The Heavy Date Part 3
10 Aug 2017Mhera Bathana
Exotica, Clair Dock, TjakiriMhera had been thinking over the past week. Her interaction with Stryker was unusual, at best. He had done very little to impose himself on her.
Maybe he is trying to placate his guilt? She wasn’t quite sure what game he was playing, or if it was all some sort of test. But her next appointment was a block of four hours, and she sat at the edge of her bed, legs crossed, waiting.
The door opened, and Stryker stood in front of her, wearing some ratty cut tank top, shorts, heavy laced boots, and no socks. She eyed the attire. He might as well not wear a shirt at all. What a stupid shirt. Over his broad shoulder was a heavy and large duffle bag. He tossed it next to her on the bed. Without saying a word, he unzipped the large upper section and pulled out some attire, tossing it to the woman.
“Wear this,” he said simply.
She leaned over, plucking the light blue shirt up. It was nondescript and ordinary. She gave a huff, and picked up the pants. Her eyes wandered over it. Black, with a bit of a stretch to it. He pulled out a bundled pair of socks.
She was clearly annoyed. “Why?”
“I’m taking you out,” he replied, his blue eyes falling upon hers.
“Where?”
“I told you last week.” He pulled a pair of light shoes out of the bag and set them on the floor.
“I don’t remember,” she lied. She had thought about the prospect of getting out of her room.
Closing up the sack, he responded, “The gym.”
“How romantic. But I can’t. Unless you’re willing to have Borkus tag along.” She hated Borkus. The brute that kept the girls safe. Except he himself was violent, brutal, and most uncaring.
He heard her tone change at the mention of Borkus. Keeping his level he continued,“I’ve taken care of Borkus.” Stooping, he tightened up the laces to his boots.
Mhera felt her lips purse. Conflicting feelings washed over her. On one hand she liked the idea of getting out without Borkus’ caring oversight, but, on the other, she had a distaste for the man in front of her. She did as she was told, and found the clothes fitted quite nicely. Right down to the shoes. This struck her as odd. In her experience, men seemed to lack the ability to judge sizes well, but she didn’t say anything.
Stryker’s face broke into a smile, and he offered her his right hand. The mechanical monstrosity. Mhera eyed the sharp talons, reasoning that they could pierce through steel. With great hesitancy, she placed her hand in it. She felt the cold metal curl around her hand, expecting it to be crushed. Instead she found a firm, but gentle pressure.
The large man walked her from the establishment. The bright neon light overhead was reflected off the station’s wall. Clair Dock, the heart of Black Omega, had many accommodations. And, despite the anarchic nature of the organization, it was very well kept up. Sleek and stylish. He led her to the tram station, and, a short ride later, they found themselves at a small, hole in the wall like gym.
There wasn’t much to it. A single desk that no one was manning, and a large open space, crammed with free weights, machines, and some equipment designed to get the heart pumping. Any walls not covered with mirrors were painted in some graffiti like artwork. The place reeked with the odor of sweat, and the sound of clanking weights rented the air. This wasn’t some big box gym, like the kind she was accustomed to. This gym catered to a singular type of clientele; The meat head. She felt out of place and self aware. Taking glances, she had noted that most of the other men wore attire similar to Stryker. Maybe the shirt isn’t that stupid. Or maybe everyone here just is.
He led her over to a large cage like object that housed a long bar. Stryker tossed the bag to the ground. She watched him, unsure what to do. He pulled out a thick leather belt, and cinched it tightly about his mid-section, and, without a word, started loading plate after plate on the bar.
She didn’t know what to say or do. And as much as she hated it, her room provided a sense of familiarity and comfort. “What is this?” she asked, watching the man square the bar along his upper-back and shoulders.
Grunting, stryker unracked the weight bearing it upon his shoulders, “Squat cage,” he said, then brought it down to an almost sitting position. With an exhale he pushed with his powerful legs bringing the weight back up just to repeat the process.
Mhera’s gaze was transfixed on the bar. The heavy metal rod was bending under the weight, and the man just brought it down, and back up as if it weighed nothing. Her eyes widened in astonishment as he added even more weight to it. “That’s not going to break that bar thing, is it?” she asked, pointing at it.
“No.” He shook his legs out, massaging the muscle before squaring up under the bar again.
“What is it you want me to do?” she asked him.
Taking a deep breath, he shouldered the weight and grunted “Nothing.” before squatting again.
Crossing her arms, she leaned against the cage and gave him a sarcastic look. “Then why did you bring me here? Couldn’t find a workout partner?” she asked.
Stryker ignored her until he finished. Stepping out from under the bar, he shook his legs out again, then laid out on the floor. “No. I have plenty of people who want to train with me. Hell, many of them would be willing to pay. But I thought it would be more fun to work out with a mouthy prostitute.”
She felt her skin bristle. She hated this man so much. Squatting, she glared down at him. “Oh, I get it. The flashy dancing, knowing my shoe size. Funny, since I’m such a mouthy prostitute you didn’t utilize it much did you? You’re gay, aren’t you? And you’re trying to prove to yourself you’re not.” She was trying to hurt him in any way she could.
Stryker opened an eye. “So what if I am?” he turned his shaven head and gave her a wink.
“Shouldn’t you be screwing around with some other bloke and leaving me the hell alone?” She found her hands clenched, anger coursed through her at the thought of him toying with her.
“No,” he said simply. Arching his back, he kipped-up into a standing position. Mhera was surprised that a man with so much bulk had the agility to do that. “I have better things to do with my time.”
“Like what?” she hissed.
“Like, working out with a mouthy prostitute.” The man’s finger gunned her and he clicked his tongue before sliding the weights off the bar, and putting them away. A moment later, he was at a similar machine, but, with this one the bar was fixed on a track. He lowered it, added an insane amount of weight, and crawled under. Laying on his back, he brought his legs up in a squat like position, placing the bar in the arch of his feet. He grunted as he pushed the bar off, in a modified leg press.
Mhera’s face was twisted in rage. She walked around the Smith’s machine, and with all her force, slammed her body weight down on the bar, hoping the hurt the man. It had almost no effect.
He looked up at her. “If you're going to do that, sit on the bar, proper like,” he said, giving her another wink.
Mhera growled in frustration. She swung around the machine. Blinded by her rage, she was unaware of what she was doing. There was a crunch, and she found her foot on top of the man's face. She gasped, surprised at her own reaction, then turned and bolted towards the door.
Behind her she heard the clatter of weight, then heavy footfall. Before she knew it, she felt a hand tightly wrapping around her arm, seizing her. She felt herself falter forward, then swing around. Massive arms held her tightly as she fought and struggled against them. She hit, punched and scratched whatever she could; yet he continued to hold on.
“Why are you doing this to me!” She sobbed, her body wracked with spasmodic shudders.
“Look at me!” Stryker ordered.
Mhera continued to fight, struggling to break from his embrace.
Stryker kept his voice firm, but gentle. “Look at me!”
Slowly she looked up. Blood was oozing from his nose, and split lip. The eye starting to puff up and changing into an unsightly mottled purple.
His bloodied face was kind, and sympathetic. “Because, I can get you out of here.”.
“Liar!” She struggled in vain against his iron grip. “You’re the one that put me in here! You could have let me go, back there on the ship when you commandeered it!”
Stryker held her in his arms, and shook his head. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not!” she spat, her strength beginning to fail her.
“Because if I did, we both would have been marked for death. Hunted by Black Omega enforcers. But now, there is a chance.”
Mhera didn’t believe him. “How?” She took a shuddering breath into his chest.
“Well, one benefit of working as Marra’s personal engineer is that I can purchase any slave or prostitute I want. And when that happens, it’s my business to do what I want with them.”
“And did... did you buy me?” she asked, looking up into his bleeding face.
“You’re pretty expensive,” he said with a gentle smile, “I’m having to take some extra work, but I’ll get you out of here.”
Mhera felt her body relax, there may be hope after all, and for the first time in a long while a calming wave of peace washed over her.
Special Thanks to Jemine Caesar for her suggestions and edits!