【 encino hills, 2017 】
━━ tw sexual assault

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━━ From the time she was a child, Stevie was told that there was only one resource that the world produced too much of.

Girls.

It took her being freed to understand that she was not some overproduced material. She was an overexploited class of people. Girls were abandoned and kidnapped for simply existing. They were raped and murdered for acting human. They are the product of centuries of suffering and survival.

The Red Room took suffering to another level.

From the moment the girls were stolen, they were erased. They did not exist once they belonged to General Dreykov.

Every day, they were beaten into ... well, some say perfection, others would say submission. All these girls knew was that it was hell. From the blood that seeped through their pointe shoes in the morning, to the broken knuckles during afternoon training, to the bruises around their wrists from being chained to their nightmares.

The Red Room rid themselves of the girls who weren't good enough, and destroyed the ones who survived.

When you were in such a soulless place, you had to search for something worth their survival. Things worth staying alive for. Perhaps they were not good things, but the ample money and the outsiders fear of crossing Dreykov were the closest Stevie could find. ( While she had a soft spot for one of the girls, she knew better than to get close to her. One of them would be dead by the end, and it wouldn't be her. )

When you were a Black Widow, money was no object and Dreykov didn't let people play with his toys. Not without his consent. 

When you were an employee of Goldfinger's, the luxuries were different. There were no promises you would get paid properly. You would not risk your life if you were not the best, but there was no guarantee the girls wouldn't be groped either.

Goldfinger's Gentlemen's Club hired Stevie at fifteen, just weeks before she had moved to California, being the sole location to allow her such a belated start date. All of her coworkers were under the impression that she had just barely made the cusp of legal age ( with the exception of Scotty, who knew all about that particular truth ).

And so, for eight months, due to the belief she had, in fact, been eighteen, she had, once more, seen the nasty side of men. She has been fondled, flirted with, kissed on, and had her cleavage stuffed with cash. She's been solicited and catcalled, and she has been taking it with a smile. ( A terribly fake, awfully murderous smile, but a smile nonetheless.)

Tonight was no different.

On par for Friday nights, the bar was packed. 

On par with Stevie's luck, she was the only person behind the bar. Waitresses were in charge of the draft beers, but everything else was under the sole bartender's care. 

So for hours, she was churning out manhattans and sazeracs and dirty gin martinis. It was close to midnight when one of her regulars made his appearance ( and he was one of those assholes who was convinced the world revolved around his every whim ).

Brad was annoying. He was touchy and demanding and had no understanding of personal space. But he gave good, cash tips directly to her ( and she had known men far worse than he ), so she would suck it up if that meant she could build her savings even moreso by the end of the year.

"Always a pleasure to see you back, Brad," Stevie sauntered over while shaking and pouring yet another martini for a gentleman at the bar, "Would you like your usual?"

"Not tonight, beautiful. Scotty's told me that you've been holding out on me."

Stevie's nails dug into the bar, undoubtedly breaking the tips of her nails. It had been a minute since she has had such a dangerous smile plastered on her face, but her voice was saccharine.

"Now, why would I ever do that to you?" She asked as she leaned against the bar. Her false lashes ( dictated by employee dress code ) fluttered against the tops of her cheeks as she put on siren eyes.

Brad's eyes dropped, obviously, down to her lacy bralette before he slowly trailed his eyes up to her face, "He tells me that you make a dirty mistress, unlike any other."

Ah, the dirty mistress.

Scotty had coined her version of a Black Russian as such. Quality coffee liquer and vodka taken straight from Little Russia. It had been one of the alleged reasons he hadn't put much stock into her age when she went in for a final interview.

She maintained her false smile before putting on a pout, "I wish I could, but she's an expensive girl."

Lies.

Lies.

Lies.

But he bought her lies.

Hook, line, and sinker.

He shoved three one hundred dollar bills into her cleavage, and allowed his fingers to linger between her breasts before retreating his hand.

She swallowed the sick she felt before lowering her voice for him, "I suppose I can spare the last of it for you." Stevie bent down to grab her almost empty flask before she began mixing the drink.

( Of course these pompous, Encino jerks made her sick, but they were too easy. Like father, like son: Kyler truly took after his dad on this account at the very least. )

As she passed off Brad's drink to him, Stevie heard someone clear their throat to the left of her. She instinctively looked to the left of her to find the source of her sound. She looked back to the bar she was wiping down before she realized who her newest customer was.

"Get me a Coors Banquet."

Stevie looked to make sure the other patrons didn't require her attention before storming over to the only waiting customer.

And she was pissed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here, Lawrence?" Stevie leaned against the bar with narrowed eyes, nothing about her appearance trying to swindle men with her sex appeal, "Did you fucking follow me here?"

Jesus. 

She waits out at his dojo before work once weeks ago, and he follows her to work?

Johnny's stupid face had no thoughts, just a dumb smile, "I'm just a guy trying to get a drink at the bar."

She clenched her jaw as her knuckles turned white, "You gonna turn away a paying customer, Stevie Wonder?"

"I might get to," Stevie rebutted with a snarky tone, "It's not like you can afford this place."

She had underestimated his willingness to throw money at his crappy beer despite his financial status. He slammed a crinkled twenty dollar bill in front of her, that she glared at as if it had personally wronged her. ( And perhaps it had. ) Nonetheless, she stuffed it in her bra, not even bothering to give him his change before she popped the cap of the glass bottle off with her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth.

Any energy she had for making tips had dissipated. Her customers were more convinced that she was a dog to whistle at than an actual bartender, but she could hardly pay them any mind. She wasn't convinced in the slightest that her moron of a neighbor wouldn't completely fuck things up for her.

"Well, I served you," Stevie muttered quietly to Johnny, "Now get the fuck outta here."

"Barkeep!"

"I'm not done, Fleetwood," Johnny replied before taking a languid sip.

"I'll be with you in just a minute, Mister Park." Then, Stevie did something she never thought she would do for Johnny Lawrence of all people.

"Lawrence, I'm begging you. I cannot afford to lose this job." Her voice gained a desperate edge that Johnny felt for. He almost took his can with him to leave, but Brad fucking Park had to screw it up.

"Barkeep, get your ass over here!"

Now, Stevie could teach a masterclass in patience. She knew how to wait for the most opportune moment before she struck. It was her thing, to say the least.

"She said, give us a fucking minute!"

It was a class Johnny hopelessly needed.

His chair screeched against the floor, as if he expected the music to stop. He began walking towards the neighbors, and Stevie cursed under her breath.

"What did you just say to me, Barbie?"

If Stevie knew anything about her current customers, they were both hotheaded assholes who were always ready for a fight. She swung over the bar, trying to make sure that fight that the men were so desperately craving wasn't going to happen in the club.

She slapped her hand over Johnny's open mouth the make sure he didn't say anything stupid, or worse, say anything that would get her fired.

"My apologies, Mister Park. He's had too much to drink. Let us escort him out, and we'll get your next drink on the house."

Stevie played a beautiful representative of customer service before turning around to face the source of her biggest headache, "Johnny, just get out. Please."

He pursed his lips, and then he thought about how she practically begged him to not cost her her job. He grabbed his drink, and turned around to leave. But Brad was too prideful and too much of an asshole to let it go.

"That's right, Barbie. Go back to cleaning our shit, Lawrence," He called out to Johnny, who stopped moving before wrapping an arm around Stevie's waist too tightly with his thumb skimming too closely to the hem of her uniform and muttered under his breath, "Stay away from that fucking trailer trash if you know what's good for you."

She clenched her jaw tightly. She may have despised her neighbor, but she despised this type of man so much more. He was a far more pathetic version of the men she had been forced to grow up for. Not to mention the audacity for him to assume he had any input on her life. Her knuckles were white, but before she could let her temper explode, Johnny yanked Stevie to the side and suckered punched Brad.

She could admit that Johnny was an impressive fighter, though he was unaware of the unfortunate fact that when Brad Park comes to Goldfinger's, he is very rarely alone. Every weekend, his group of friends since high school ( from the wrestling team, as a matter of fact ) would meet up with him. 

Perhaps they weren't in the club initially, but they surely were now.

Johnny was purely focused on Brad: as far as he was concerned, he's the piece of shit who insulted him and groped his twelve year old neighbor. His problem is that he often has tunnel vision, meaning he was completely unaware of the man behind him with a beer bottle raised above his head.

Unfortunately, the group did account for Stevie, who was already pissed off ( not to mention she now owed Johnny Lawrence of all people ) to get involved.

Perks of being underestimated, I suppose.

Before glass could shatter against Johnny's temple, Stevie took a hold of the wrestler's wrist and twisted the bottle out of his hand into her own. She didn't relent on her grip as she spun her body beneath his arm, slamming it into the head of the man behind them.

He got knocked out, and Stevie wrapped her leg around the first man's knee to tackle him down. In the meantime, Johnny had thrown Brad against the bar before he swept another man's leg.

However, Mister Park bounced back, ready to tackle her neighbor. So Stevie did what Svetlana did best.

She finished the job.

She dragged another man who had placed himself in the fight, and used his arm to wrap around Brad's neck to drag him away from Johnny. She, then, turned her back to kip up into a nearly vertical position before slamming her feet onto the floor. The momentum coming from a one hundred and eighty degree change forced her to bend down, throwing them over her back until they landed into a messy pile of limbs on the floor.

When she lifted her head, Scotty's fuming face was in front of her. The music had actually stopped, and the eyes of everyone in the club were burned into her. It made her feel exposed, as if she was as bare as the dancers on the stage. She did well to not show it, as she met her boss's glare unflinchingly until Johnny broke the tension.

"Hyah!"

There was no question that Stevie was getting fired now.

"Get the hell out of here, Novak."

He started out with a hiss before he started screeching at her, "Get out!"

He stuck his finger in her face, and Stevie almost, almost, ripped it off. Instead, she maintained her composure ( and her insolence ) once she slapped his hand out of her way. Scotty had been expecting a fight from her, and her opting to quietly walk away made him feel like he was the shit. He took her silence as submission and fear, and he had to admit, he liked it.

Unfortunately for him, the feeling didn't last long. Once she returned from the employee locker room with her bag, she stopped in front of the exit and turned to address her former customers.

"Scotty takes a piss in the house kegs every day before we open because he thinks you didn't tip out enough the night before."

Every individual who had a glass of beer in front of them spit it out. Some sprayed their drink into a fine mist while others were so shocked at the revelation, that it simply dribbled out of their mouth.

Stevie could've stopped there: spared her coworkers their jobs. But in all honesty, she felt nothing for them. They were simply coworkers: they never had any interest in her, and she in them. 

So she eyed the group of men who were in a pile on the ground and continued, "And if any of you want to try and press charges, just know that I turned sixteen a couple weeks ago. Meaning that most of you have been making a habit of groping a fifteen year old for the better part of a year."

Scotty had a look of death in his eyes. She just wasn't sure if he wanted to kill Stevie or kill himself.

So to put the final nail in his coffin, "Scotty knew, and he hired me anyway."

▄ ▄ ▄

Stevie was almost positive that her actions were about to shut the club down, but she didn't care.

Like at all. 

Goldfinger's Gentlemen's Club was in a fucking uproar, thanks to her. They were so busy shouting at her former boss obscenities for allowing them to screw over their marriages and commit crimes, that they didn't even realize she had swiped cash from nearly every open wallet on the way out.

( Yes, they were that stupid. )

Her smug act had faded rather quickly, leaving her just exhausted. 

She needed to get another job sooner than later because her one year of prepaid rent was coming to an end.  

Though she might push that off and make it a ❛ tomorrow problem ❜.

Tonight, all she wanted to do was scream into her pillow in true melodramatic, teenage fashion, or punch the wall, pretending it was ... well ... the person who was currently on the shit end of her gun.

Johnny stopped walking and put his hands up, "The hell are you doing with a gun, Nicks? That shit's not a toy."

It wasn't a stalker like Stevie had thought, but she wasn't entirely convinced that wasn't a reason to not shoot, "I'm a young girl, walking home alone at night. I know all the concussions have fucked your brain up, but I thought you at least had some common sense." The partial lie rolled off of her tongue as easily as the insult. 

For a moment, Johnny looked like he forgot she was holding a gun, "Don't try to pull one on me. Everyone knows concussions aren't real."

This time, Stevie was the frozen one. Not because of fear or regret. 

No, she had never thought someone could really be that dumb.

"Это многое о нем объясняет." ( That explains so much about him. )

It didn't take long for her to put the gun back in her bag, nor for her to regret putting it up in the first place, "Look, I'm sorry you got fired, but no twelve year old needs to be flashing their tits."

"Do you think I did that shit for fun? That I enjoyed having men who can't get it up for their wives groping me like I'm a toy? It was a fucking job, dipshit!"

Stevie clenched her jaw, the anger beginning to radiate off of her as she started storming towards him, "It was a fucking job, and you just cost me it!" She was abandoning all sense of decorum to slam her fist across his face.

"I cannot believe you fucking followed me and started shit where I work? For ёпт святого. Что за дерьмо нюхают мужчины, чтобы думать, что у них есть право трахать нас?" ( For fuck's sake. What kind of shit do men snort to think they have to fuck us over? )

Johnny hissed in pain because that was a hell of a punch from a girl who was full of rage. He took it though, because he did get her fired, but she was not satisfied with just his inevitable black eye. 

( That was wrong. She wasn't satisfied with the simple sting in her knuckles. )

She tried to punch him again, but he had ducked before she could make contact with him. Instead, she made contact with the metal lamp post right behind him. And she found that the feeling that gave her was enough. She kept hitting the bloody dent she started to make until she was dragged away. 

Stevie wriggled her way out of the hold on her waist, and stared at her hand for a second. 

It hurt.

Her knuckles were dripping scarlet. She was sure when she went home to clean it, parts of her bone would be exposed. 

Stevie grimaced, stretching her fingers gingerly before adjusting the little clothing her Goldfinger's uniform had. She clenched her jaw and picked up her backpack and walked away.

She could not bring herself to say anything to Johnny. Perhaps it was embarrassment that kept her quiet: she had lost her composure in front of a man who she has seen passed out in his own piss and occasionally be berated by his estranged son. Or maybe, it was anger. If she looked at him, she might beat him into a pulp.

But she left with peace as the intention.

"I want you to join Cobra Kai."

━━ y'all do this fic soooo good and i love y'all for it