Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with TNA. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.
Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: Nothing major. Some non-consensual groping.
Chapter 26
10 Years Later…
Breckinridge, Colorado~ 2008
Joe rode in silence as Jeff drove down the long highway to their next show.
"You sure you're okay to wrestle tonight," Jeff asked Joe, as he flipped on his blinker and switched lanes on the busy highway. "That chair shot you took looked really brutal."
Joe nodded, staring out the passenger side window. "Yeah, I'm good to go. It'll take a lot more than one of Steiner's chair shots to take me out of commission."
"Ya know," Jeff said gently, "the guys wouldn't be so hard on you if you'd lighten up on them. You scare half the roster anymore, Joe."
"That's their problem," Joe muttered.
"Yeah, but it becomes my problem when I can hardly get any of them to wrestle you. It puts me in a tough spot."
"Well, with all due respect, Jeff, we're wrestlers. Not ballet dancers. If they can't handle fighting me, they need to reevaluate their profession."
Jeff sighed, and decided to shut his mouth. When Joe didn't want to listen, he wouldn't. That's the way he always acted for as long as Jeff had known him, but it seemed to have gotten worse since Ella died. The large Samoan was extremely moody. He didn't joke—wouldn't even crack a smile. All he wanted to do was beat up his opponents, whether they were friends or not.
Friends, Jeff almost snorted. Joe doesn't even have friends anymore. Everyone's flat out scared of him. Even the knockouts seem petrified around him, and I know he'd never hurt a female.
It really bothered Jeff the way Joe and AJ no longer spoke at all. The two had been like brothers at one time, but Joe hadn't accepted the fact that what happened to Ella was not AJ's fault. Jeff knew it was Fournier's fault—and only Fournier's fault. But he had to admit—despite the love he felt for his late niece—Ella shouldn't have resorted to running away. She wouldn't have died if she hadn't.
But then he felt guilty for having such thoughts. No, Ella didn't have the right to turn her family's lives upside down in such a way—but on the other hand, she had panicked and most likely felt running was her only option.
He thought back to that night as he had many times, and knew none of them could have done anything differently. They couldn't leave Dixie to die a horrible death. They left the one person they knew without a doubt would guard Ella with his life and it still had not been enough.
Jeff looked over at Joe then and could see the emotional change in him as well as a physical one. The younger man's eyes had grown even darker over the years—a more intense shade of black. They'd grown cold as well. And he seemed to wear a perpetual scowl on his face at all times.
Except when he's luring a ring rat to bed, he thought disdainfully.
That was the change in Joe which Jeff hated most. He knew the one-night-stands were Joe's way of trying to cope—along with getting drunk quite often—but it disrespected Ella's memory.
"What would Ella think," Jeff muttered under his breath, unaware he was thinking aloud.
"What's that," Joe asked, staring Jeff down as though he were daring him to make him angry.
I might as well speak up, Jeff thought. I mean, what's he going to do? Try to punch me and wind up making me wreck the car?
Gathering his nerve, he finally spoke. "I have to say it, Joe. All the one-night-stands you have are just... wrong." He glanced at the Samoan and saw the muscle twitching in his jaw.
"How did you find out, and what business is it of yours," Joe asked in a quiet, but deadly tone of voice.
"Hotel rooms have thin walls, and when you're rooming next to co-workers… well, it's kinda hard to keep it quiet. And technically, it's none of my business," Jeff admitted. "But on a personal level, I'm concerned about you, as a friend—as a relative."
"You're not a relative," Joe said coldly. "You weren't a relative but for a few short hours."
The cutting remark couldn't have stung any less than a hard slap to the face. Jeff swallowed past the hurt however, and tried again. "Okay, fair enough," he said softly. "Nonetheless, I'm worried about you. All the alcohol and sex in the world isn't going to bring Ella back, Joe."
"I'm not trying to bring her back," Joe growled.
"Be that as it may," Jeff persisted. "You could lose any remaining chance for love by acting this way."
"I don't care," Joe snapped. "I've already been in love, and what did it get me? A dead wife!"
At that point, Jeff pulled into their hotel's garage and slid into a space. Killing the engine, Jeff turned to Joe with a deadly gleam in his usually kind blue eyes. "Never refer to Ella that way again."
"Why not," Joe challenged, fire entering the man's black eyes. "That's what she is."
"Get out of the car," Jeff yelled suddenly, finally at his breaking point. He opened his door and climbed out of the vehicle as Joe did the same.
"Now what," Joe shouted, marching up to the older wrestler.
"Now, we settle this," Jeff snarled, popping Joe in the chin with his fist. "I've had it, Joe. I've tried to be nice, and understanding. Clearly, taking you to the woodshed is the only thing that will get through to you!"
Joe lunged forward with an enraged scream and took Jeff down to the concrete, grabbing his throat. Before he could choke him, however, Jeff reached up and boxed his ears hard. Joe yelled out and rolled off Jeff, holding his head in his hands. Then it was Jeff's turn to tackle Joe. He pressed his shoulders against the pavement with his knees and broke loose with several punches to the angry Samoan's face. He was vaguely aware of another vehicle entering the garage and the engine roaring suddenly. The next thing he knew, tires screeched and then doors slammed. Then he was being pulled off Joe by a pair of arms. Two other sets grabbed hold of Joe to prevent him from attacking Jeff.
"What is wrong with you two," Steve Borden cried, holding on to Jeff.
"I was teaching the kid a lesson," Jeff shouted, struggling against Steve.
"Teaching me a lesson," Joe scoffed, and fought against Matt Morgan and Shawn Hernandez. "You just wait till I-"
"STOP!"
Everyone froze and looked at Steve. They'd never heard him raise his voice so loudly or so harshly before.
"This is insane," he continued once he had their attention. "Ella wouldn't have wanted this. She ran away in order to try and protect everyone. She died instead. And every bit of it was for nothing if you continue trying to kill each other!"
Jeff yanked his arms free. Then he pointed at Joe and glared. "I never want to hear you mention my niece again. Is this what would've happened if she'd lived and stayed with you, Joe? If she'd made you angry, or you grew bored with her…would she have had to put up with you drinking your life away and sleeping with any woman who crossed your path?"
"SHUT-UP!"
Joe tried to lunge at Jeff again, but was securely held back by Shawn and Matt.
"Chill out, bro," Shawn said, patting Joe's shoulder with his free arm. "Just calm down."
"Jeff, maybe you should just get up to your room," Steve said softly, seeing the anger on Joe's face. "Joe might calm down with you gone."
"Yeah, I'm really concerned about him calming down," Jeff growled, sarcastically. He did, however, turn away and head for the elevator to go up to his room.
Joe jerked his arms free and headed for the elevator after the doors dinged and closed.
"Joe," Matt called warningly, worried that he and Shawn should follow him.
"I'm just going to my room," Joe called back without even a glance over his shoulder. "I'm not going after him. If I was, he'd be dead. And I really don't feel up to a murder trial."
With that, Joe stepped onto the elevator when it opened, and smirked at his co-workers till the doors closed.
}i{}i{}i{}i{
Seattle, Washington
Ella hurriedly placed her sheet music back into her Opera Workshop binder and then shoved the binder into her backpack. She was about to lift the bag up when she heard someone call out to her—or rather, called out to her alter-ego as Ella came to refer to "Claire Jones".
Ella had stayed hidden for a year, to make sure she and her daughter, Miracle, were safe.
Growing worried for their friend and hating for her to stay secluded, Jolene and Rick encouraged her to find a job she would enjoy or to go to college. Secretly she was dying to have a semblance of a normal life, but felt nervous about leaving Miracle at a daycare. Jolene and Rick were quick to offer babysitting Miracle. After some persuading they convinced her to let them help her.
Soon, Ella was working for an entertainment agency which specialized in booking celebrity impersonators for parties. After a year, she still enjoyed the job, but felt she should do something more. So, she got her GED under her new name, took all the required exams, and tried applying to the University of Washington. She thought getting accepted was most likely laughable since she only had a GED to show in place of a diploma. However, her ACT and SAT scores were extremely good, and she was surprised to find a letter in her mail box a couple months later with an appointment time for her to have an interview. The letter made it clear the admissions office was still only considering her because of the fact she only had a GED. But they were impressed with her ACT and SAT scores, so they wanted to find out a little more about her in order to make a fair decision.
She went for the interview, and explained that she had some musical training, and she wished to enroll in the music program. She informed the admissions counselor that she'd be happy to take any kind of musical exam necessary and she'd also be willing to audition before the opera director. And so they arranged for it to be done.
She received another letter two weeks later, stating she had been accepted. And for the next three years she worked gradually at earning a bachelor of music degree in vocal performance.
"Claire?"
Ella aborted her thoughts of the past and shot her gaze upward to her opera instructor's face. He'd obviously been talking to her. "I'm sorry, Dr. Jennings. What were you saying?"
"I said, I see you've not signed up to audition for La Traviata. Why," the instructor asked, sitting on the edge of his desk in the corner of the large choral room.
She concentrated on zipping and unzipping her backpack nervously, and shrugged slightly. "I just don't really think I can."
"What do you mean," Dr. Jennings asked, his forehead creasing with confusion. "You've been training in opera for several years now. You're going to graduate in a little more than a month, and you can't perform an opera?"
"Well," Ella started, "I just… I have my final exam coming up. I have four pieces I have to perform in front of an audience, and I want them to be perfect. Not to mention I'm a single mom. I don't think I have the time to take on an actual role in a full-fledged opera."
"Claire, you can do this," the instructor coaxed. "I know you can. You already have those four pieces perfect. I've heard you practicing as well as when you sing them in front of me for your vocal lessons."
Ella just stared for a moment, deep in thought. "I don't know." The idea was tempting. But it would mean Jolene and Rick having to baby sit Miracle a lot more. And while they seem to enjoy having her over, I hate to ask them to alter their schedules to help me out.
"Claire, I want you to play the role of Violetta. It's a soprano role and there are only two seniors who are sopranos. You're the better one."
"But, there are several sophomores or juniors to choose from, "Ella objected. "I mean, they're younger and so their voices would probably be stronger-"
"No, Claire. You talk like you're ancient. You're what, twenty-nine?"
"Th-thirty," Ella stammered, struggling to not let slip that she was actually two years younger than "Claire Jones".
"So there. I was really close," he stepped right in front of Ella. "Claire, your voice is what I'm looking for. I want you to audition of course, to make sure the music meshes well with your voice, but if it goes anything the way I'm imagining, it will be absolutely perfect."
"But what if my final pieces suffer because I'm learning all these new pieces?"
"We'll get you an understudy. Make me a deal. Try out, and if it sounds good, you get to be Violetta. Then give it just two weeks, and see how it goes. If it's too much of a load for you, we'll get your understudy to take over."
Ella nodded and gave in, "Okay. I'll try."
"Good. And I know you can do this. You were born to sing, Claire."
She looked up at him and smiled for the first time in a long time. "Thank you."
"Thank you," Dr. Jennings returned. "You just took some stress off my shoulders."
"And you just added some to mine," she joked, lifting her backpack onto her shoulders. She glanced at her watch. "Well, I'd better go. I'm going to be late for a booking."
The instructor nodded. "Okay. But take care of that voice. Don't damage it."
"I won't," Ella said, heading for the door. "And I'll drink plenty of water and hot tea. Bye, Dr. Jennings."
"Bye, Claire."
With that, Ella turned and headed out of the classroom, and took the side exit from the Fine Arts building. She jogged to her car parked a block away, and headed to her house to get into full costume for her next job. She'd be lucky to have a bite of lunch before she had to leave for the Quinceanera she had to perform at.
As Selena Quintanilla-Perez, no less.
She loved the late singer, and her music too. But being a fair-skinned woman with blue eyes and curly hair made the role a challenge. Not to mention, she was not quite as curvy as Selena.
"Oh, well," Ella thought out loud. "Have fun with it, and the kids will have fun too."
}i{}i{}i{}i{
"¡Feliz cumpleaños a Sophie!
¡Feliz cumpleaños a ti!"
Ella finished singing "Happy Birthday" to the newly turned fifteen-year-old who had—according to Latin culture—left her childhood behind and became a woman. She brushed some strands of the long black "Selena" wig out of her temporary brown eyes, and accepted the glass of champagne that was passed to her. Then everyone raised their glasses and toasted the young woman before them.
Ella eyed the young girl and couldn't help letting her mind wander.
It's hard to believe I was only three years older than she is, when I married Joe—when I got pregnant.
She couldn't believe ten years had passed, and that her little girl was already nine years old. Ella smiled thinking about how beautiful she was already. Miracle had pale skin like Ella but with Joe's olive tone rather than her mother's peach hue, and she had Joe's ebony-colored eyes. Her hair was long, black—as black as Joe's—and full of waves like Ella's.
Ella shook her head, realizing she needed to focus on the party. She fought off a surge of sadness at thinking of Joe, and forced a smile to her face. She raised both her glass and microphone and, feeling compelled to speak, gave the girl a small speech in Spanish, seeing as the family did not speak English. Luckily, Ella had excelled in Spanish during high school as well as her early college years.
"Abrigue sus años adolescentes. Van más rápido que puede darse cuenta de. Puédale disfruta de cada y cada uno de ellos."
Essentially, Ella told the girl to cherish her teenage years because they go faster than one can imagine. She added that she hoped the girl enjoyed each and every one of those years. With that, she saluted the girl with her glass and said, "Salud." Then she took a sip of the fruity champagne to seal the toast. She watched Sophie smile happily as she received numerous hugs from friends and family. The occasion was such a light, uplifting one full of laughter and happiness.
To Ella's surprise, Sophie approached her next and latched onto her, hugging her closely.
"Gracias tanto. Canta tan hermosamente. Como el Selena verdadero. Estoy contento que fue una parte de mi quinceanera."
Ella smiled down at the girl and returned the hug, blinking back happy tears. Sophie had told her she sang like the real Selena, and she was glad Ella had been a part of her quinceanera. The girl was so appreciative it touched Ella deeply.
"Entonces sea yo, Sophie. Ha sido un hermoso partido."
She let the teenager know she was also glad to be a part of the beautiful party, and hugged her again. Then she had to say her goodbyes, and receive her pay for the time she spent entertaining. After loading up her sound equipment, she arrived at her home about a half hour later and went inside, opting to leave her equipment inside her black Chevy Tahoe.
Knowing Miracle was being picked up from school and babysat by Jolene for the evening, Ella felt free to take her time in heating up a slice of pizza. As the food heated, she pulled off her wig and headed upstairs to the spare bedroom where she kept all her costumes and wigs. Placing the wig on its wig head, she gave it a gentle brushing and then placed a plastic bag over it to keep it protected. She knew she had three hours till her next booking, but she couldn't remember the details about her last job of the day. She knew it was Christina Aguilera, but her boss had given her a sheet of notes regarding the party.
Grabbing her booking binder, she looked over the paper and immediately rolled her eyes.
The booking was made only a week before.
"That's strange," she thought out loud. "Bookings usually have to be made at least a month in advance."
She went downstairs to her foyer and grabbed her purse, pulling her cell phone out. She quickly called her boss to find out why the booking had been made so recently.
"Royal Talent Entertainment Agency…This is Lyle, how may I help you?"
"Lyle, it's Claire…This booking I have tonight at 10:15-"
"The Christina Aguilera gig?"
"Yes. Why was the booking allowed? I mean, it was only booked a week ago."
"They offered an exorbitant amount of money for you to perform as Christina for tonight."
"Really?" At first Ella was flattered, but she quickly became suspicious. "Okay, and…" she scanned over the various notes left for her. "I have to perform 'Dirrty', right down to dressing in the panties and chaps?" Now, she was thoroughly disgusted. "What is this, Lyle? No one has ever told me how to do my job right down to what I wear. I can't go parading around in my underwear! I'm a singer and impersonator for crying out loud!" She took a breath and continued her rant. "Lyle, they even provided a DVD of 'Dirrty's music video so I can copy exactly what she wears! It's just gross!"
"Look, Claire. You have to do the gig. They paid the money up front, and they are expecting you to do what's on that note sheet."
"And what if I just quit? This goes against my morals, Lyle. I don't have to do this, you know. I can afford to take the time to find another job."
"We have a contract, and if you do quit, I'll sue you for breach of contract."
Ella halted. He was right. She still had two months left on her deal with the agency.
"And you wouldn't dare give me a break would you? After the years of hard work I've put in for you, you can't cut me a little slack?"
"Look, it's just a bachelor party. They guys just want to see a pretty girl get up and sing some provocative songs and dance around a little. And the pay is big."
"I don't care about the pay," Ella hissed. "I care about doing things that won't ruin my reputation! What if Miracle saw me-"
"Well I care about the pay! Now, you are doing this! If I hear of you pulling a no-show, you're in big trouble!"
The phone clicked in her ear.
Ella groaned and tossed her phone aside, "Ugh! I'm in no way going to be signing another contract with that jerk!" She suddenly wished she had recorded the phone conversation with Lyle for her own personal records. Quickly she popped in the DVD and made mental notes of Christina's mannerisms and a few of the dance moves to use. Then she wrote a list of what she would need for a costume.
She quickly ate her slice of pizza and then spent the next hour fixing herself up as the vivacious Gwen Stefani for her six o'clock booking. After she finished with her wig and makeup, she began going over what songs to perform, and doing her vocal warm-ups. By the time she was done with her preparations, it was time to leave for the birthday bash. Grabbing a bottle of water, she then hurried to her car and left for the party.
}i{}i{}i{}i{
"Ease up, Joe! Ease up," Shawn Hernandez managed to choke out as Joe strengthened his hold on a rear naked choke.
"Suck it up," Joe growled in return, and tightened his hold even more. In the next instant, the large Mexican wrestler was tapping the canvas frantically as the fans cheered.
The bell rang at the referee's command, and then Joe stood to his feet, ready for his next—and last—opponent for the evening.
As a result of Joe's comments about Ella, Jeff had become so angry that he uncharacteristically made a hasty decision. Wanting to make Joe's night rough on him, he set the Samoan up for a gauntlet match in which he faced Matt Morgan, Kurt Angle, then Hernandez, and finally…Jeff, himself.
The veteran's music started and Jeff charged down the ramp, purposefully headed for the ring. He saw the glare on Joe's face and knew the match would not be an easy one in the least.
As one of the company's top heels, Joe was scripted to win, but Jeff vowed he would not make it a simple win for his friend.
For the two wrestlers, this particular match was about retribution, not entertainment value. Both men held a lot of anger, and Jeff knew it would turn into a full-fledged war before the match ended.
He entered the ring and stood facing Joe for only an instant before lunging into an offense of right hands, punches, and various attacks on Joe's mid-section.
Caught by surprise, Joe didn't get a start on his attack till Jeff had Irish whipped him into one of the six corners. Both men were aware of the "Joe's Gonna Kill You" chant, as the larger wrestler slammed Jeff with his hardest punches, and finally took him down to the canvas.
Jeff tried to intercept him by grabbing for his throat, but Joe pinned his arms down to his sides and proceeded to give his boss a very hard head-butt.
Jeff cried out and felt blood running down his forehead. Upon glancing up at Joe, he saw that the Samoan was also busted open. He looked into his black eyes and was surprised when he didn't see anger.
He saw pain. And it wasn't physical pain he detected.
It hit Jeff like a ton of bricks. He realized that Joe was angry at himself. He blamed himself for Ella's death. His hostility over the past decade had not been due to blaming everyone around him as Jeff had once thought. Joe was instead taking his self-loathing out on his opponents.
"Joe…" he muttered, wrenching his arms free. He shot his fist into Joe's mouth to buy him a few seconds. "This doesn't have to go down like this."
Joe grabbed Jeff's throat and began slamming Jeff's head against the canvas.
"Joe! Listen! It wasn't your fault!"
Joe halted his attack and just stared at Jeff.
"Put your choke hold on me. I'll tap out, and we can talk," Jeff whispered.
Glaring, Joe did as he said and grabbed Jeff holding him firmly in his signature submission maneuver. Jeff pretended to put up a struggle for a few seconds—for the crowd's benefit—and then tapped out as Hernandez had done only minutes before.
Again the bell rang, and the referee took Joe's hand, raising it and signifying Joe was the winner of the gauntlet.
Joe didn't wait for Jeff, he just ducked under the ropes and stomped backstage.
Why do I get the feeling he could care less about talking, Jeff thought, also ducking under the ropes. He headed back up the ramp and hurried past the curtain. Once he was in the hallway, he saw Joe walking down the hall. He entered his dressing room and slammed the door.
"How will I ever get through to him," Jeff wondered out loud.
"I'd say wait him out," AJ suggested, having heard Jeff's frustrated words as he approached the veteran.
"I'd say that too, if I hadn't already waited ten years," Jeff returned, casting a weary glance at AJ. "But maybe a little more waiting is in order."
}i{}i{}i{}i{
The Gwen Stefani gig went a lot easier than Ella expected. She had to keep her energy up, of course, since Gwen was known for her bouncy stage-presence, but all in all, the party went well. The kids, teenagers and adults all seemed to enjoy the songs she performed, and a plus was—since she needed to shop for her Christina gig—she got to leave a lot sooner than she did with the quinceanera.
A couple of men helped her load her sound equipment into the back of her car, and she hurried to the mall to pick up some lingerie.
"There's no way I'm dancing around in some of my own underwear," she told herself. "That just feels wrong." She decided she would be trashing what she wore for the bachelor party later that night. Quickly, she looked at the list of items she needed and randomly grabbed a pair of red panties and matching bra, not really caring if the set was what the guys would like or not. Then groaning with dismay, she saw "chaps" written down on the list, and realized she might have to enter an adult store.
"Oh, no. How am I going to do this?"
Shaking her head she forced herself to focus. Reading the rest of the list, she noted she had the blond wig covered, but she would need to get some black clip-in extensions, and she already had a pair of black flat-heeled boots which would work fine under the chaps.
"Almost done," she whispered, heading for the cashier's desk. Once her lingerie was paid for, she reluctantly headed for Spencer's, an adult novelty store. She quickly searched and was successful in finding a pair of chaps that would work. She also grabbed a can of spray tan which would wash off with her next shower, and she found a package of brunette clip-in extensions for her wig as well. Her face flaming red, she hurried to the check-out counter and paid for her items. Luckily, the cashier seemed to think nothing of the chaps.
He's probably used to selling stuff like this all the time, she thought gratefully.
Less than an hour later, she was back at her home, applying the spray tan to allow it time to dry, and then she was planning out her makeup.
"Thank goodness Jolene and Rick are babysitting," she thought aloud. "I'd die if my daughter saw me looking like this."
Upon removing her red lipstick, she discovered she could make her makeup similar to Christina's simply by applying more eyeliner and smudging it into a thick smoky eye. Applying some shiny gloss to her lips, her makeup was complete. Then she grabbed one of her long blond wigs, and began hastily clipping black hair throughout the blond locks.
"It's not like it needs to look perfect," she muttered. "Christina really did look 'dirty' in that video!" she added inwardly. "How do I get myself into these messes?"
She pulled on the "clothes" next and her jaw dropped when she looked at herself in the mirror.
"I can't wear this. I just can't!" Her mind raced as tears of frustration threatened to pour. "I have to do something." She ran for her closet and ransacked the large area for anything which might help mask the horrid costume. "I'd be more covered in a HOOTERS outfit for crying out loud," she nearly screamed in anger. Her eyes fell on a pair of red hot pants. They were still extremely revealing, but were a far cry more decent than what she had on. "They can just deal with it," she growled, pulling off the chaps so she could put on the less revealing garment. Once she had the matter settled, she tugged on her pair of black boots, and then looked at herself in the mirror again.
"I'm never going to live this down."
She went downstairs then and began her vocal warm-ups for the second time that evening.
In the next hour, she finished getting ready and grabbed a long black coat which covered her almost completely, and then drove to the address she'd been given.
Pulling into a parking space, she looked up at the building and flinched.
"No way."
At the top of the building, she saw a huge, neon sign flashing the words: "BODY SHOTS"
"A bar," Ella demanded. "Seriously?! Lyle really expects me to go into a club for a bachelor party and…" she trailed off, knowing her rant was pointless. She had to do this. Otherwise, Lyle would sue her and she'd risk her picture being on the news and in the newspapers. Fournier would be able to find her if he was still looking.
So, she gathered her nerve, stepped out of her vehicle, and tightened her coat around her slender frame, apprehensive about being seen in such rags. She stepped up to the building and was startled when the large wooden door opened suddenly and two men emerged.
"Hey, doll," one of them said, smiling at her. Obviously he was already drunk. "Are you the impersonator?"
"Seeing as I'm dressed like a floozy, yes that's me," Ella didn't even attempt to hide her disdain. I may have to be here, but I never promised to have a great attitude, she thought. Maybe that's my way out of that contract. Make customers angry till Lyle is itching to get rid of me!
The two men stood aside and let Ella walk by to enter the building. She heard the door bang shut behind her and discovered she was in a dead bar with only a handful of men. Her eyes then fell on a stage, equipped with several stripper poles. The area was lit up as if it would be in use.
Yet there are no strippers here, Ella thought in dread. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Something isn't right here.
She felt her coat being removed and she had to fight the urge to yank it back around her.
Stay calm, and just play along, she thought to herself. I need to make them keep their guard down and catch them by surprise so I can get out of here. Screw Lyle and his contract.
"So, am I early or something," Ella asked, crossing her arms across her chest, hoping to hide some of her cleavage. When the action seemed to exacerbate the problem instead, she lowered her arms to her sides.
"Nope, why," asked one of the other men.
"Well, I was told my gig was for a bachelor party," Ella answered. "And the club appears closed too. What's going on?"
"Jim here owns this joint," a third man said, slapping a younger one on the back. "It's just us for the party."
"Five men? Not much of a party if you ask me," Ella replied. "This is awfully expensive for just a small group of guys. Are you sure you want to go through with my services?"
The men all laughed, and one of them began walking around Ella in a small circle, looking at her from top to bottom, and from every angle. He reminded her of a wolf stalking and closing in on his prey.
"Oh, we want to go through with your services all right," one of the other men guffawed.
"Please, stop," Ella tried to sound firm. "I'm a singer—an…an impersonator. I don't strip or anything."
"Well that's fine," the man circling her said, and grabbed hold of her wrists. "We can take care of that for you." He looked down as Ella gasped, and took note of her attire. "You didn't wear only panties. We didn't ask for those boy-short things." Ella screamed as he reached down and ripped both the chaps and her hot pants from her body. Now she was simply clad in her matching bra and panty set and boots. He latched onto her and grasped her hips.
"Let go of me!"
Ella screamed in a mixture of fear and rage as she was slammed up against one of the stripper poles and pinned in place by his strong body. The harsh cold metal dug into her back and the man wasn't helping matters as he pressed against her.
"Stay still," he commanded, as his hands roamed over her hips.
Without thinking her actions through, Ella shot her knee upward and rammed it into the man's groin.
He groaned in pain and instantly fell to his knees.
Ella lunged forward and headed for the door. Luckily, what with the men all being drunk, they were slow to react. Their incompetence bought her the time she desperately needed. She quickly reached the entrance and yanked on the door.
It didn't budge.
"No!"
Ella tried it again, this time pushing on it.
It still didn't move.
"Let me out," she screamed in a panic, pounding on the door. She spun around to find the drunk men all stumbling toward her, just like a bunch of creepy zombies from Night of the Living Dead.
She immediately took note of her surroundings and saw the huge window only a few feet away. Grabbing up a chair, she bashed it against the window.
Nothing.
"Come on," she yelled in frustration, slamming the chair against the window again.
This time, the window shattered into millions of pieces and fragments. Before the men could reach her, she dove out the broken window, trying not to cut herself.
Relieved to be back outside, she didn't watch where she was going as she ran. In the next instant she bumped into what she thought must be a wall. But then she felt hands grab her arms and steady her. She screamed at the contact and looked up at either her attacker, or her would-be rescuer. She could not make out his face in the darkness in order to determine if he was friend or foe. So, she decided to test him and find out.
"Please! Help me!"
