Millie had been to The Spit a few times, so she knew what it meant when the lights changed. The dim atmosphere served to get people pumped for the fight and the light show was a death trap for anybody with epilepsy but Millie quite enjoyed it. Sometimes it could get a little unnerving for people to be in such a crowded space, but Millie relished in it. She enjoyed knowing that, even in a place where a young girl like her could be in a lot of danger, she simply wasn’t. She had her wolves around, plus she could handle herself.
She lifted herself up to sit on the bar as the first contender came out and walked to the cage. He was taller than Deon, but not quite as muscular. And anyhow, Millie had seen Deon use a man’s height against them a few times in the past, he knew how to use it to his advantage. ‘Spike’ wasn’t doing it for Millie. Then the music changed and she smiled a little bit, knowing Deon’s music when she heard it. She lifted the beer bottle to her lips by the neck, taking a swig. Her legs swung back and forth, hitting the bar in time to the music. Millie had a good view of everything going on from where she sat on the bar, able to see over the heads of the intoxicated guys, here to see a violent fight, and the squealing women, here to see some muscles and later throw themselves at the fighters.
"Deon does love to show himself off doesn’t he?" She heard Victor say from beside her. She couldn’t help but laugh, her laugh melodic and short. She nodded and set her now empty beer bottle down on the bar. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the show Deon was putting on for the audience, it was all so over the top but at the same time, it was all so very Deon that she was used to it by now. The girls never learned, though, and she watched as one woman almost fainted after Deon gave her a bear hug. She’d be talking about that for a month of fights. As she watched the girls swoon over him, and watched him bask in his supposed glory, a pang of jealousy shot through Millie’s stomach. She wasn’t jealous because he was sure to do several of those woman later, or because part of her even remotely wanted to be one of those women, she was jealous because they thought that made them special, and everybody else thought that made them special. It didn’t. Millie knew exactly how un-special they were. Special was being part of a gang that looked after you like family. Special was knowing that Deon felt more for you than what was happening in his pants at the time. Whether it was loyalty to the wolves, or loyalty to individuals, that was special. She shook her head, contemplating this over in her head, and ordered another beer, her second of the night. She had cut the queue, but the bartender brought it straight too her.