Cori mercifully passed out. Terri and Molly carried the lingerie-clad body of their victim out of the apartment and tossed her into their car. A short time later, the unconscious brunette was dumped in the dressing room of the club.
Cori awoke slowly. Her unfocused eyes sent confusing images to her brain. Where was she? She blinked furiously trying to clear her vision. She finally began to make out the flourescent lights and distinctive ceiling tiles in the club's dressing room. She made an abortive attempt to rise. Every inch of her body screamed in pain.
After a few more moments she managed to rise to a sitting position. What was she wearing? This wasn't what she had on at her apartment! If that fuckshit Jacobs changed her clothes himself . . .?! The thought went unfinished as a young fighter came in the dressing room. She told the brunette her match was up now.
"Fucking stupid!" she muttered, "Won't make this mistake again!" She hobbled down to the ring, leaning occassionally on seat backs along the way. The site of Cori in such obvious distress brought Michael out of his seat. Mother fu..., raged the mailman as he swung around in his seat, glaring in Peter Jacobs direction.
The match began, and though the outcome was obvious, Cori put up an astonishing battle. In the end, the beating she received earlier left her far too weakened to defend herself against her novice opponent.
Climbing slowly out of the ring after the loss, Cori looked towards Jacobs' private seating area. He was standing with a large grin on his face, his arms
|
|
Cori struggles valiantly against her young foe but
to no avail. The vicious beating she received mere
hours before the match has left her unable to defend
herself and she is pinned quickly. |