Heady cigar smoke melded with the faint aromas of aged rums and cognacs in the VIP room of Las Vegas’ hottest gentleman’s club. An invitation-only crowd of promoters, agents, fighters and hangers-on packed the darkened space. Smirking, Zel noticed his sparring partner, Gary, surreptitiously adjusting himself. A little farther down, Mace McCoy, his soon-to-be opponent, relaxed in his chair and sipped his beer. Stocky and heavily muscled, Mace had always reminded Zel of a bulldog. He even had the pronounced lower jaw and underbite. Their eyes met briefly across the darkness. Even in the friendly atmosphere of the get-together, the spark of aggressiveness and competition reared its head. For the first time in quite a while, Zel was actually looking forward to a fight. Worthy opponents were few and far between. Zel’s gaze returned to the performer on the low dais at the front of the room. Dressed like a Gothic pixie, the young woman in shiny black latex panties and side-lacing red stiletto thigh-high boots danced seductively and swung her whip.
