Peyton grabbed Honey by the hair with one hand, still holding the hand tangled in her hair with the other. Honey gasped as Peyton hauled her head back and grabbed the hand tangled in her own hair to try to relieve the pain. The two women snarled silently as they pressed their bodies together, pushing and shoving, trying to throw their opponent off balance while keeping their hands in their opponent’s hair.

 

***

 

Whiteshirt began to slide out of the booth to go break it up, but Ironside put his hand on his friend’s arm to still him. “Let it play,” he said softly. Honey had been running her mouth pretty hard for the last month, and he wanted to see if she had the tits to back it up. She was a pretty good fuck, but regardless of what she thought, she didn’t own him. Right now it was just some hair pulling, pushing, and threats.

 

***

 

“Bitch!” Honey snarled. She’d been a club girl one place or another for more than ten years, and she knew how to handle herself, but she was normally bigger and stronger than her opponent. This chick was going to be a handful.

 

Peyton had enough. She took a half-step back, bending at the waist slightly to open some distance between them, then fired her knee into the crotch of Honey. Honey saw it coming, and twisted, blocking most of it, but grunting in pain as the blow reverberated through her body. As Honey moved to block the blow, she loosened her grip on Peyton’s hair and she was able to jerk her head free. She released her grip on Honey’s hair, took another half step back and fired a jab into her face.

 

***

 

Ironside saw Honey’s knees wobble, then she sat down hard. “Go break it up,” he ordered.

 

Whiteshirt slid out of the booth as Peyton took a step to stand over Honey. “You want me to bring you anything else?” she sneered.

 

The larger woman didn’t appear to want to go in for the kill, so Whiteshirt only took her by the arm to restrain her. “That’s enough!”

 

“No!” Honey said, rolling to her feet while wiping at her bloody lip. “That damn sure isn’t enough! I’m going to take that bitch apart!”

 

Whiteshirt stepped between the two women and pushed Honey back. “Knock it off!”

 

Honey tried to do an end-around on Whiteshirt to get at Peyton, but he pushed her back again. She couldn’t leave it getting knocked on her ass like that! Not in front of Ironside! She turned to her lover.

 

“Babe! She got in a lucky shot, that’s all! I can take her! Don’t stop me! Let me finish it!”

 

Ironside eyes flicked between the two women. The new woman must have a punch like a gorilla, and she stood cool and relaxed, her eyes never leaving Honey. She wasn’t bragging or egging her on, just waiting, her hands still clenched into fists.

 

“If she wants to finish it, let them,” he ordered.

 

Whiteshirt looked at him a moment then turned the woman loose and stepped out from between them.

 

“I guess I’ll have to bring you the full service ass-whipping,” Peyton said as she took a step back and put her hands up in a fighting stance.

 

The moment the Saracen bitch took a step back and settled into her stance, Ironside knew it probably wasn’t going to go well for Honey, but she wanted it, so he was going to let take her shot.

 

“Don’t interfere,” Honey said with more bravado than she felt. The bigger woman had hit her harder than any other woman she’d ever faced. She punched like a goddamned man, and she was going to have to get inside and get dirty.

 

Ironside nodded. “You heard her,” he told Whiteshirt.

 

Whiteshirt took another step back to get out of their way. Like Ironside, he suspected Honey had bitten off more than she could chew, and now she was going to choke on it.

 

***

 

Honey charged in, slamming into Peyton and they went to the floor in a tangle, knocking over chairs and scattering tables. She might not be able to punch like the Saracens’ bitch, but she had a few skills of her own.

 

Peyton fired an explosive left at Honey as she charged in, but it glanced harmlessly off her head. She wanted to stand off and punch, using her greater reach and skill to her advantage, but as they crashed to the floor she knew it was going to be a down and dirty ground fight, just like every fight she’d ever been in.

 

Honey had Peyton by the throat, but before she could do anything, her opponent had her under her chin with one hand, grabbed a handful of hair with the other, and was forcing her head back. She cried out in pain as the Peyton pulled her hair, straining with everything she had to prevent the Saracens’ bitch from pulling her off of her and losing her dominate position.

 

Peyton lunged with her hips, tumbling Honey off her, rolling with her then reared up, breaking her grip on her throat. The woman clawed at her as she drew back to punch her fucking lights out, catching the front of her blouse and pulling her down again and spoiling her punch.

 

Honey wrapped her arm around the back of Peyton’s neck, taking her into a headlock to hold her head down. So long as she kept her head down, she couldn’t punch.

 

Peyton snarled in rage as she struggled to get her head up and out of the Knights’ bitch’s tits, pushing off the floor with her hands, then flopping over, dragging that Knights bitch with her. She fired one, two, three, then four rights into the woman’s side, making her grunt and writhe, but the punches were weak and not enough to break the woman’s hold on her neck.

 

Honey screamed when Peyton grabbed her hair again and pulled her head back. She tried to maintain the hold, but she screamed again as Peyton raked her back with the fingers of her other hand, her thin blouse little protection from Peyton’s claws. She tightened her grip on Peyton then rolled so Peyton could no longer inflict damage on her back or pull her head up.

 

***

 

Ironside sat calmly and watched the two women tumble, first one screaming then the other. It appeared to him Honey was getting the worse end of the fight, the Saracen woman throwing punches and trying to break Honeys’ hold, but he had to hand it to Honey, she was hanging in there, taking the punishment her opponent was dealing her.

 

***

 

Back on top, Peyton jacked herself up with her legs to give herself some room and began to throw right after right into Honey’s side. They weren’t hard punches, but they accumulated. Honey cried out again then threw Peyton to the side to stop the savage blows. The Saracen bitch had put her on the defense and was wearing her down, but she couldn’t lose this fight, not in front of Ironside. As they scrambled to their feet, she went in fast, her hand low to inflict the maximum damage.

 

Peyton had just gotten to her feet when the bitch charged in again. She hit her hard, before she could prepare, and drove her back into one of the pool tables. She screamed in pain as Honey bent her backwards over the table with a hand in her face, while clawing at her womanhood, her shorts providing scant protection. She grabbed Honey’s wrists with her hands, twisting the one away from her pussy while jerking the other away from her chin.

 

Honey strained as Peyton slowly forced her hand away from her pussy. She began to drive in with her legs, using her body to bend Peyton backwards, trying to try to snap her in half over the edge of the table. Peyton grimaced at her then allowed the hand she had intended to tangle in her hair to slip past.

 

Peyton relaxed, allowing Honey’s grasping hand to slide past her head then used her momentum against her to twist her to the side. She intended to reverse their hold, to put the Honey against the table and try to break her fucking back, but as she twisted her to the side, they rolled past the edge of the table and tumbled to the floor.

 

Honey hit the floor hard, Peyton falling on her as she dragged her down with her. In desperation, Honey wrapped her legs around Peyton, holding her close until she could recover from having the breath knocked out of her. Her eyes widened as she saw Peyton draw back a fist and she caught the arm, then jammed her hand under her chin to stiff-arm Peyton and prevent her from throwing the punch.

 

Peyton tried to free her hand, but she couldn’t, not while Honey was holding her head back. She put her free hand on Honey’s face and, with a snarl, pushed it down and sideways to try to break her leverage.

 

***

 

“Jesus Christ, they’re going to kill each other,” Whiteshirt said, starting to slide out of the booth again as the two women froze, their faces twisted in agony as they panting and strained.

 

“She didn’t want us to interfere,” Ironside said, his eyes never leaving the contest. He’d seen his share of catfights, but this wasn’t the normal pushing, shoving and hair pulling. These two were really giving it to each other, and he admired that neither were backing down, no quarter asked or given, and he wanted to see if Honey could battle her way out of it.

 

***

 

Peyton gave up trying to twist her way out of the hold as her strength faded. With the last of her strength, she grabbed the arm under her chin and yanked it away. She fell forward, and Honey immediately took her into another headlock. Peyton levered her ass up and began to drive her right into her Honey’s again, hitting her where she’d already softened her up, gritting her teeth against the pain of Honey’s clasp

 

Honey screamed as Peyton drove right after right into her side, trying to twist her head off before Peyton could punch her way out of the hold. Peyton’s blows were relentless. She could have taken any one punch, but like the stings of wasps, they multiplied until she couldn’t take it anymore.

 

The moment her head popped free, Peyton was ready. She threw herself off of the woman and scrambled to her feet. Honey was hurting and was slower to get up. Peyton took two steps forward and helped her up, lifting her by her hair before bending her at the waist and then locking an arm around her neck.

 

“That’s it!” Ironside said, sliding out of the booth, but the Saracens bitch got in two good punches before he and Whiteside arrived to pull them apart. Honey was still on her feet, but she was bleeding from the lips and nose, and was wobbly as shit.

 

“Enough!” Whiteshirt snarled as he pushed Peyton away.

 

Peyton wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, straightened her blouse, then shook her hand, trying to ease the pain from hitting the woman in the face. If her hand hurt, that Knights bitch’s face had to be killing her. “Next time you want me to bring you something, you better be ready to take it! Stupid bitch!”

 

“I’m going to kill you!” Honey sneered, wiping at her face but only smearing the blood.

 

“Honey, shut the hell up,” Ironside growled, picking her up and putting her in a chair. “Paul! Put some ice in a towel and bring it over here, along with a wet one.”

 

When the bartender arrived with the towels, he wiped the blood off Honey’s face with the wet towel then handed her the makeshift ice pack. “Hold this,” he said, rolling the ice-filled towel onto her face.

 

When the man administering to the woman turned to face her, she swallowed hard. From the look on his face, she was about to get her ass kicked.