16 years later — Alberta, Canada

A dingy bar, nestled deep in the Alberta mountains, was packed with a rowdy crowd gathered around a cage fight. Shouts and cheers filled the air, fists pounding against the metal of the cage, fueling the chaos.

One woman stood out among the onlookers, her voice loud and clear as she called out to one of the fighters. She looked to be around 25, her black cattleman hat low over her face, casting shadows beneath the brim. She wore a pair of well-worn bootcut jeans over a pair of scuffed boots that had clearly seen better days. A brown belt with a large buckle—fake turquoise and a cattle head engraved into it—sat on her hips. Her burgundy button-up shirt was loosely worn, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, with several buttons undone to reveal the dirt-streaked white tank top beneath.

A pair of silver dog tags clinked against a golden cross hanging from her neck, the sound faint but constant with each of her movements. In one hand, she held a half-empty beer; in the other, a cigarette burned lazily between her fingers—her second of the night. Her fingernails were long and rounded off at the point, a deep red polish coated each finger. 

Inside the cage, the man she was rooting for stood shirtless, his chest heaving from exertion. Sweat gleamed off his muscular body, his mutton chops sharp against the wild, spiked hair that gave him a feral look, almost like the ears of a cat. His dog tags swayed with his labored breaths, and his chest rose and fell as he steadied himself, having just finished his eighth fight of the night.

The bar was in a frenzy, shocked by what they were witnessing—a fighter who had taken out eight men and stood ready for more. As the emcee took the stage to find a worth opponent for the man, the fighter himself squatted down to get eye level with the woman who had been cheering him on. 

"How many fights till we make enough, sweetheart?" His voice was low but loud enough to carry over the crowd.

"Just one more, baby, keep up the good work." She smiles at him and reaches into the cage brushing her hand over his face. He returns her smile with a smirk of his own and returns to his fighting position as the emcee calls for him, sending her a wink before he does. 

A man stands, raising his hand to sacrifice himself, "I'll fight him." The woman scoffs at the man's attempt to seem all powerful. Sure he was a big man, but big doesn't help when fighting adamantium. 

The emcee raises his hand towards the man, "Ladies and Gentleman, our savior!" The crowd cheers at the man's willing sacrifice. He removes his jacket and roughly steps into the ring. The man, king of the ring at the moment, was hanging onto the cage, taking his sweet time. while the emcee discussed the rules, "Just don't hit him in the balls."

"But you said anything goes?" The man asks wearily, and the woman almost laughs out loud, this man just signed up to get his ass handed to him.

"Yeah but he takes it personally, says he's gotta be able to please his lady." The emcee shoves his thumb in the direction of the woman with the black cattleman hat. 

The bell dings and the King of the Cage downs his whiskey. The man, Stu, who signed for an ass whooping, goes for a punch right to the abdomen. The man, looking almost cat-like, doubles over in pain. The woman stays silent while the crowd around her goes crazy. She knows he's waiting for the perfect moment. Stu sends another punch to the man's face, right in the jaw, knocking him completely to the floor. Just to finish it off, Stu kicks him in the balls. 

The woman shakes her head and clicked her tongue. "Bad move."

 When he goes to throw another punch, a fist collides with his, the adamantium bones breaking his hand. Stu cries out in pain and doubles over. The woman finally lets out a cheer at the man's comeback, and he hits Stu once more, sending him into the metal chains of the cage. The woman takes a wild sip of her beer, finally getting hyped for this fight and cheering for the man with the cat ears. The man gets on top of Stu and lets the punches fly, relatively knocking him out. 

The bell dings and the man shakes his head in almost a dog-like manner. The emcee walks back into the ring, grabbing the mans hand and raising it above his head. "Ladies and Gentlemen, tonights winner, and still king of the cage, the Wolverine." 

The crowd around them boos at this information, their bets being lost to this man once again. The woman however, cheers and yells, "Yeah baby! That's right!" And walks over to the part of the cage where the man stands.

He whispers to her, "How much we make sweetheart." 

She giggles, "1,000 dollars. We can finally get some good food." He smiles at her and exits the cage. She follows him to the backroom, which held a shower for him, a cot, and a change of clothes. Her beer bottle was forgotten and a new cigarette took its spot between her fingers. He entered the room first, and she followed, closing the door behind her. The light in the room gave off a murky yellow glow, the florescent making her squint at its brightness. 

"I'm gonna shower, you wanna join?" He smirks at her and she rolls her eyes playfully. 

"Ragazzaccio mio," She offers him a flirty grin, "As much as I love the offer, you stink, and me and you in a shower together does nothing but make us more dirty. Go clean yourself off, I am not sitting in the car for eight hours with a stinky man." 

He rolls her eyes, and grumbles, "Suit yourself." He leaves to the small bathroom enclave. While he takes a shower, she sits on the small cot, reading a car magazine that was left in the room before they came along. He walks out of the bathroom, a faded white towel sitting on his hips, and steam trailing after him.

The woman sets the magazine down and stares at him, "I'm assuming you used all the hot water." 

"You bet, sweetheart." She rolls her eyes and goes back to reading as he changes. A new pair of bootcut jeans hung on his hips, brown belt with a big, dull, buckle. He tucks in his beater tank top and throws a couple layers on top, a flannel, jean jacket, and his leather jacket that he couldn't remember where he got it, he's just always had it. When he's finished, he throws on his boots and helps the woman from the cot and they grab their bags and walk out of the room. 

They approach the bar and the woman immediately notices the young girl sitting at the bar by herself. They take their seats and drop their bags beside them, the man ordering two whiskeys while he lights a cigar. The bartender hands the drinks to them and they each slowly nurse it. "You got the money?" The woman asks after taking a sip of her whiskey. 

The bartender nods and hands her a stack of 100 and 50 dollar bills which she conveniently stuffs into her bra for safe keeping. Then, she can smell the gross man from a mile away and when he comes up behind the pair, her nose scrunches up in disgust, his stench even stronger the closer he got to them. He taps the mans shoulder and the pair turns their heads to look at him, "You owe me some money."  

His buddy taps him meekly, "Come on Stu, let's not do this."

The woman scoffed, "Yeah, Stu, you really should leave it alone." 

He continues on though, waving his buddy's hand away, "No man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it." Stu leans in close between them and the woman scrunches her nose in disgust, taking another sip of her whiskey. "I know what you are."

The man takes a sip of his own glass and then a puff of his cigar before he speaks, his voice low and threatening, almost gravely, "You lost your money, you keep this up you'll lose something else." 

"Come on buddy," Stu's friend attempts to pull him away and just as they think he's ready to leave, the woman hears the shink of a pocket knife flipping open.

The girl from the bar screeches, "Look out!" And the pair fly off their seats. The man corners Stu up against a post, with two long metal claws that unsheathed from his knuckles trapping Stu's neck in place. The third claw extends slowly, taking its place right on Stu's neck. The woman, who stands ready to fight also has three long claws extended from both her hands. The woman can hear everyone's heartbeats rise. 

She hears a gun cock and feels the cool metal barrel of a shotgun get pressed up to her neck, her hat making it hard for him to get a shot off into her head. "Get out of my bar, freaks." The bartender says, his voice shaky. 

She tilted her head slightly, her voice calm and dangerous. "Come on, Logan, he's not worth it."

Stu laughs at the woman's attempt and mocks back, venom lacing his voice, "Yeah listen to your bitch, Logan."

Logan chuckles, letting out a deep, "Aw, you shouldn't have said that," and steps aside, sheathing his claws, as a fire enrages inside the woman's eyes. She swings one of her hands backwards, slicing the shotgun into pieces with her claws and lunges at Stu.

"Figlio di puttana, you watch your mouth, bastardo. This bitch will slice you right down the middle." She growls, a foreign language and accent slipping off her tongue. Stu lets out what almost sounds like a quiet cry of fear. Instead of gutting him, she drove her knee into his groin with a wicked grin. "Metal knees, cagna." Stu crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain.

She sheathes her claws and grabs the grey zip-up hoodie that rests on top of her bags. She puts it on to bear the cold weather outside, throwing her own leather jacket on top of that. She and the man, Logan, grab their bags and sling them over their shoulders, heading out to the little trailer they called home for now. 

While they were walking towards the trailer, the woman could sense footsteps following behind them. They were short footsteps, rendering them someone's of short stature, and she assumed it was the girl she had seen at the bar. She also assumed she was carrying something heavy by the way her feet fell against the ground, but the woman decided to ignore it and moved on.

As they loaded up, Logan started the trailer and the woman immediately took off her hat, setting it on the dash and letting her wild curls breathe. They take off and head a few miles along the road. 

About an hour in, Logan lights up another cigar while the woman lifts her legs and plants her feet on the dash. Logan is quick to shut her down though and grumbles, "Get your dirty boots off my dash, Verena." 

The woman, Verena, raises her hands in surrender, "Gosh, I thought after all that you'd at least let a girl relax." 

He grumbles, "If you wanna relax, there's a perfectly good bed waiting for you. You don't need to be puttin your dirty boots on the dash to do so." Verena rolls her eyes and gets up from her seat to go lay on the bed in the trailer. Without moving his eyes from the road, his hand brushes over the spot where her boots had been to rid of the dirt.

She kicks off her boots at the edge of the bed and before throwing herself onto the thin mattress she calls out to Logan, "You know that girl from the bar's been in the tow trailer since we left." With that, she throws herself onto the bed covering her face with her hat to blockout the light.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

©️Fanofadifishman

Word Count: 2047

Translations:

Ragazzaccio mio - Naughty Boy

Figlio di puttana - Son of a bitch

bastardo - bastard

cagna - bitch

A/N: And we're off with Act one. I should probably stop leaving such long authors notes but I can't help it. I love this book too much. As always, don't forget to vote, comment, and share.

Love y'all lots,

Allegra 💙