshire or something. Not hoity-toity, but it definitely ain't Hackney.

We walk another half a block, rhythmical clacking of her heels swallowed by the traffic and pissed-up knobheads. One paints the road with the contents of his stomach as his mates wahaay and make a fuss of slapping him on the back.

"Anything I can do? Talk to Kevo?"

She shoots me a frosty stare. "I can take care of myself."

"I know, I know. I've seen the damage."

Her expression softens a touch. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap. He's just…"

I wanna finish the sentence for her with any number of four-letter words, but I let her do it.

"… an arsehole sometimes."

My breath billows in the cold. "Ain't that the truth. Listen," I survey the full width of Great Eastern Street, a stream of black cabs passing us, lights on. "If you wanna vent, feel free. Mum's the word."

She eyes me again. "I thought you and he were tight?"

Sticking my hands in the leather jacket pockets, I shrug. "Needs must. He won't pay me otherwise."

Something flashes behind her eyes, but it vanishes before I can tell what it is. "Keeping your enemies closer than your friends?"

"Summin' like that, yeah."

She looks ahead, still walking fast, our dual shadows lengthening and shrinking beneath the evenly spaced street lights.

We continue in silence until the ratio of bars to offices flips. I glance across. "You going anywhere specific or you just… goin’?"

She shrugs. Carries on. Dunno how she manages to be out here wearing so little. It's penguin dick cold.

"Wanna get a drink? I know a place."

Ashley shrugs again. "Sure. Does it have a good jukebox?"

I lift a lopsided grin and guide her by the waist into the next side street.

Rudy's is a real place time forgot. Down a set of metal stairs from street level to the oak door of the basement, where even Tom Cruise'd have to duck. Low-beamed ceilings, the stench of real ale, and Don't Stop Believin' greet us. Only the locals keep the place alive. Not many birds down here, which keeps the hipster wankers away.

The barman lifts his chin as we approach, muscles flexing from his Black Veiled Brides T-shirt. "Sup."

I watch Ashley surveying the chillers and optics behind the bar. She nods, mind made up. "Southern Comfort and Lemonade, please."

"Ice?"

She nods again. Flicks her eyes to mine. “Make it a double.”

I take my usual, and we retreat to a sticky table in the back corner. Its wooden booth seats seem out of place, like they've been 'alf-inched from the Methodist church up the road. I raise my lager. "To the end of arseholes."

Ashley cocks her head, offers a wicked smile that briefly lifts the cloud over her features, and clinks my glass.

The song plays out as she eyes me over the rim of her drink, chestnut eyes drawing me in. So much going on behind ‘em.

"Kevo says you were in the army?"

"Briefly."

"Voluntary retirement?"

I narrow my look, pick up my pint, swirl the head from the edges then swig. "We getting right down into it, eh?" I take another mouthful and wait to see if she'll break eye contact. She don't. "Right then, yeah. Seems it's frowned on to call your commanding officer a dickless nutsack.”

She smirks. "I can see how that might curtail your prospects."

I take another pull as the jukebox takes too long to change. Feel like I need to fill the silence with something, but lose myself beyond them lashes for a long moment as she drains the rest of her short in one. Slams it down on the table on the first downbeat of Another One Bites The Dust. Catches the barman’s attention and circles her index finger in the air, landing it on the table in front of her.

I grin. Neck half mine in an effort to catch up. “What about you, eh? How come you’re all wrapped up in Kevo’s world? You don’t seem to... fit.”

She don’t say a word. Her turn to size me up. Maybe the drink’s kicking in already; there ain’t exactly a lot to her. Maybe she knows exactly how this game’s played. If she gave me a boner before, now she’s giving me one fuck of a raging hard-on without even speaking.

“Look. I ain't pumping you for intel. Fuck Kevo, bloated prick. Given half a chance, I’m out.”

She eyes me. “Out?”

“Out.”

“Out out?”

“Yeah.”

That stare again. “You’re a big boy. Why haven’t you?”

I drain my pint as the barman brings the new ones over, slopping a little on the table. I let it slide, fumbling in my pocket for a twenty and handing it over, waving for him to keep the change.

She traces the rim of her fresh glass as I fix her with a look. “I just need the opportunity.”

“Don’t we all.”

“Yeah. So what’s your story?”

Ashley picks up her drink and touches it to her lips. Kicks back half. I can almost see the heat sliding down her throat as she swallows.

“I was young,” she says.

“Young? Fuxake you’re what, twenty-one?”

She scoffs. “Three. Okay, I was naïve. That better, army-boy?” She lets out the softest chuckle.

I shake my head with a smirk. “Sure, young and naïve. But you ain’t from round ‘ere, so...?”

“What can I say? Daddy wasn’t quite the man I thought.” There’s bitterness in her tone and, like she can read the question in my eyes before I mouth the words, she satisfies my curiosity. “Fraud.”

Figures. “He get time?”

She nods. “I rebelled, like any girl would. Ran away. Ended up dancing three nights a week. Owner wanted me to do more, but I wasn’t committed to the lifestyle. Just needed the extra cash... for bills.” Her voice trails off. There’s more there too, but this ain’t the time to go diggin’. Maybe in another drinks’ time.

“Anyway, Kevo saw me one night. Biggest tip I’ve ever seen,” she continues. “Tip as in money, not, you know.” She looks up at me. “He’s actually pretty small down there.” She circles her waist with a downturned palm.

I swig my beer, eyes never leaving hers. Wanna tell her I ain't got that problem, but I got more game than that. Besides, silence builds intrigue.

“Before I know it, Kevo’s buying me shit. Expensive shit. Shit I was pawning off and keeping the cash.” She cocks her head. “Of course, those types of gifts require a certain amount of attention.” She looks away. “He was actually really nice at first.”

“I get that. I do. Bloke ain’t gonna land a babe like you by flashin’ his true colours.” My elbow’s pitched on the tabletop, finger flicking the rim of my pint glass. “Why you still there?”

I know the fucking answer before I ask, but I gotta see how she handles the response. It’ll tell me what I need to know. She pauses, like she knows the weight of it too. Slides her eyes to mine.

“You don’t just leave a guy like Kevo.” Her face is deadpan. “Opportunity, right?” She lifts her drink.

I lift mine and clink glasses again. "To opportunity."

"Wait,” she says. “I thought it was to the end of arseholes?"

“There a difference?"

We each finish what we got, and I pause before orderin’ another round. She’s got my insides all squirly, but I lean back on the bench, showing nothing but confidence.

Whatever it is, it works. Or the drink’s got her pussy all frothy. I was hopeful, but fuck I didn’t expect it. Not this fast. She eyes the way my arms bulge from the T-shirt. Across my broad chest. Fuck knows what's goin’ through her head, but the decision registers in her eyes. She just tosses it out there like meat to a starving alligator.

“Want to get out of here?”

“Yeah. Where to?”

“Don’t you need to get back to the club?”

I look away a moment. “Nah, Leighton’ll cover. Fucker owes me a few. What ‘bout you? Won’t Kevo come lookin’?”

“He’s busy working some deal. He won’t even notice I’m gone till the morning.”

“Right. My flat ain’t far.”

“Or we could go to mine? If I don’t feed the cat he’ll scratch the shit out of my couch.”

So that’s how it goes down. How we finish our next round and traipse from Rudy’s into the freezing night. Take the tube West from Liverpool Street. Nine stops. Less than half hour of makin’ eyes at one another across the almost deserted carriage. Interrupted only by the odd hollow-eyed junkie or overworked suit.

When we surface, we tramp down Craven Road a way, breath fogging like we’re both vapers. Ash tips her head back and huffs a trail of cloudy breaths like an old steam train, then giggles. Seems to release some of the tension she’s holding.

She has some swanky flat on Westbourne Terrace; a tree-lined side road of endless four-storey white stucco frontages, first-floor wrought-iron balconies, and more windows than Government has liars. It takes her a few tries to get the key in the lock, but she stumbles ahead of me into the front room. Kicks off her heels and sighs with relief. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

“JD, Smirnoff or Gordon’s?”

“Jack and Coke if you got it.”

She busies herself at the cabinet by the faux fireplace. Pours healthy slugs into a pair of tumblers that catch the central uplighter, and tops them with mixer from a can as the ginger cat figure-eights her feet. She hands me the tumbler, puts hers down and disappears with the cat in tow, its paws tapping fast against the laminate.

The place is impressive. Ultra modern. Big arse TV mounted over the hearth, and I cross to the patio doors where there’s some internal tiled garden area beyond. Pot plants and wicker furniture ‘n’ shit.

When Ash swans back in, she dims the lights a bit then dumps herself on the cream sofa. Scooping her drink off the coffee table, she drains half and sighs.

I swear I catch a glimpse of crimson panties as she settles, and look away a fraction too late. “Nice place. What’s it cost, a mil?”

“Just over. One of Kevo’s. Not my taste, but you don’t say no to a place like this in central London.”

I whistle and take a finger of bourbon. Eye her as she scans me up and down, real slow. She smiles. “You guarding my patio doors, bouncer?”

“Nah, just… force of habit.”

“Stand down then. You're not on duty.”

She pats the sofa alongside. I track from her hand up her bare arm to the flash of her eyes.

Tossing my jacket onto a nearby armchair, I pace over to ease into the sofa next to her. Close enough to touch, but we ain’t. Not yet.

“Your old man still in?”

“I don’t want to talk about Daddy, bouncer.”

I pause and put my boot up on Kevo’s coffee table like I own the place. My turn to lead, in a low tone: “What would you do if Kevo cut you loose, if you didn’t have all this? What would you do?”

The response is quick, almost rehearsed. “When I was a little girl, we didn’t have much. I remember going to school in hand-me-downs and the girls would make fun of me. Bitches.” She huffs and takes a pull of her drink. “I couldn’t care less, really. It made me tough. But I made a pledge to myself.”

“Yeah? And what does little Ashley pledge? To become a stripper tied to one of London’s more prominent douche bag gangsters?” It’s harsh and sounds even harsher as I say it. Fuckin’ whiskey. I glare at the tumbler and slide it onto the table. “Look, I didn’t mea–”

She starts laughing and stands up. I ‘bout expect her to grab my junk and toss my arse to the curb. Instead, she kicks my foot off the table and straddles my lap.

“You think I haven’t heard it before?” she hisses, shoving me back into the cushions and swirling her finger across my chest.

There’s hunger in her wild eyes like my words somehow transformed her. Ignited the spark of that girl who performs on the stage. Sex bubbles to the surface, taking charge of her persona and I see the command that steels every cock in the club that’s tied to a fuckin’ pulse.

It’s intimidating, and yeah, I’m fuckin’ intimidated. Not sure how. Christ, I’ve taken down three-hundred-pound gorillas in the bucket and pail. And here this waif has me pinned. Something snaps and my defences kick in. 

“So that’s your game, eh luv? You get challenged and use what the good Lord gave you as a means of attack?”

“Isn’t that why we came here?” She dabs my nose with a fingertip. “So you could fuck me?”

She slams both palms into my chest and pushes to stand up. Peels off her top. Unhooks her ruby bra and cups her tits.

Fuck.

Crawling back onto my lap, she swoops her tits in my face. Taunts me. “Tell me, tough guy… you wanna bite these? Or would you rather we play more get to know you? I could put on a pot of tea.”

I lunge my mouth for the closest nipple, and she pulls back laughing, hair flicking behind her. “Yeah, thought so. For all that bravado, you’re no different from the Johns at the club, wallets in one hand, dicks in the other. The difference is—” she leans in and nips my earlobe, whispering, “I want to be here.”

Sitting up, she reaches for my hands and places them on her chest. Sucks in air when I squeeze. Moans and rolls her head when I pinch them firm cherry caps, before fixing me an ‘ard stare. “The question is, bouncer, are you man enough to do something about it?”

She leans down and mashes her lips to mine, squeezing her thighs, trapping me. I roll to one side and wrestle her to the sofa, but she’s spry. Ducks out from under me and hops up onto the coffee table. “That all you’ve got, big man?”

“Game on, babygirl.” I haul myself off the sofa and swipe at the air she occupied as she jumps to the floor.

Lumbering round the furniture I catch up, grab her wrist, spin her to face me and pin her to the wall by the doorframe. Her eyes flash and I kiss her. Minx lets it linger a few seconds then playfully bites me and I pull away.

Her fingers trail to my waistband, unbuckling me. Unsnaps the buttons and slithers her hand in, groping and, by all accounts, liking what she feels. Grabbing her shoulders, I lean down and nip her neck. Girl wants it rough, she can get it rough. I work my lips south. Capture a nipple. Suck first then roll my teeth around it until she hisses, all the while scrabbling to free my cock. She wraps her dainty paws around it as I switch to the other tit and bite that.

It don’t surprise me that Little Miss Doe Eyes is anything but proper. Jackin’ my dick like she does, begging me to mark her tits, and calling out, “Harder, big man,” shows she ain’t no pushover. Pure and put-together on the outside, like one of them Victoria’s Secret angels. Only this chick’s wings turn black when she wants ‘em to.

The contrast swells my cock in her hand. Such wild fury whirling in her innocence, screaming for it to be tamed. And I'm standing over her, ready to crack my whip.

I tug her knickers aside and swab my fingers across her slit. She’s swollen and wet, fuckin’ soaked like she loves this. I’ve never really played much of the dominant role when it comes to sex. Sure, I like it heated just as much as the next guy, but there's always that question in the back of your ‘ead of how far is too far? Ash acts like she don’t care whether or not I can break her, but she sure as fuck seems to be gettin’ off wanting me to try.

As I clamp down tighter on her tit, my fingers push into the cleft of her labia till I hit her pubic bone. Then I pinch. A nice juicy little peach between my grip like I’m wringing out her juices. I want her to focus on that for a bit, so I release her nipple and admire the crimson halo left behind. Her eyes widen, and she rises up on her toes. My cock hardens. So does my confidence.

With her pussy still in my vice, I walk her backward a step until her arse bumps the wall. Her shoulders brush the corner of a painting that’d take me the best part of a year to replace. But right now I don’t give a fuck for Kevo’s decor. I snake my free hand to the base of her throat and pin her firmly.

“Not so tough now, are you, kitten?” I give a firm tug on her cunt lips.

Her retort’s swift. I watch as she pinches her lower lip, then yanks my hardon down like she’s goin’ for fourth gear.

I let go of her twat. She’s so wet I was losing grip anyway, but I need to do something before she twists my cock off. In one motion, I swivel her hips so she's facing the wall and swap out my hold on her neck for a fistful of hair. She turns her head to the side, and I kiss the smirk off her. Fuckin’ minx.

She arches for me. I kick her feet out wider and push her hands up above her head. Part of me fears the next time I need to pat down some drunk bloke at the club I might remember this and pop a boner. But there ain’t nothing can stop me taking her now. Line up. Angle hips. Sink inside.

Heaven, as she snarls in my grip and bucks her hips back to slam against mine. I slide the free hand to her waist and hold on as I drive into her wetness.

Her pussy clenches my shaft like she’s jerking me off. I fight to stave off the cum building in my balls. I’m a nice guy after all; she should probably cum too. Luckily it don’t take long. The little poppet starts pushin’ her arse up and down like she’s doing quick squats. Jesus-fuck she feels good.

Her right hand disappears and, from the occasional graze on my nuts, I figure she's rubbing her clit like a good’un. Then it hits. Her climax locks her up, arse jutting out, raised up on the balls of her feet. She goes silent for a few seconds.

I’m about to ask if she’s alright when she cries out that she’s cumming. That’s all it takes and I yank out just in time to send a few thick cum streams into the channel her upturned arse is making. Two spurts land on her gorgeous cheeks, the third detonates up almost to her shoulder blades. Holy fuck!

Catchin’ my breath, I trace the curve of her hips and hold. “Don’t move. We need something to wipe this up. Last thing I need is Kevo sweepin’ for DNA.”

“There’s towels by the side of the bar. Hurry, it’s starting to drip.”

Tucking myself away, I pace to where she indicated and toss a towel over to her. She reaches back and wipes her behind as I bring another over and dab the bit she can’t reach high up. Lucky she swished her hair away, or I’d be wiping man conditioner off her locks instead.

I watch as she makes herself presentable. Refastens the bra. Top covers it. Effortless. She has this glow and I don’t doubt for a second she knew how this was goin’ down. Easy to see how she can wrap blokes round her finger.

It don’t feel right makin’ myself at home again, but she picks up the remnants of her drink and dumps herself on the sofa. Looks my way. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“What?”

“The awkwards.” I shift from foot to foot. “Come on. Finish your drink at least.” She pats the cushion alongside her again and I sigh, then follow her lead. Pick up the tumbler and knock back the rest.

Ash sips hers. Starin’ off into space over the rim of the glass like she’s in some trance. I let her think. Whatever she needs to process. Not like I have much to go back for, and it’s near freezin’ out.

She finishes her drink and leans forward to put the tumbler between her feet. Sits back. Looks across at my lap, then up. Finds my eyes. Not sure I’ve ever seen anyone with that much goin’ on in their head. Wonder if it’s tough being her.

Eventually she speaks. “Are you serious about getting out?”

“Deadly.”

Her gaze don't waver as the thought storm plays out, then she stands and holds out her hand. I take it and she guides me up. “Let me show you something.”

She leads the way out into the dining room and left down the corridor to the bedrooms at the far end. It’s too soon for my dick, so I hope she likes foreplay for round two.

The master bedroom is decked out a bit girly, soft furnishings at odds with the clean lines of the architecture. I step in towards her and the bed, but she stops me at arm’s length. Turns and kneels alongside the bed, flipping up the duvet.

She slides open the under-divan drawer. “Sure? Last chance to walk away.”

I don’t move, and she scoops bed linen away to reveal a large flat grey lockbox. Big enough for body parts. For a fleetin’ moment I wonder if she’s gonna go all Basic Instinct on me, and shiver, adrenaline spiking in case she has an ice pick nearby.

She taps in a six-digit code, the mechanism whirrs and she flips the lid.

I stare. “That Kevo’s?”

“Some of it. Some’s mine from tips.”

A low whistle escapes. “Fuckin’ hell, Ash. It’s like Gordon Ramsay’s swear jar.”

She looks up over her shoulder at me. “What do you see?”

Gawping down at the bundles of cash lined up, Fuck keeps repeating over and over in my head, but only one word makes its way to my lips: “Opportunity.”