Watchdogs vs Butterflies

 

The moon hung high over Cockville, casting a silver glow across the empty streets and the crooked sign of the Watchdog Headquarters that dangled from rusted chains. It was a quiet night—just the way Chase Routledge liked it.

Chase’s broad frame was a sight to behold, filling out his worn blue polo shirt, snug against his chest and arms like it had been tailored by the gods themselves. The black leather jacket he wore over it, emblazoned with the bold Watchdog logo on the back, was more than just a piece of clothing; it was his calling card. His jeans clung to his hips with an effortless swagger, making him look every bit the dangerous, rugged leader he was known to be. He swung a long leg over his prized ride—a Harley Fat Bob, decked out in chrome with a raised seat and low bars. It rumbled to life with a deep, resonant growl that matched Chase’s own low, commanding voice, a voice that could make anyone freeze in their tracks or fall in line, whichever he preferred.

He rolled into the Watchdog Headquarters' lot, gravel crunching under the wheels, a half-smirk on his face as he pulled off his helmet. He gave a sharp exhale, his mind already racing through the plans for the night, but then he felt… something. A pressure building in his bladder that wouldn’t be ignored.

“Damn it,” he muttered, parking his bike by the building’s edge. He glanced around and spotted a gnarled old tree standing defiantly by the fence, a perfectly isolated place to handle nature’s call. With a quick, smug grin, he swaggered over, unzipping just enough to take care of business.

“Good to be a man,” he drawled to himself, chuckling. “Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ us from peein’ wherever we please.”

But midstream, his smirk vanished, replaced by a look of sudden, confused discomfort. It started as a faint tickling sensation but quickly turned into a fiery burn. Chase’s eyes widened, and he glanced down, horrified, as he realized what was happening. Fire ants. Dozens of them, crawling up from the tree bark and onto his… well, his pride and joy.

“Aw, hell no!” he yelped, fumbling to brush the ants off with one hand. But they were relentless, their bites leaving a trail of hot, stinging pain all over him. “Shit! Get off, ya little bastards!”

He panicked, giving a rough pull on his zipper to close up, but in his haste, he felt a sharp tug followed by an even sharper stab of pain.

“Oh, son of a…!”

His voice echoed through the empty lot, cracking slightly as the pain overwhelmed his usual bravado. His zipper was stuck. On him. Panic washed over him, and he tried to yank it free, his eyes darting around the lot as he tugged, his breath coming fast and panicked. But this was Cockville, and night was dangerous—no one dared come out to help, not even his so-called loyal gang members.

After a few more desperate attempts, he took a deep, shuddering breath, mustering the little dignity he could manage in the situation. “C’mon, Chase, you’re the goddamn leader of the Watchdogs,” he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth. “Ya gonna let a few ants and a zipper take ya down?”

Finally, with one last hard yank, he freed himself. He stumbled back, groaning as he cupped his bruised pride, wincing as the pain radiated up his torso.

When the worst of the throbbing dulled, he leaned against the tree, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with shaky fingers. Chase took a slow drag, exhaling with a forced calm as he tried to salvage what was left of his pride. The smoke curled around him as he gave a rueful chuckle, reminding himself who he was.

“You’re Chase Routledge, damn it,” he said softly, as much to reassure himself as to affirm his title. “Leader of the Watchdogs. Ain’t nothin’ gonna bring you down.”

But tonight, he thought as he took another drag, he might just take a minute to regroup before heading inside.

The sting of fire ants and the zipper incident were fresh in Chase’s mind, but as he walked, he gave himself a reassuring pat, adjusting his jeans and muttering under his breath.

“C’mon now, Routledge Junior,” he whispered down at himself, offering a crooked, slightly pained grin. “Time to toughen up, champ. Ain’t nobody takin’ us down, ya hear?”

With a final nod, Chase took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and strode across the parking lot toward the headquarters with a proud, unflinching swagger, ready to leave that unfortunate moment behind him.

The old warehouse that served as the Watchdog Headquarters was dimly lit, filled with smoke and noise that was thick as the walls themselves. As Chase pushed open the door, a loud, resonant cheer erupted from inside. Dozens of men rose from their seats, clinking bottles together, their faces lighting up with admiration and reverence. To them, Chase was more than just the leader; he was the toughest man in Cockville, a legend, a hero of grit and brawn that couldn’t be rivaled.

“Routledge!” someone shouted from the back, raising a bottle. “The goddamn king himself!”

Chase’s lips curled into a slow, cocky grin as he gave a subtle nod. He could feel the admiration radiating off his men, feeding his ego, soothing his pride after that run-in with the ants. This was his territory, his kingdom, and these were his loyal followers.

He made his way through the crowd, high-fiving a few of the younger guys and clapping shoulders, a living god among men. He took his place in the VIP corner, settling into a large, worn leather armchair that was more throne than chair. Surrounding him were his most trusted men—his inner circle, each with a role that kept the Watchdogs’ grip over Cockville unbreakable.

To his left was Froy Hanson, Chase’s right-hand man, sharp as a whip and cold as ice. Froy had that calculating look in his eye, the kind that said he’d slit your throat without flinching if Chase gave the word.

Next to Froy was Cole McKnight, the muscle of the gang, built like a tank with biceps that looked like they could crush a man’s skull. Cole didn’t talk much, preferring to let his fists do the speaking, which they did all too well.

To Chase’s right sat Lucas Beaufort, the youngest of the crew, barely 25 but already well-versed in the art of intimidation. Lucas had that eager look, the kind of grin that said he was hungry for the thrill, ready to prove himself.

Finally, on the far end was Joshua Blester, the man who handled collections, “taxing” local businesses to ensure their “protection.” Joshua was ruthless in his methods, taking whatever was needed from anyone who dared step out of line.

Chase leaned back, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his face as he scanned the room. A female server approached, bowing her head as she handed him his drink, a whiskey on the rocks. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward him with a firm grip, and with a smirk, settled her onto his lap. She let out a soft, nervous laugh, trying not to make eye contact as he stroked her hair absentmindedly.

“So,” Chase drawled, his voice rich and commanding as he took a long sip. “Give me the rundown, boys. What’s the word on our little empire?”

Froy was the first to speak, leaning forward, his eyes narrowed in focus. “Got some good news on the west side, Chase. The new bars have been payin’ up without a hitch. Took ‘em a bit to fall in line, but they learned quick enough. Ain’t nobody daring to step outta line with us around.”

Chase grunted approvingly, raising his glass in a silent toast to Froy. “Good to hear. Ain’t nothin’ more satisfying than watchin’ a grown man’s will break under pressure.”

Cole spoke next, his deep, gravelly voice rumbling through the room. “Had a couple of drunks try to push their luck at Murphy’s last night. Had to remind ‘em whose turf they were steppin’ on. Sent ‘em home bruised and bloody.” A faint, almost pleased smile tugged at his mouth.

“Attaboy,” Chase said, clapping Cole on the shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear—folks knowin’ their place.”

Lucas chimed in, his tone light and casual. “Dealt with a few punks tryin’ to run their own hustle down by the docks. Took care of ‘em, easy as pie. They won’t be sellin’ so much as a penny candy without our say-so anymore.”

“Fine work, Lucas. Keepin’ our name strong,” Chase said, nodding approvingly. “Folks forget who runs this town, they get reminded real damn quick.”

Joshua, sitting back in his chair with a sly grin, leaned in slightly. “There is one… hiccup, Chase,” he began, his tone laced with the caution of someone delivering unwelcome news. “Kevin ain’t been keepin’ up his end of the deal. Overdue by a few weeks now.”

As if on cue, a scrawny man with a bruised eye and a split lip was dragged into the room by two Watchdog enforcers. Kevin looked every bit as desperate as he was, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal.

Chase raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as he stared down at Kevin with a look of disapproval that bordered on disgust. “Kevin,” he said slowly, savoring each word. “Didn’t I make it clear that you’re supposed to pay on time? Or did that thick skull of yours lose a couple more brain cells?”

Kevin gulped, his voice trembling as he tried to speak. “P-please, Mr. Routledge, I just… I just needed a little more time. Business has been slow, and I—”

Chase was on his feet in an instant, his expression darkening as he grabbed Kevin by the collar and shoved him against the wall with brutal force. “Time?” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Do I look like a man who deals in excuses, Kevin? Huh?”

Kevin squirmed, gasping for air as Chase’s grip tightened around his neck. He coughed and sputtered, clawing at Chase’s hand in a pitiful attempt to break free, but Chase only chuckled, enjoying the man’s desperate struggle.

“Y’know, there’s nothin’ I hate more than a coward who can’t keep his promises,” Chase snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re givin’ me a whole lot of reasons to think you’re better off gone.”

Kevin’s face turned red as he gasped, his eyes widening with terror. “N-no! Please, Chase! I’ll get the money, I swear! Just… just give me another chance!”

Chase let out a mocking laugh, finally releasing his grip and letting Kevin drop to the ground in a pathetic heap. He dusted off his hands, looking down at him with disgust.

“Oh, I’m gonna give you somethin’, alright,” he said, a dark grin spreading across his face. “Tarzan!”

At the sound of his name, Chase’s Doberman Pinscher trotted in from a back room, his ears pricked and his eyes gleaming with feral anticipation. Tarzan was no ordinary dog; he was trained to be a weapon, loyal only to Chase and vicious to anyone else.

Chase gave a mocking smile as he gestured toward Kevin. “You got one chance, Kevin. Either you give me what I’m owed, or you’re gonna be Tarzan’s new chew toy.”

With a whimper, Kevin stumbled backward, his eyes darting from Chase to Tarzan, who was already growling softly, inching forward with a hungry gleam in his eye.

Chase chuckled, watching with amusement as Kevin’s nerve crumbled. “Ain’t so tough now, are ya?” he sneered. “Guess I’ll leave you with Tarzan for a little… one-on-one time.”

The other Watchdogs laughed as Tarzan was led into the small, enclosed room where Kevin was shoved inside, the door slamming shut. Kevin’s muffled screams echoed from behind the door, punctuated by the vicious growls of the dog.

Satisfied, Chase leaned back in his seat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he took another long sip from his glass. The female server, still sitting on his lap, squirmed nervously, but Chase pulled her closer, ignoring her discomfort as he ran his fingers along her arm.

“Alright, now that we’re done with that little bit of excitement,” he drawled, looking back at his men. “What’s next?”

Froy shuffled through a few papers, his voice calm and professional. “Collections are on schedule for the month, Chase. No other delays outside of Kevin. The new shipment of ‘supplies’ will be in by next week. We’ve got a few businesses lined up for visits. They’ll be payin’ up soon enough.”

Cole grunted, cracking his knuckles. “Had a couple of the new guys mention some folks tryin’ to run competition out on the east side. You want us to pay ‘em a visit?”

Chase chuckled, his fingers tightening on the server’s arm as he nodded approvingly. “Send ‘em a message. Make sure they know Cockville belongs to us.”

Joshua glanced up from his notes, clearing his throat with a slightly nervous look. “Uh… one more thing, Chase.”

Chase raised an eyebrow, giving him an impatient look. “Well, spit it out, Joshua. Ain’t got all damn night.”

Joshua looked around the room, hesitant. “There’s… a bit of a problem with a female business owner. Name’s Madelyn. She ain’t been payin’ the ‘protection fee.’ Word is, she’s been… protected by the Butterfly.”

Chase’s expression turned icy, the smile vanishing from his face as he slowly pushed the server off his lap. She stumbled slightly, catching her breath, but he paid her no mind, his gaze fixed on Joshua.

“What did you just say?” he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

The room held its breath as Joshua’s words sank in, the air thickening with Chase’s growing anger. His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, vicious stare. He dropped his glass with a careless clang on the table and turned his attention to the girl still standing nervously beside him. Without warning, Chase’s hand shot out, gripping her throat in a bruising hold as he pulled her closer.

“Oh, the Butterfly wants to protect ‘female business owners,’ do they?” he sneered, his fingers tightening around her neck, watching with satisfaction as fear flickered in her eyes. “They want to set up a ‘matriarchy’ here in Cockville? What the hell kinda fairytale is that?”

The girl whimpered, her face paling as she struggled to draw breath under his hold. She clawed weakly at his hand, but Chase only laughed, a dark, menacing sound that sent chills through the room.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. “Women beggin’—that’s music to my damn ears.” He leaned closer, watching her gasp as his grip on her throat tightened. “Come on, darlin’. Beg me to let you go.”

“P-please… Mr. Routledge,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Please… let me go.”

“That’s right,” he murmured, a cold satisfaction in his gaze. “Remind yourself who’s in charge here. Say it, and make it real sweet.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to speak, her voice trembling. “You’re… you’re the man of this town. Please… spare me.”

Chase grinned, a cruel, twisted smile as he finally let her go, shoving her away with enough force to send her stumbling backward. She crumpled against the wall, clutching her neck, still gasping for air as she glanced fearfully at him. Chase brushed off his hands with casual disdain, as if ridding himself of a minor inconvenience.

“Now that,” he drawled, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction, “is exactly what a woman’s voice oughta sound like. Beggin’ and pleadin’, like she knows her place.”

Froy and the others exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. They’d all seen Chase’s temper flare before, but there was something darker, more volatile in his eyes tonight. Froy cleared his throat, trying to bring Chase back down to a safer, more focused topic.

“Look, Chase,” Froy began cautiously, “we can handle this Madelyn situation. We don’t want these women thinkin’ they got some kinda power. I’ll take care of it myself, no need to waste your time.”

But Chase’s icy gaze turned toward him, a cold smile spreading across his face as he picked up a glinting knife from the table, twirling it slowly between his fingers. The knife caught the dim light, reflecting Chase’s menacing expression as he brought the blade close to the girl’s neck, the point pressing gently against her skin.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine, Froy,” Chase said, his voice mockingly sweet. “But see, this ‘Madelyn’ sounds like she needs a little personal reminder of who owns Cockville. And I’ll be damned if I’m lettin’ a bunch of prissy women try to make a fool outta us. No, I think I’ll be comin’ along for this one.”

He tilted his head, leaning closer to the girl, pressing the knife just a bit harder against her neck. “Tell me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with cruelty, “who runs this town?”

Her voice was barely audible, trembling as she whimpered, “Y-you do, Mr. Routledge. You… run this town.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling the knife away and leaning back with a smug, satisfied smirk. “Damn right, sweetheart. Now remember that the next time you even think about showin’ anything but respect to the men in this room.”

The girl nodded, quickly wiping away the tear that had slipped down her cheek as she clutched her hands tightly, holding back any more whimpers.

Froy cleared his throat again, speaking up with more urgency. “Alright, then. We’ll pay Madelyn a visit and show her how business works around here. No one messes with the Watchdogs and gets away with it.”

Chase’s eyes gleamed with a vicious excitement. “Oh, I’m lookin’ forward to it. This Madelyn sounds real cute. Wouldn’t mind seein’ her crumble—watchin’ her little ‘matriarchy’ dreams fall to pieces right in front of her eyes. She’ll be beggin’ to be my bitch by the time I’m through with her.”

A ripple of laughter went through the room, each man feeding off Chase’s dark confidence. They were in awe of him, their leader—the one man they saw as untouchable, as ruthless and unbreakable as steel.

Joshua, always the instigator, grinned and raised his glass. “And what about the Butterfly? If they think they’re gonna stand in our way, they got another thing comin’.”

Chase snorted, a mocking smile spreading across his face. “That whole gang of theirs is just a bunch of uppity little bitches tryin’ to play tough. And don’t even get me started on their so-called leader, that tiny Asian bitch… what’s her name?”

“Silla,” Froy replied, a hint of a smirk on his face as he joined in the mockery.

“Silla,” Chase repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. “Thinkin’ she’s got some kinda power around here. That little chick’ll know what happens to anyone foolish enough to mess with the Watchdogs.”

The men roared with laughter, their voices filling the room with a mix of arrogance and cruelty. They clinked glasses, each one basking in Chase’s words, reassured in their belief that they owned Cockville—that they were unstoppable.

Chase leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he took in his men’s admiration. To him, there was no greater pleasure than knowing his power was absolute, his authority unquestioned. He was the king of Cockville, and no woman—no matter how tough she pretended to be—was going to change that.

Chase stood in the center of the room, his boots planted firm on the scuffed concrete floor, his gaze sweeping over his men, all watching him with a sense of reverence and loyalty that bordered on worship. He’d picked out Froy and Joshua, his most trusted to join him for a little “lesson,” but before heading out, he had a few words to share with the pack.

“Listen up, boys,” he called out, his voice deep and commanding. A hush fell over the room as the men straightened, their eyes glued to him. “The Butterfly thinks they got some kinda power out there. They got this idea that they can turn women into somethin’ more than what they’re meant to be. But we’re the Watchdogs, right?”

“Yeah!” the men chorused, their voices loud and eager.

“We’re lovers of women,” Chase continued, his tone slipping into a mocking sweetness. “We want ‘em soft, pretty, and caterin’ to us, the way women are supposed to be. But any woman who thinks she can talk back or defy us? Well, we ain’t havin’ that. Any woman who steps outta line deserves to be put back in her place. We don’t let ‘em disrespect us—no way, no how.”

The men cheered, raising their fists, chanting his name. Chase gave a satisfied nod, soaking up their loyalty like fuel. It was moments like these that reminded him why he loved being in charge, why the Watchdogs were the way they were—unbreakable, ruthless, feared.

“Cole,” he called, turning to his massive enforcer, who looked eager to join the action.

“Yeah, boss?” Cole asked, eyes glinting.

“Hold down the fort. Make sure no funny business goes down while we’re out. You see so much as a feather outta line from the Butterfly, you bring it to me.”

Cole nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “Got it, boss. Ain’t nobody gettin’ past us tonight.”

With a final smirk, Chase gave a sharp nod, and he, Froy, and Joshua strode out to their bikes. In unison, they kicked their bikes to life, engines roaring, filling the night air with the deep growl of machinery. They revved their engines, tires kicking up gravel as they peeled out into the darkness, tearing down the empty streets of Cockville toward their target.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Madelyn was busy restocking shelves in her bookstore, a cozy little shop on a quiet street corner. Rows of shelves held carefully curated books on feminist literature, activism, and self-defense—topics that few stores in Cockville would dare to showcase. Her younger sister, Lila, stood nearby, flipping through a book, her curiosity piqued by one of the titles, The Art of Kicking Ass: A Woman’s Guide to Defense.

“Madelyn,” Lila asked, looking up, “why do you work so hard for this place? You’re always here, and you spend so much of what you make to keep me in college.”

Madelyn paused, setting a stack of books down as she looked at her sister with a warm, gentle smile. “Because you deserve the opportunity, Lila. Everyone deserves a chance to do what they want, to be who they are. And if this shop helps even one woman feel empowered, then it’s worth it.” Her expression brightened. “Plus, Silla helped me turn this little place into something special. We’ve made it into a real safe haven.”

Lila’s face softened, pride filling her eyes as she took in her older sister’s determination. But her smile faltered as a thought crossed her mind. “But… aren’t you scared of the Watchdogs? I heard they’re… well, dangerous. They could come here and…”

Madelyn laughed, a light, airy sound that cut through the tension. “Afraid of the Watchdogs?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “The only thing I’m afraid of is running out of shelf space. If any of them show up here, I’ll handle it. Just kick ‘em where it hurts. Silla taught me well.”

Lila grinned, her eyes wide with curiosity. “What happens when you kick a guy there?”

“Oh, you’ll know when you see it,” Madelyn chuckled, winking. “It’s… quite satisfying.”

But before Lila could ask any more questions, the growl of motorcycle engines filled the air, growing louder as they neared the shop. Madelyn and Lila exchanged a glance, both of them tensing as the noise grew deafening, finally halting right outside the bookstore. The rumble of the engines died, and silence fell, leaving only the faint hum of the streetlights.

The Watchdogs had arrived.

The door creaked open, and in strode Chase Routledge, Froy, and Joshua, each one wearing an expression of smug amusement as they took in the shop’s bright, colorful displays and carefully arranged books. Froy snorted, crossing his arms as he scanned the titles with barely contained contempt.

“Would ya look at this?” he sneered, plucking a book from the shelf and tossing it to the floor. “Some kinda fantasyland for women who think they’re tough.”

Joshua chuckled, kicking over a display with a swift, careless nudge of his boot. “Place like this? This is a damn joke. Don’t they know Cockville belongs to the Watchdogs?”

Chase strode to the center of the shop, his gaze landing on a display table where a particularly bold title caught his eye. How to Show Men Their Place. A slow, malicious grin spread across his face as he grabbed the book, flipping it open with a mocking chuckle.

“‘How to Show Men Their Place,’” he read aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cute. Real cute.”

With a sneer, he unzipped his pants, holding the book up as he positioned himself over it. “How about I show you where your place is,” he muttered, a cruel smirk on his lips as he began to relieve himself on the book, the pages soaking in his deliberate disrespect.

Madelyn’s eyes flashed with anger, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed a thick hardcover from a nearby shelf and stormed up to Chase. “Get your disgusting hands off my books!” she shouted, shoving him hard in the shoulder.

Chase stumbled slightly, momentarily caught off guard, but he quickly recovered, his face darkening with rage. He zipped up his pants, his eyes narrowing as he stared her down. “You’ve got some damn nerve, girl,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

But Madelyn wasn’t backing down. She raised the book in her hands and brought it down hard on his crotch, landing a solid hit.

“Son of a—” Chase grunted, doubling over slightly, his face twisting in pain. He straightened slowly, clutching his midsection as he took a step toward her, his expression murderous. “You’re gonna regret that, sweetheart,” he hissed, his tone dripping with venom.

Madelyn stood her ground, her chin held high, her eyes blazing. “Go to hell,” she spat. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Chase’s face contorted in fury, and he took another step forward, his fists clenching. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, alright,” he sneered. “One way or another, you’re gonna learn what happens when you mess with the Watchdogs.”

But before he could say another word, the rumble of another motorcycle echoed through the night, stopping just outside the shop. The engine cut off, and Chase froze, his gaze flicking to the door. The room was silent, the tension thick as they all turned to see who had arrived.

A slender figure stepped through the doorway, pulling off her helmet to reveal a cascade of dark hair and sharp, determined eyes. She was small, but her presence filled the room, radiating a quiet strength that demanded respect. She held the helmet at her side, her expression calm yet steely.

“Silla!” Madelyn gasped, relief flooding her face as she took a step toward the newcomer.

Chase’s eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a disdainful smirk as he took in the sight of the Butterfly leader. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “If it isn’t the Butterfly queen herself. You really think you can protect her from me, little lady?”

Silla’s gaze was unwavering as she stared him down, not a hint of fear in her eyes. She raised her chin, her voice steady as she spoke. “I don’t think. I know. You’re in the wrong place, Chase.”

A cold, dangerous smile crept onto Chase’s face as he took a step forward, relishing the challenge in her eyes. He’d teach her a lesson she’d never forget, he thought, the thrill of domination surging through him as he prepared to make her regret ever standing in his way.

But Silla didn’t flinch, her stance solid and unyielding. Chase could see the determination in her eyes, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of doubt—a hint of unease that he quickly buried beneath his arrogance. He was Chase Routledge, leader of the Watchdogs, and no woman—no matter how bold—would stand in his way.

Or so he thought.

The air in Madelyn’s bookstore was thick with tension, an electric charge crackling between Chase and Silla as they stood facing each other. Silla barely reached his chest, her slim frame making her seem deceptively delicate. But Chase couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something dangerous about this woman, something fierce that lurked behind her sharp eyes and defiant stance.

Chase allowed himself a slow, appraising grin, letting his gaze drift down to her short dress and butterfly-emblazoned crop top jacket. “Well now,” he drawled, a hint of admiration sneaking into his tone, “ain't you a cute little thing.”

Silla didn’t blink, her expression cold and unyielding as she held his gaze. “Leave Madelyn alone, Chase. This is my turf now, and I don’t take kindly to bullies.” Her voice was calm, but there was a quiet authority in her words that hung in the air. “Women business owners are under my protection, and we’re building something you wouldn’t understand. A safe place for women. People like Madelyn will help make that happen.”

Chase chuckled, a dark, mocking sound as he crossed his arms. “A safe place for women? In Cockville?” He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s real cute, sweetheart. I hate to break it to ya, but this town belongs to the Watchdogs. Always has. And you? Well, you steppin’ in here alone to protect little Madelyn? I call that plain stupid.”

Silla’s gaze was unwavering. “I’m not alone, Chase. There’s a whole force of women out there who’d rather die than let you keep terrorizing us. So go on, turn around, and don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Chase’s grin widened, and he flicked his fingers to Froy and Joshua, signaling them to move in. But Silla didn’t flinch; she simply smirked, her confidence unshaken.

“You sure that’s a good idea, boys?” she said, tilting her head. “Because if you’re thinking of handling me, you might want to check on your little clubhouse first. Word is, the other Butterflies are… having fun there.”

________________________________________

Across town, the Watchdog Headquarters was a chaotic mess. Cole was at the center of it, barking orders and cursing as the scene unfolded around him. Bright red used tampons splattered across the building’s walls, crude marks smeared over the Watchdog insignia. The butterflies had left their mark in a disgusting yet pointed display of defiance, throwing the men of the Watchdogs into a frenzy.

“What the hell?” Cole shouted, watching as another tampon sailed through the air and landed on the door with a sickening smack. “These damn girls think they can mess with us like this?”

His men were rattled, unsure of how to respond to such an unconventional assault. But Cole’s face twisted in anger, and he stomped toward the front entrance, rallying the rest of the men. “Enough! We’re not standin’ for this. Let’s show these little prissy girls who runs this town!”

Before he could take another step, a flash of movement caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see a woman stride forward with a smug grin on her face. Dinah, one of the Butterflies, was tall and athletic, her stance radiating confidence as she planted herself directly in his path.

“You want a piece of me, sweetheart?” Cole sneered, stepping closer, his fists clenched. But before he could make a move, Dinah’s knee shot up, landing squarely in his groin with brutal precision.

Cole’s eyes widened, his face contorting in pain as he gasped, clutching his crotch. “S-son of a—” he choked out, stumbling back as his knees buckled. His men looked on in shock, frozen as Cole crumpled to the ground, groaning in agony.

“Watchdogs, huh?” Dinah taunted, smirking as she looked down at him. “Doesn’t seem like you’re so tough after all.” With that, she turned, gesturing to the other Butterflies. “We’ve made our point. Let’s go.”

The women retreated, leaving behind a rattled, defeated crew of Watchdogs. The men exchanged confused glances, their bravado shattered as they watched their enemies vanish into the night.

________________________________________

Back at the bookstore, Chase’s jaw clenched as he registered Silla’s words, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But he quickly pushed it down, refusing to let her shake him.

“You think you’re real clever, don’t ya?” he sneered, stepping closer. “But you’re about to find out just what happens to women who step outta line.”

He nodded at Froy and Joshua, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Boys, take care of this little butterfly. Show her what happens when she plays with fire.”

Froy and Joshua moved in, each of them cracking their knuckles as they circled Silla, sizing her up. But Silla didn’t retreat; instead, she raised her chin, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Joshua lunged first, aiming to grab her, but Silla sidestepped him with an easy, fluid grace, reaching out as he passed and grabbing his leather jacket. With a quick, sharp tug, she tore a large strip from it, leaving him stumbling forward in surprise. Before he could react, Silla held up the fabric, rubbing it across her hips with a mocking grin.

“Pussy power, boys,” she said with a taunting laugh, her eyes flashing with defiance.

Chase’s face turned red with anger as he watched her, his fists clenched. “You little—” he began, but before he could finish, Silla whipped around, jamming her wooden stick into Joshua’s crotch. He let out a high-pitched scream, doubling over as he staggered back, his hands cupping his injured groin as he collapsed to the floor.

Froy took a step forward, his face darkening as he advanced on her. “Alright, sweetheart,” he growled. “Let’s see how tough you really are.”

He swung his fists at her with deadly precision, each strike close enough to make anyone else tremble. But Silla was fast, agile, ducking and weaving with an ease that left Froy struggling to keep up. She twisted around him, her movements like a dance as she dodged his punches, her steps light and controlled.

With a quick leap, she jumped behind him, her eyes narrowing as she raised her knee and drove it straight into his crotch. Froy’s face went pale, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he crumpled, his pride and confidence shattered in an instant.

Chase’s patience snapped. He charged forward, grabbing Silla by the shoulders and shoving her back against the wall, his hand closing around her throat in a brutal, unforgiving grip. “You think you can embarrass my men?” he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You think you can walk in here, disrespect me?”

But before he could tighten his hold, Silla’s hand shot forward, her fingers closing around his crotch in a crushing grip. Chase froze, his eyes widening in shock as a flash of pain shot through him, robbing him of his breath.

“Think again, Chase,” she whispered, her voice calm and steady as she tightened her hold, her gaze meeting his with unshakable confidence.

Madelyn’s heart raced as she watched Silla tighten her grip around Chase’s manhood, her small hand clenching with brutal precision, and Chase’s confident sneer dissolved into pure, unfiltered agony. The once-fearless leader of the Watchdogs, a towering symbol of raw masculinity, was now at the mercy of the petite woman standing before him, her grip iron-strong and unyielding.

Chase’s face twisted with a mixture of shock, pain, and humiliation. He tried to keep himself upright, but his legs trembled as he realized just how completely trapped he was. He gritted his teeth, but a strangled sound escaped him, something between a gasp and a whimper. His jaw clenched tightly as he sucked in air, desperate to keep himself steady, but the agony radiating through his body was more than he could handle.

“Ahhh… ahh… AAAAHHH!” he finally cried out, his voice tearing through the bookstore, echoing off the shelves stacked with books that had nothing but disdain for men like him.

Madelyn was frozen, her notebook gripped tightly in her hands as she watched, stunned. Here was the man who’d terrorized half the town, reduced to helplessness by Silla’s grip. She could see every emotion flashing across his face: the fury, the frustration, the sheer disbelief that he was being brought to his knees by a woman—a small, Asian woman, who by all rights should’ve had no power here. But Silla held all the power now, and she wielded it with terrifying skill.

“What’s the matter, Chase?” Silla’s voice cut through the room, dripping with mock sweetness. She leaned in close, her smirk widening as she watched him squirm, her fingers unrelenting. “Am I hurtin’ your precious little ballsies? Thought you were the biggest man in town. Isn’t that what you said?”

Chase’s face flushed beet-red, a mixture of pain and sheer humiliation. He tried to lift his arm, to throw a punch, but his body betrayed him, weak and useless under the onslaught of pain radiating from his crotch. He could barely form words, his voice nothing more than a strangled gasp. “Y-you… little… b-bitch…”

“Oh, is that all you got?” Silla taunted, tightening her grip, sending another wave of pure, blinding agony through his body. Chase’s head snapped back, his teeth clenched as another scream tore from his throat.

“AaaaAAAAGGGH!” he howled, his voice cracking as he sank down, every ounce of his usual confidence shattered. His free hand scrabbled uselessly at the wall, his face a mask of pain as he realized he had no way to fight back, no way to regain control.

Madelyn felt a surge of pride mixed with awe as she watched, her mind racing with ideas for her book. She wanted to capture this moment, to show the world what it looked like when a woman—small, fierce, determined—brought a man like Chase Routledge to his knees. She wanted to write about the way he gasped for breath, his face twisted in agony, his pride ripped to shreds by the sheer force of Silla’s defiance.

“You… you’re gonna pay for this,” Chase choked out, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, each word soaked in venom. “I’ll… I’ll kill you, you little wh—”

Silla laughed softly, leaning even closer, her breath hot against his cheek. “Oh, I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats, Chase,” she murmured, her tone almost sweet. “Looks to me like you’re right where you belong.”

She released him suddenly, and Chase staggered back, clutching himself in desperation, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His knees buckled as he tried to steady himself, his face twisting in pure, helpless rage. But before he could catch his breath, Silla’s knee shot up with deadly precision, slamming into his groin with a force that stole the air from his lungs.

“YES!” Madelyn’s shout broke through the silence, a victorious cry as she watched Chase crumple forward, his hands flying to his crotch as he let out a strangled scream.

“Son of a… ahhhhhh… AAAAHHH!” Chase’s voice broke, his fury and humiliation spilling out in a raw, broken wail as he fell to his knees. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, unbidden, only adding to his shame as he looked up at Silla, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together.

Silla crossed her arms, looking down at him with a satisfied smirk, her voice dripping with mockery. “What’s the matter, big man?” she sneered. “Guess the ‘King of Cockville’ isn’t so tough after all, huh? Maybe those balls of yours aren’t as strong as you thought.”

Chase’s hands shook as he pressed them to his crotch, his face twisted in pain and fury as he glared up at her. “I… I’ll make you pay for this… I swear…”

Silla shrugged, unfazed. “You’re welcome to try, Chase. But it looks to me like you don’t have much left to fight with.” She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Face it—you’ve been put in your place.”

The room was silent as her words sank in, each one driving the knife of humiliation deeper. But Silla wasn’t done. She leaned down, meeting his gaze with a look of pure, unshakable confidence.

“I’m challenging you,” she said softly, her voice steady and unyielding. “To a Moonlight Fight. Midnight. We’ll settle this once and for all, Chase.”

Chase’s mouth opened, a flicker of fear crossing his face as he realized the gravity of her challenge. The Moonlight Fight—a showdown that would put everything on the line, a battle for dominance and pride. He knew he couldn’t back down, not in front of his men, not after what she’d done to him.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Fine… you got yourself a fight.”

Silla straightened, casting him one last disdainful glance before she turned and strode out of the shop, leaving him on his knees, clutching himself, his pride and reputation shattered. Behind her, Froy and Joshua were doubled over, each of them groaning in agony, their faces pale and sweaty as they cradled their own battered dignity.

As the door swung shut behind her, Madelyn looked down at Chase, unable to hide her triumphant smile. The King of Cockville was defeated, his power stripped away, and she had witnessed every moment of his humiliation. It was a sight she would never forget.

Chase staggered out of Madelyn’s bookstore, his hands still cradling his bruised manhood, each step a reminder of the humiliating grip Silla had held over him. Behind him, Froy and Joshua stumbled, both clutching themselves, muttering curses under their breath. Their faces were pale, and the three of them looked less like the feared leaders of Cockville and more like men who’d barely escaped with their lives—and their pride in tatters.

They paused under a streetlight, exchanging looks that mingled anger and shame. Froy’s jaw was clenched, his hand pressed firmly against his groin. “Jesus… I didn’t even know pain like this existed,” he muttered, his face twisted in discomfort.

“Tell me about it,” Joshua gasped, leaning over slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like she ripped somethin’ vital. Ain’t right for a woman to have that kinda power.”

Chase scowled at them both, his face darkening. “Not… one word of this,” he growled, each word laced with the fury that simmered beneath his humiliation. “Got it? No one at the headquarters knows what happened tonight. As far as they’re concerned, we were never here.”

Froy and Joshua nodded, both still wincing but understanding the unspoken threat in Chase’s tone. The last thing they wanted was to be the butt of jokes among their own men. They mounted their bikes with visible discomfort, the engines roaring to life as they rode into the night, each bump in the road sending fresh waves of agony through their bruised egos and even more bruised bodies.

Every speed bump, every pothole felt like torture, the vibrations of the road turning into reminders of their pain. Chase clenched his jaw, determined not to let a single groan escape him, but inside, every jolt sent his thoughts spiraling back to the moment Silla had brought him to his knees. It felt like a scar, etched in his mind as painfully as the ache in his groin. Each bump fueled his anger, his need for vengeance.

Finally, they pulled into the Watchdog Headquarters lot, the sight of their base momentarily relieving his tension—until he saw what had been done to it.

The building was in shambles. The large Watchdog insignia had been vandalized, scrawled over with insults in garish, mocking pink and red spray paint. Red tampons splattered across the doors and windows, leaving smears of bright red as if the very walls themselves were bleeding. A crude message had been smeared across the front in lipstick: “Butterflies fly higher.”

Chase’s fury simmered, his hands balling into fists. Around him, the few men who had been stationed there—Cole among them—stood near the entrance, looking rattled and pale, their faces filled with a mixture of confusion and shame. Chase clenched his jaw, taking in the mess as he felt his blood begin to boil.

Cole was the first to speak, stepping forward, though his eyes darted nervously to Chase’s furious expression. “Boss, we tried to stop ‘em, but they came outta nowhere. Those damn girls… they hit us when we weren’t ready.”

Before Cole could say another word, Chase’s fist shot out, connecting squarely with his jaw. Cole stumbled backward, crashing against the wall, his hands flying up instinctively. “I don’t wanna hear excuses,” Chase spat, his voice venomous, each word carrying the weight of his rage. “You mean to tell me a bunch of girls showed up and trashed our place, and you just… let it happen?”

Cole opened his mouth to respond, but Chase didn’t give him the chance. He grabbed Cole by the collar, pulling him close, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and humiliation. “You’re supposed to be a Watchdog!” he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “We run this town, and you couldn’t handle a few girls? Do you know what this makes us look like?”

The other men shifted uneasily, their heads hanging low, the shame evident in their expressions. They’d let their guard down, and now the very heart of their headquarters was smeared with mockery and disdain. Chase let go of Cole with a final shove, turning to face the rest of the men, his jaw clenched, his fists shaking with suppressed anger.

“Look at this,” he said, gesturing toward the mess. “This is what happens when you go soft. This is what happens when you forget who’s in charge!”

The men around him straightened, their eyes flicking between each other, the weight of Chase’s words settling heavily over them.

“We’re men,” Chase continued, his voice rising, filling the air with the raw, seething intensity of his anger. “This world? It was built by men, run by men, and it belongs to us. And I’ll be damned if we’re gonna let a bunch of women come in here and think they can take it from us!”

A ripple of agreement moved through the crowd, the men nodding slowly, their shame turning to anger as Chase’s words fueled their rage. They could feel the spark of their pride reigniting, a shared determination flickering back to life.

“These Butterflies think they’re clever, but they’re just girls, playing with fire they don’t understand,” Chase growled, pacing in front of them, each word soaked with bitterness. “They got lucky tonight, but luck runs out. Now it’s time we show them what real power looks like. We’re the Watchdogs. We don’t bow to anyone, especially not to women.”

He pointed toward the town’s main street, his gaze hard and unyielding. “They want to challenge us? Fine. They want to take our turf? Let’s remind ‘em why they should be afraid. We’re gonna march to that town gym, and we’re gonna make damn sure every woman in this town knows who’s in charge.”

The men let out a rough cheer, fists raised in the air, their loyalty rekindled, their shame forgotten in the heat of Chase’s anger. He could feel his own fury coiling inside him, spurring him on, hardening his resolve. The pain in his groin was still a dull throb, but it was drowned out by his thirst for revenge, by his need to reclaim his power.

“Get some rest,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding, his eyes narrowing as he looked over his men. “Because tomorrow, we’re takin’ back what’s ours, and we’re gonna remind this town just who runs Cockville.”

Chase stumbled into his private room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the walls shake. The pain was sharp, gnawing, and persistent. Only now, alone, could he finally let himself react, clutching his throbbing groin as he staggered toward the bed. The bruising from Silla’s assault pulsed with a raw, humiliating ache, and he winced as he sank onto the mattress, curling up as another wave of pain tore through him.

“Dammit… why… why does it hurt so much?” he muttered, his voice barely more than a pained growl. His hands pressed against himself, trying to dull the sting, but it was no use. “My… balls… arghhh!” he hissed through clenched teeth, his face twisted in agony. “That… that damn Silla… she’ll pay for this. I swear…”

“Are you done whining?”

Chase’s head snapped up, his expression darkening as he saw Bianca, the young woman he kept as his “attendant,” standing just inside the doorway, her eyes filled with a glint of amusement. She hadn’t missed his pain, his humiliation, and now she watched him with a smirk, an almost mocking look that made his blood boil.

“What the hell are you smirking at?” he snarled, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to sit up. “You think this is funny, you little slut?”

Bianca’s expression hardened, the smirk vanishing as she took a step forward, crossing her arms. “My name is Bianca,” she snapped, her voice filled with defiance. “And if you want respect, maybe you should start showing it yourself.”

Chase’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening as he took a step toward her, his eyes flashing with a dangerous fury. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growled. “Women in this place need to remember who’s in charge.”

Bianca’s eyes blazed with anger, and she lifted her chin, staring him down with a look that only deepened his frustration. “Then maybe you should try acting like a man instead of a pathetic excuse,” she shot back.

The words hit him like a slap, his anger boiling over as he lunged forward, ready to silence her defiance. But before he could get close, a low growl filled the room, and Thunder, his loyal Doberman, sprang forward, teeth bared as he lunged at Bianca, grabbing her by the arm. She yelped, stumbling back, and Chase smirked, a twisted sense of satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he watched.

“Good boy, Thunder,” he murmured, watching as the dog released her, keeping his teeth bared as he stood between Chase and Bianca. Chase took the opportunity, reaching down to unbuckle his belt, pulling his jeans down as he prepared to remind her who was in control. But as he moved closer, he realized with horror that he couldn’t. His dick cannot erected, his attempts met with nothing but frustration as he looked down, his face turning red with humiliation.

Bianca let out a laugh, a harsh, mocking sound that made his humiliation ten times worse. “What’s the matter, Chase?” she sneered, crossing her arms. “Having a little trouble? Maybe Silla did more than just bruise your ego.”

Chase’s face darkened, his fists clenching as he forced himself to stand tall, swallowing back the shame. “Shut your mouth,” he snarled, his voice filled with a dangerous edge. He stepped closer, his jaw clenched. “I’m done with women thinking they can get the better of me.”

But Bianca only looked at him, her eyes cold and unflinching. “And yet, tomorrow, you’ll lose everything,” she said softly, her voice laced with a quiet certainty. He choked her and killed her in instance.

Chase felt a chill run down his spine, but he pushed it down, refusing to let her words get to him. He’d show her, he’d show all of them. Tomorrow, he’d take back his power, he’d remind this town of who truly ruled Cockville. But for now, he needed rest. Tomorrow was another day, and he’d be ready.

With a final glare, he turned away, sinking onto the bed, closing his eyes as he prepared himself for the battle to come.

The next morning, Chase woke with a dull ache radiating from his bruised groin, the memory of the previous night still fresh and searing. The humiliation lingered, clawing at his pride with a sharpness he couldn’t shake. He’d been defeated in the most humiliating way imaginable, and the thought made his blood boil. Today, he was determined to reclaim his power and put an end to the whispers that would surely spread if he didn’t act fast.

He rose slowly, glancing around his room. He wasn’t alone; his loyal dog Thunder lay on the floor by his bed, a silent reminder of the control he’d still had over someone, something. Grunting, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the lingering pain, and threw on his clothes with renewed resolve. He wouldn’t let last night’s loss hold him back. Today, he’d prove to everyone that he was still Chase Routledge, the untouchable leader of the Watchdogs.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he found his men waiting, each of them looking bruised and worse for wear. Froy and Joshua, who had taken their own hits during the fight, glanced up at him with silent respect, though their expressions showed hints of unease. They, too, had been embarrassed, and the tension in the air was thick. But Chase’s scowl left no room for questions; he was ready to lead, and they needed him now more than ever.

Cole approached, clearing his throat nervously. “Boss… we got word that the Butterflies are in town, spreadin’ talk about that fight. Silla’s been stirrin’ things up, callin’ for people to watch tonight’s Moonlight Fight.”

Chase’s fists clenched, his anger simmering just below the surface. “Then we’ll give them something worth watchin’,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Silla wants a fight under the moon? Fine. She’ll get more than she bargained for.”

He turned to the rest of the Watchdogs gathered around, his eyes hardening as he took them in. “This town belongs to us. Always has, always will. Today, we make sure everyone knows it. Tonight, we put the Butterflies in their place, once and for all.”

The men nodded, their spirits lifting as they looked to him, their loyalty unshaken. Chase allowed a slow, dangerous smirk to cross his face, his confidence bolstered by the sight of his crew standing by him, eager to back him up.

“Let’s get ready, boys,” he said, his voice a menacing growl. “By tonight, we’ll remind Cockville who runs this town.”

As the sun set over Cockville, casting long shadows over the town, Chase stood in the center of the Watchdog Headquarters, his hands clenched into fists. Tonight was the night he’d reclaim his power, wipe away the humiliating memory of Silla’s taunts, and reestablish himself as the undisputed leader of Cockville. His men gathered around him, each one sporting the Watchdog jacket emblazoned with the snarling wolf logo on the back, their blue jeans crisp and taut over muscular legs. They were a sight to behold—a wall of brawn and grit, every one of them ready to put Silla and the Butterflies back in their place.

The men of Cockville had come out in droves, gathering around the headquarters. Fathers, husbands, brothers—each of them had heard the talk spreading around town. Their wives, daughters, and girlfriends had been inspired by Silla’s challenge, her defiance sparking a wave of rebellion that shook Cockville’s traditional order. Murmurs ran through the crowd of men, the tension palpable.

“Chase, you gotta win tonight,” a voice called from the crowd. “These women… they’re gettin’ ideas they don’t need to have.”

Another man stepped forward, a furrow in his brow. “My wife… she’s talkin’ about ‘independence’ and ‘respect.’ I tried to tell her who’s boss, but she’s been different ever since that Butterfly started talkin’.”

A chorus of voices rose in agreement, each one pleading for Chase to set things right, to restore the balance in Cockville. The men were nervous, uneasy with the changes they saw brewing in their homes. They needed a leader, someone who could push back and remind the town who truly held the reins.

Chase smirked, raising a hand to quiet the crowd. “They think they can change things, that they can take what’s ours,” he said, his voice carrying over the heads of his men. “Well, tonight, we show ‘em exactly who runs this place. You want your women back in line? Follow me. We’ll put these Butterflies back in their cages.”

The men erupted into cheers, clapping him on the back and nodding as they fell into line behind him. Chase took his place at the front, a determined gleam in his eye as he set off down the road, his loyal Watchdogs at his side. They marched in unison, their strides long and confident, each man’s muscles rippling beneath his jacket, the weight of their footsteps echoing through the empty streets. Their voices rose in unison, chanting with a ferocity that filled the night.

“Men rule the world! Men rule the world!” they shouted, their voices a chorus of masculine pride that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them.

They passed by storefronts and houses, their jackets gleaming under the streetlights, each man with a look of determined resolve. Chase led them in a chant, his voice booming above the rest. “Girls don’t have balls! Girls don’t have balls!” With each phrase, the men clutched at their groins, shaking and gesturing, a taunting reminder that they were the ones with strength, with dominance.

“Men rule, women drool!” they added, a low, mocking laugh rising among them as they flexed, puffing their chests, their pride swelling with every step.

Chase raised his fist in the air, and the men took up a song, a rough, masculine chant they’d devised in their headquarters, a mock anthem of masculine pride that seemed to fill the streets with its power. “We’re the kings, the rulers, the ones with the might! We stand tall, we stand strong, we own the night!”

The crowd behind them grew as more men joined, their faces twisted in determination, eager to see the Butterflies put back in their place. It was a force, a spectacle of masculine pride and unity, each man marching in rhythm, their boots hitting the pavement in a synchronized beat that echoed through the quiet night. Their voices grew louder, their chants more fervent, until finally, they arrived at the edge of the makeshift arena set up for the Moonlight Fight.

There, under the moonlight, the Butterflies waited. Silla stood at the center, her small frame straight and proud, her eyes locked on Chase with a calm defiance that sent a chill through the men gathered around. Around her, the Butterflies stood in a circle, each one with an air of quiet confidence, dressed in bright colors that contrasted sharply with the dark, rugged attire of the Watchdogs. They held their ground, unshaken, as the men closed in.

The Watchdogs sneered, letting out whistles and catcalls, their voices lewd and mocking as they took in the women before them. “Look at these little butterflies,” one of the men jeered. “Thinkin’ they’re tough just ‘cause they’re dressed up nice.”

“Hey, sweetheart!” another called to a woman standing near Silla, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you come over here and let a real man show you your place?”

Chase smirked, his eyes gleaming as he took in the Butterflies. “Y’all think you’re somethin’ special?” he called, his voice carrying over the noise. “Think you’re gonna change this town? Hate to break it to ya, but Cockville’s been run by men since the start, and that ain’t changin’ anytime soon.”

The men around him laughed, their voices rising in a chorus of derision as they took in the women’s determined expressions, the confidence they wore like armor.

But the Butterflies remained silent, their faces calm, their resolve unshaken. Silla’s gaze was steady, her eyes never leaving Chase as he strode into the center of the arena, his posture a mixture of swagger and raw defiance.

With his men at his back, Chase looked down at Silla, a twisted smirk tugging at his lips as he took his place, ready for the fight that would finally put the Butterflies in their place.

 

 -----------

 

The arena was buzzing with tension, the crowd's eyes glued to the two figures standing in the ring. Chase and Silla, each one radiating determination but in starkly contrasting ways. The men of Cockville gathered around, grinning, flexing, eagerly anticipating a fight they were sure would put the Butterflies and their leader firmly in their place. Chase's loyal Watchdogs crowded closest, eager to watch their leader crush his opponent in the most humiliating way possible.

Chase stepped forward first, his hands gripping the collar of his black leather jacket as he slid it off his shoulders in one fluid motion, tossing it aside with a smirk. The moment his jacket hit the ground, he lifted his chin, giving the crowd a knowing look as he slowly peeled his polo shirt off, revealing a body that was sculpted, strong, and every bit as imposing as he wanted everyone to see. Muscles rippled under the skin of his torso, his chest and arms a canvas of hard, disciplined power that made the crowd fall silent for a moment, taking in the sight. Even his followers, who had seen him brawl and win countless fights, felt a renewed admiration, the pure, raw masculinity radiating off him like heat.

Standing there in nothing but his fitted blue jeans and thick leather belt, Chase clenched his fists, flexing his muscles for the crowd, basking in their cheers. The silence broke into murmurs, then excited chants, and then laughter as Chase gave the men a slow, confident nod.

“In Cockville,” Chase began, his voice loud and booming as he paced the ring, “the gang leaders like to throw words around, give each other a chance to talk big before the fight. Tradition, they call it.” He smirked, casting a condescending look at Silla. “But tonight? I think it’s time we skip the formalities and show these women what happens when they get outta line.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, men whistling and catcalling, egging him on. Chase turned to Silla, letting his gaze sweep over her form with a disdainful smirk. She was standing tall, her chin raised defiantly, but he could see the way she held herself, the careful control in her stance. It only made him sneer further.

“Look at you,” he taunted, letting out a low, mocking whistle. “Small, sure, but you’re kinda hot for a Butterfly. You ever think about droppin’ this whole act? Droppin’ this… power trip you’re on?” He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made his followers grin. “You’re tough, I’ll give ya that. But fragile. Women? You’re all the same. Little things that break real easy.”

Silla’s expression remained cool, her gaze steady, but Chase could see the flicker of anger in her eyes, and it only fueled his condescension further.

“Since the dawn of time, men have ruled,” Chase continued, his voice taking on a mock-grandiose tone. “Men have held the power, we’ve built every inch of this world. Hell, everything you got? It’s ‘cause of us.” He shook his head, smirking. “Women? You don’t belong in a ring. You don’t belong in power. That’s for us—men with the balls to take it.”

With that, he grabbed his belt buckle, shaking his hips as he cast a smug glance at his followers, who followed his lead, cupping their groins in a crude, mocking gesture, laughing and jeering at the Butterflies who stood nearby, watching. Chase flashed a grin, looking back at Silla. “Look around, sweetheart. You got nothin’ where it counts. You’re not built to fight. You’re built to serve.”

Another round of laughter rippled through the crowd as the men flexed and jeered, chanting, “Men rule the world! Men rule the world!” Their voices grew louder with each beat, like a war chant, shaking their fists and stomping their feet in unison. Chase let the moment swell, basking in the raw energy of his followers, letting the sound of their voices fill him with a sense of victory before the fight had even started.

Then, Chase turned to Silla again, his voice dripping with mocking authority. “This is a no-rule fight, darlin’. You wanted it? You got it. When this is over, you’ll know exactly who runs this town. And trust me—” he smirked, his gaze cold and predatory, “you’re not gonna like it.”

Silla didn’t flinch. Her eyes were fierce, meeting his gaze with a determination that was both defiant and unyielding. She took a step forward, letting the crowd fall silent as she prepared to speak. She was small compared to Chase, a head shorter and visibly less built, but she carried herself with a strength that cut through the noise, demanding the crowd’s attention.

“I’ll give you this, Chase,” she began, her voice calm but loud enough for everyone to hear. “You talk big. Real big. You know, men like you have been unchecked in this town for way too long. Men who think they’re better because they’re louder, because they’re stronger. But let me ask you something—are you really strong if you need to prove it by tearing everyone else down?”

The crowd went quiet, a murmur of surprise rippling through the men as they listened, taken aback by her words.

“I’m here tonight,” she continued, her voice gaining strength, “to show that your kind of strength is hollow. That it’s built on fear, on pushing down anyone who stands up to you. You say men have built everything? That you’ve got the power because you’re ‘strong’? Well, strength isn’t just about power. It’s about control, respect. And from where I’m standing, you’ve got none of that.”

Chase’s smirk faltered slightly, and he folded his arms, rolling his eyes dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, you’re real cute with that talk. But words don’t mean anything in a fight, sweetheart.”

Silla ignored him, her gaze sweeping over the crowd, focusing on the men of Cockville who had gathered around the ring, their faces shadowed with doubt and curiosity.

“You all know what I’m talking about,” she continued, her voice steady. “You see it in your wives, your daughters, your girlfriends. They’ve had enough. Enough of being treated like they’re less. Enough of being silenced, pushed aside, controlled. We’re here tonight to show you that we don’t have to live by your rules anymore. We don’t have to be afraid.”

A murmur ran through the crowd, a ripple of discomfort as her words began to sink in. Some of the men exchanged glances, uncertain, while others scowled, clenching their fists. But Silla’s voice remained unwavering, and she turned back to face Chase, her gaze fierce.

“You’ve been unchecked, Chase,” she said, her tone deadly calm. “The Watchdogs have been unchecked. You’ve ruled by fear for too long, thinking that just because you’re bigger, you have the right to control us. Tonight, I’m here to show you that’s over.”

Chase sneered, stepping forward so they were face to face, his towering figure dwarfing her as he leaned down, his voice a low growl. “You think you’re somethin’ special, don’t you?” he hissed, his eyes narrowing. “You think you can take me on? I’ll show you exactly why women don’t belong in places like this.”

The difference in their size was striking. Chase, tall, broad, his muscles tense and ready to strike; and Silla, smaller, standing her ground with a look of determination that made up for what she lacked in sheer physical presence. The crowd leaned in, holding their breath as they watched the two leaders, each one brimming with anticipation for the clash that was about to unfold.

And then, the silence settled, and the two fighters squared off, eyes locked, the tension thick and palpable. It was clear—this fight was going to be more than just a battle. It was a war of ideals, of pride, of strength. And only one of them would walk away victorious.

The crowd’s anticipation reached a fever pitch as Chase and Silla squared off in the ring, the tension thickening with each passing second. Chase’s lips twisted into a confident smirk, his body coiled and ready, every muscle flexed to full effect beneath his taut skin. He knew he had the size, the strength, the power. And he wanted Silla to know it, too.

"Let’s go, sweetheart,” Chase sneered, raising his fists. “Let’s show these men what happens when you bring a girl to a real fight.”

He swung first, a powerful hook aimed squarely at her head, a punch that could’ve sent her reeling if it connected. But Silla’s eyes were sharp, her body quick as she ducked, narrowly dodging his swing. Chase’s fist sliced through the air, and he growled in frustration, his face hardening with determination.

“Got some moves, huh?” he taunted, shaking his shoulders out and taking another step forward. “Let’s see how long you can keep up.”

Silla didn’t respond, her gaze focused, her body shifting gracefully as she stayed light on her feet. Chase swung again, this time a low jab aimed at her midsection, but Silla twisted out of the way, her movements fluid and controlled. She was fast—annoyingly fast—and he could feel his irritation flaring as she continued to evade him.

“Stop dancin’ around and fight me like a real opponent!” he barked, his voice filled with impatience. With a sudden burst of anger, he pulled back and launched a powerful kick toward her, aiming for her legs. But again, Silla sidestepped, his boot hitting empty air as she effortlessly avoided his attack.

The crowd began to murmur, the men exchanging looks as they watched Chase’s attempts come up short time and time again. His eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. He wouldn’t let this little show-off make a fool out of him. With a clenched jaw, he pounded his fist against his own chest like a gorilla, letting out a low, animalistic growl as he prepared to go all-in.

“Enough games, Butterfly,” he sneered, his voice low and menacing. “Let’s end this.”

He lunged forward with all the force he could muster, fists swinging with relentless determination. Silla ducked, dodged, weaved around his punches, each movement agile and precise. Chase was fast, but she was faster, her every dodge only feeding his anger, fueling the fire burning in his eyes. But just as he lunged in for another punch, Silla’s fist shot forward, landing a solid hit to his gut.

The punch connected, but Chase barely flinched. The impact of her fist met his thick, muscular stomach, and a low chuckle escaped his lips. He straightened, grinning at her as if to taunt her effort.

“Is that the best you got?” he laughed, the sound loud and booming, filled with a cruel satisfaction. “You think a little punch like that’s gonna take me down?”

Silla’s eyes narrowed, her jaw set, and she pulled back slightly, shrugging off her outer jacket to reveal a fitted tank top that clung to her slim figure. Chase’s grin widened, his gaze lingering on her form with an amused, predatory gleam. He let out a low whistle, his hand reaching down to adjust his jeans as he felt himself stir with a sudden, heated arousal.

“Small but hot,” he murmured, loud enough for her—and the crowd—to hear. “Guess I’ll just have to… break you in.” He grinned, the bulge in his jeans more pronounced as he sneered. “You’re in my ring now, darlin’. And by the end of this, I’m gonna make you wish you’d never stepped foot in it.”

From the sidelines, Froy and Lucas exchanged a smirk, their voices carrying over the crowd as they placed bets on how long it would take for Chase to win.

“Bet she’ll be on the ground in two minutes, tops,” Froy muttered, folding his arms as he watched.

Lucas nodded, grinning. “Yeah, no way she’s lastin’ long. Chase is gonna end this quick.”

But the fight was far from over. Chase lunged forward, his hands reaching out with practiced ease as he grabbed Silla’s arms, his grip iron-strong as he held her firmly. With a triumphant smirk, he pulled her close, his muscles flexing as he effortlessly lifted her off her feet and slammed her down onto the mat. Silla hit the ground with a jarring thud, and Chase let out a booming laugh, his chest puffing up as he looked down at her, his confidence soaring.

“Now that’s how you handle a woman who doesn’t know her place,” he sneered, raising his boot and bringing it down onto her midsection, pressing her into the mat as he held her there, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

Silla winced but didn’t make a sound, her eyes narrowing as she glared up at him, defiance burning in her gaze. Chase merely chuckled, shifting his weight slightly as he kept her pinned beneath him, savoring the feeling of dominance.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with condescension as he knelt down, pinning her wrists to the mat and leaning over her. “All that talk, all that attitude… and here you are, right where you belong. Under me.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, his breath hot against her ear as he smirked. “You’re done. Shoulda stayed in your little bookstore, sweetheart.”

But to his surprise, Silla’s lips curved into a small, taunting smile, a look that sent a flicker of unease through him. “You sure about that?” she murmured, her voice calm, almost mocking.

Before he could react, Silla’s knee shot up with brutal precision, slamming into his groin with a force that echoed through the arena. The impact was immediate, blinding, a sharp, searing pain that tore through him, robbing him of breath as his body went rigid.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!” Chase’s scream tore through the air, raw and unrestrained, filled with agony as he stumbled backward, clutching his groin as he fell to his knees. His face contorted in pain, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to process the sheer intensity of the pain radiating from his manhood.

The crowd fell silent, the laughter and jeers dying down as every eye turned to Chase, the invincible leader of the Watchdogs, brought to his knees by a single, devastating blow. His hands shook as he cradled himself, his teeth clenched, his entire body wracked with a pain that felt like it was splitting him in half.

From the sidelines, Froy and Lucas stood in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief as they watched their leader crumble, the echo of his scream still lingering in the air. The men who had been so confident, so sure of Chase’s victory, now looked on in shock, their faces pale, their laughter replaced with uneasy silence.

Silla straightened, brushing herself off as she took a step back, her expression calm, composed, and unshaken. She looked down at Chase, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms, watching as he writhed in pain on the mat.

“Guess I’m not the one who’s done here,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet, dangerous confidence that made the men around her flinch.

Chase remained on the ground, his face twisted in agony, his pride shattered, the pain blinding him as he struggled to breathe.

Chase staggered in the makeshift ring, trying to mask the throbbing pain radiating through his lower body. His face twisted with frustration and fury, reddening as he forced himself to ignore the humiliation. He threw a furious glare at Silla, who stood calmly across from him, a hint of amusement glinting in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as if to goad him.

“That’s… that’s illegal!” Chase yelled, his voice shaking with pain as he clutched himself. “You can’t just… hit a man in the balls like that!”

“Oh, honey,” Silla said smoothly, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Didn’t you hear? There’re no rules here.” She gestured around at the crowd of men who had gathered, their eager smirks faltering as they absorbed her words. “This fight is just like you wanted it, Chase. I’m just playin’ by your rules.”

Chase’s jaw clenched, but he refused to show weakness. Instead, he shot a quick look at his loyal dog, Thunder, who prowled the edge of the ring, ears pinned back as he sensed his master’s distress. The sleek Doberman’s muscles rippled, and his amber eyes fixated on Silla, his growl low and menacing.

Thunder took a step forward, prepared to leap into the fray, but Silla’s gaze snapped toward him, sharp and unyielding. She didn’t move a muscle, but her eyes narrowed, piercing through him with an intensity that froze him in his tracks. With a whimper, Thunder took a step back, his tail dipping as he lowered his head.

“Smart boy,” she muttered, returning her attention to Chase. She gave a mocking sigh. “See, the way I see it, men’ve been using their size, their strength, their power to get what they want for ages.” Her voice carried over the crowd, bold and confident. “And the second a woman fights back, using whatever she’s got, suddenly it’s ‘illegal.’ Well, Chase, this time, you don’t get to call the shots.”

Somewhere in the crowd, a few women began to cheer softly, their voices rising as Silla’s words struck a chord. Chase’s face darkened, his pride chipping away with every second.

“Oh, you’ll pay for this, darlin’,” he sneered, struggling to his feet. His legs were still shaky, and every step was a reminder of the agony still throbbing between his legs, but he pushed himself upright, his determination fueling him past the pain.

Reaching into his back pocket, Chase pulled out a knife, its blade glinting under the moonlight as he held it up, eyes blazing. “I’m endin’ this now,” he spat, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re gonna regret this, I swear.”

But Silla remained unphased, her stance loose, poised, her expression almost serene. As he lunged forward, aiming to slash at her, she slipped to the side with a fluid grace, her movements so quick that he barely registered her slipping under his arm. In a flash, she darted between his legs, twisting herself around like a dancer mid-performance. Her fists clenched, and in one swift, calculated motion, she brought her fist up into his groin from below with pinpoint accuracy.

“GRAAAAAGH!” The scream that tore from Chase’s throat was animalistic, guttural—a primal sound that echoed through the crowd. He crumpled again, dropping the knife as his hands flew to his injured pride, his face twisted in sheer, unbearable agony. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath as his vision blurred from the intensity of the pain.

Silla straightened, brushing imaginary dust off her jacket as she looked down at him with an air of satisfaction. “Look at you,” she taunted, circling him slowly. “So big, so powerful… but it doesn’t take much to bring you down, does it?”

Chase’s breaths came in labored gasps, his shoulders heaving as he tried to find the strength to stand, but the sharp, pulsing ache kept him pinned. And before he could gather his wits, he felt her hands on his arm, firm but almost gentle. He barely had time to react before Silla twisted his arm sharply behind him, forcing it up at an unnatural angle.

“S-stop…” he stammered, struggling against her grip, but she only smiled, her movements deft and deliberate.

“Oh, Chase, is that hurt?” Her voice was soft, almost mocking, as she pressed her knee into his back, her smaller frame using precision and leverage to hold him in place. With one final twist, there was a sickening pop, and Chase let out another agonized scream as pain shot through his shoulder and down his arm.

“ARGHHH!” His voice was hoarse, breaking as he slumped forward, his broken arm hanging limply at his side. Silla released him, letting him fall unceremoniously to the ground, writhing in agony.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, men and women alike exchanging uneasy glances. Chase, the indomitable leader of the Watchdogs, lay broken on the ground, defeated by a woman half his size. His pride lay in tatters, his confidence shattered.

But not everyone was content to let it end there. Froy, Chase’s right-hand man, watched the scene unfold with mounting anger. His fists clenched at his sides, his loyalty to Chase spurring him into action. He stepped forward, ready to rush into the ring, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Oh, you wanna be next?” came a sharp voice from the sidelines. The crowd parted as Dinah, a tall, athletic member of the Butterflies, stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. In her hands, she held a crossbow, and without a moment’s hesitation, she raised it, taking aim.

Froy froze, his face paling as he realized where her weapon was pointed—straight at his crotch. He swallowed hard, his earlier bravado shrinking under her steely gaze.

“You take one step in there,” Dinah called out, her voice calm but with an edge of cold authority, “and I’ll make sure you never think about taking another.” She arched an eyebrow, giving him a wicked smile. “Anyone else care to interfere?”

Froy’s hand twitched, his eyes darting to Chase, who was still on the ground, moaning softly in pain. He took a step back, his voice shaky as he called to his leader. “Boss… y-you good?”

Chase didn’t respond, only letting out a soft groan, his voice weak and pitiful. The rest of the Watchdogs shifted uncomfortably, their earlier excitement fading as they took in the scene—the proud, powerful leader they’d always followed was reduced to a shadow of himself, and now they were staring down a gang of fierce women armed and ready to fight.

Dinah lowered the crossbow only slightly, her stance unyielding as she looked around the crowd of men, her gaze challenging. “Seems like the Watchdogs aren’t as tough as they thought,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s time for Cockville to find out what real power looks like.”

A few gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as the men took hesitant steps back. Chase’s defeated figure lay in the dirt, broken and humiliated, as Silla and Dinah stood over him, their confidence radiating out to the Butterflies who cheered softly from the sidelines.

For the first time, Cockville’s men realized the tides were turning, and the rules they’d clung to were unraveling, right before their eyes.

Silla circled Chase like a predator savoring her prey, her eyes glinting with dark amusement as she took in his broken form sprawled across the ring. Chase tried to shift, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but with his arm useless and the throbbing agony in his groin still fresh, he could barely summon the strength to crawl, let alone stand.

With a sly grin, Silla crouched down, grasping his ankles firmly. “You like to play rough, don’t you, Chase?” she mocked, her voice light but cold. “Then let’s see how much you can take.”

She spread his legs into a V-shape, ignoring his feeble attempts to wriggle free. In one swift, brutal motion, she dragged him across the dirt floor of the ring, his body scraping painfully as she pulled him toward the edge. The crowd was silent, eyes wide as they watched her handle the once-intimidating leader of the Watchdogs like he was nothing more than a rag doll.

“No… no, wait…” Chase’s voice, usually so deep and commanding, now held a hint of desperation. He squirmed as she continued pulling, his voice growing louder. “NOOOOOOO—!”

With a final yank, Silla slammed his groin into the unforgiving metal pole at the edge of the ring. The sickening sound echoed, followed immediately by Chase’s scream—loud, guttural, an animalistic roar of agony that filled the night air. His head shot back, his face contorting as his eyes teared up, betraying his pain. He slumped against the pole, his chest heaving, a look of shock and disbelief etched across his face as he felt tears slip down his cheeks.

“Stop… STOP!” His voice broke, reverberating in the silence that had fallen over the crowd. Chase, the feared leader of the Watchdogs, was begging, his voice cracked and hoarse, the pain in his body now radiating out in waves. He tried to close his legs, to somehow protect himself, but he was trapped, helpless.

Froy and Lucas, Chase’s closest men, exchanged a horrified glance from the sidelines, their loyalty to him warring with the fear they felt watching the spectacle unfold. When Silla locked eyes with them, a challenging gleam in her gaze, they took a step forward, fists clenched. But before they could make another move, Dinah raised her crossbow, her expression unyielding.

“Oh, don’t think you’re getting away that easy,” she called out, her tone filled with cold amusement. In a flash, she released two arrows in quick succession, each one striking with deadly precision. The arrows sank into Froy and Lucas’s groins, and they staggered back, their faces twisting in sheer agony as they doubled over, crumpling to their knees, clutching themselves.

“Aghhh… no… no!” Froy choked out, his voice weak, his body folding over as he fought to breathe through the pain.

Lucas’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes wide and glassy as he slumped to the ground, his fingers trembling as they pressed to his injury. The other Watchdogs looked on, horror dawning on their faces, and one by one, they began to sink to their knees, dropping any semblance of bravado as fear gripped them. They avoided Dinah’s gaze, a collective shudder passing through them as they realized that any act of defiance would be met with the same brutal force.

Silla turned her attention back to Chase, who lay against the pole, utterly defenseless. His arms hung limply at his sides, his shoulders slumped as he tried to muster the strength to move, to somehow protect himself. The fury in his eyes flared once more as he glared up at her.

“Y-you… I’ll kill you for this,” he growled, his voice weak, cracking under the strain. But before he could say another word, Silla crouched down and reached between his legs, her hand closing firmly around his bruised manhood.

Chase’s eyes widened, and his face drained of color as he let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. The feeling of her fingers digging into him was a new level of pain, one that went beyond the physical. He was exposed, humiliated, his power stripped away, his pride crushed.

“Still think you’re in charge here?” Silla’s voice was a low murmur, laced with mock sweetness. She leaned in, her other hand threading through his hair and gripping it tightly. Chase’s head jerked back, and he let out a choked grunt, his breathing ragged as he struggled against her grip.

With a swift, fluid motion, she hauled him up, her smaller frame using pure leverage and technique to hoist his bulk into the air. Chase’s legs kicked helplessly, his eyes wide with shock, his voice barely more than a broken gasp. “No… don’t…”

“Oh, you wanted a fight, didn’t you?” Silla sneered, her tone mocking as she held him in midair, her muscles flexed as she let the crowd take in the sight of the once-feared gang leader, utterly at her mercy. “Time to show you what it feels like to be powerless.”

With a final, brutal twist, Silla slammed Chase down onto the ground. His body hit the ring floor with a heavy thud, and the impact reverberated through his frame, the air forced from his lungs in a hoarse groan. But she didn’t stop there. Silla jumped up, her form graceful and unrelenting, and in one swift, calculated motion, she brought her knee crashing down into his already devastated groin.

Chase’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his face contorted in agony as his body seized, every muscle tensed as the overwhelming pain consumed him. He thrashed, his voice finally breaking free in a raw, guttural howl.

“AAGHHHH! P-please… stop!” His voice was barely recognizable, ragged, a desperate plea escaping him as he curled in on himself, Silla straightened, brushing her hands off with a look of disdain, her gaze cold and unfeeling as she looked down at him. Chase’s once-fierce eyes were glazed, the fight completely drained from him. His body shook, wracked with pain, his breathing labored as he lay on the ground, utterly defeated.

His voice was barely more than a whisper now, pathetic, pleading. “Please… j-just… stop…”

A small, dark stain spread across the front of his jeans, and a few scattered gasps and whispers rippled through the crowd as they realized what had happened. Chase, the once-proud leader of the Watchdogs, lay there, humiliated beyond measure, a damp patch spreading as his body betrayed him in his moment of surrender. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he turned his face away, trying to hide the shame that twisted his expression.

Silla crouched down beside him, her voice soft but merciless. “What’s the matter, Chase? Thought you were a big, tough man.” She reached out, her fingers brushing against his damp cheek, forcing him to look at her. “Guess it doesn’t take much to bring you to your knees, does it?”

Chase’s lips quivered, his voice nothing more than a defeated whimper. “Please… I’m… I’m sorry…”

The words hung in the air, a final, pathetic admission from the once-feared gang leader. Silla stood, looking down at him with a mixture of disgust and triumph, while the crowd around them looked on, the men silent, their bravado shattered.

As Chase lay broken and humiliated on the cold ground of the ring, Silla straightened, brushing herself off before stepping back and raising her voice to the crowd.

“One… two… three…” she began counting, her voice echoing across the silent spectators, her tone filled with a triumphant finality.

The crowd, still frozen in shock, watched as she counted down, with Chase barely moving, his face twisted in agony as he lay slumped in defeat. His breaths were shallow, his eyes glassy, unable to register much beyond the searing pain pulsing through his body. His pride was shattered, his body bruised beyond recognition.

“Seven… eight… nine…” Silla’s voice rang out clearly, cutting through the air.

“Ten!” she shouted, a fierce grin breaking across her face. She raised her arms in victory, and the Butterflies around her erupted in cheers. Silla glanced around, nodding with satisfaction as her gaze swept over the crowd of terrified Watchdogs, each of them still reeling from the brutality they’d just witnessed.

“Get ‘em, girls!” she commanded, her voice fierce. “Take these ‘men’ down by what they think gives them power!”

A wave of terror surged through the Watchdogs, the remaining men in the crowd now realizing they were the next targets. Panic spread as they looked around, desperate to escape, but it was too late. The Butterflies moved in, their fierce eyes set on each man who’d spent years terrorizing women without a second thought. The men tried to flee, shoving one another, stumbling over themselves, but they were trapped by the ring of Butterflies who surrounded them, cutting off every exit.

The first scream split the night as a Butterfly’s knee connected with the groin of one of the Watchdogs. He let out a strangled cry, collapsing to his knees as his hands flew to protect himself. Another Butterfly followed suit, her boot driving forward into another man’s crotch, sending him doubling over with a guttural howl. It was a wave of chaos, of primal retribution, as the women moved through the crowd like a storm, dropping each man in their path.

One by one, almost two hundred men crumpled to the ground, each blow driving home the fear and humiliation they had once dealt so easily to others. They gasped, cried out, some even pleaded, but the Butterflies were relentless, delivering a punishing reckoning with every kick, knee, and stomp.

Meanwhile, Chase remained on the ground in the center of the ring, his face pale and clammy, his body a portrait of absolute defeat. The agony in his body only grew worse, the pain relentless as he lay helpless, unable even to lift his head to witness the downfall of his own men. His stomach churned, and suddenly, with a low, guttural groan, he vomited, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the ground beside him as the pain overwhelmed him.

“Oh God,” he muttered, his voice weak and broken. “P-please… mercy…”

The words barely escaped his lips, but Silla’s sharp ears caught them. She stepped back toward him, her expression hardening as she looked down at the once-feared leader of the Watchdogs, now reduced to a sobbing, trembling mess. She crouched beside him, her face inches from his as she took in the desperation in his eyes.

“You want mercy?” she sneered, her voice filled with cold mockery. “Mercy was never in your playbook, was it, Chase? Didn’t think about mercy when you terrorized this town. Didn’t think about mercy when you hurt those who couldn’t fight back.”

Chase’s face crumpled, and for a moment, he almost appeared childlike, his bravado shattered beyond repair. “Please… please, I’m beggin’ ya…” His voice cracked, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’ll… I’ll do anything… j-just don’t…”

Silla laughed, a sharp, cutting sound that sent chills through the men watching. “Anything?” she mocked, tilting her head. “Seems to me you don’t have much left to offer, Chase.”

His breathing quickened, a tremor running through his body as he realized she was toying with him. He tried to shift back, but his body refused to respond, each movement only sending fresh waves of pain rippling through him. His voice grew frantic, the words tumbling out in a pathetic jumble.

“N-no, please, Silla… I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice high-pitched, frantic. “Please… I didn’t… I didn’t mean it! Please, I’ll… I’ll leave town, I’ll never come back! Just don’t…”

But Silla merely tilted her head, raising an eyebrow as if considering his words. Then, without a word, she reached down and picked up Chase’s knife, the blade catching the moonlight as she held it up, her gaze never leaving his face.

A look of sheer terror crossed Chase’s features, and he let out a strangled sound, his eyes widening as he tried to squirm away. “No! No, please, not that!” His voice broke, a desperate whimper escaping him. “Don’t… don’t do this, I’m beggin’ ya! P-please, Silla, I’ll do anything, anything!”

But Silla’s expression remained cold, unyielding. She pressed the toe of her boot against his mouth, silencing him as she gazed down with a smirk.

“Didn’t you once say that women needed to learn their place?” she whispered, her voice dripping with mockery. “Funny… it’s you who seems to be in the dirt now.”

Chase whimpered, his face flushed with humiliation, but his voice was muffled beneath her boot. His eyes filled with tears, the realization of his complete and utter defeat settling over him as he looked up at her, powerless.

Satisfied, Silla removed her boot and bent down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans. Chase’s eyes widened, his face twisting in horror as he realized her intention.

“No! No, don’t! Please!” His voice became a high, panicked wail, almost hysterical as he pleaded. “Don’t do this, I’m beggin’ ya, please! I’ll do anything, anything! J-just leave me my dignity…”

Ignoring his pleas, Silla yanked his jeans down in one swift motion, exposing him fully. Chase let out a choked sob, his face turning bright red as he clutched his hands over himself, desperately trying to shield himself from the humiliating gaze of the Butterflies and the townspeople who had gathered to watch.

“No! Don’t… don’t look at me!” he cried, his voice breaking into a pathetic, tear-filled wail. “Please… I-I can’t… don’t do this!”

But Silla only chuckled, the sound low and derisive. “What’s the matter, Chase?” she sneered. “Not so proud of yourself anymore, are you?”

Chase’s body shook, his breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps as he looked around, his face a portrait of sheer humiliation and desperation. He tried to cover himself, but Silla slapped his hands away, her grip on his wrist firm as she forced him to remain exposed. His eyes filled with tears as he looked up at her, pleading silently, his voice hoarse from his sobbing.

“Please… I’m sorry… I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Just… just let me go…”

But Silla only shook her head, her expression hardening as she lifted the knife in her hand, the blade gleaming ominously in the moonlight. The crowd was silent, watching in awe and horror as she held the knife above him, the look in her eyes leaving no doubt about her intentions.

“No… NO!” Chase’s voice broke into a terrified scream, his eyes widening in pure panic as he realized there was no escaping what was about to happen. “Don’t… please, I’m beggin’ ya! I-I can’t… oh God, no…”

Ignoring his cries, Silla brought the knife down, her movements steady and unyielding as she severed his manhood in one swift, brutal slice.

“AAAAAAGHHHHH!” Chase’s scream tore through the night, a sound so raw, so filled with agony and horror, that even the toughest men in the crowd winced. His body convulsed, his hands scrambling to clutch himself as he tried to process the blinding, searing pain that overwhelmed him. Tears streamed down his face, his mouth open in a silent scream as he writhed on the ground, utterly broken.

But the nightmare was far from over. Attracted by the scent of blood, Thunder, Chase’s loyal Doberman, trotted into the ring, his ears pricked as he caught sight of his master lying helpless on the ground. Chase’s blurry gaze locked onto his dog, a flicker of hope rising in his eyes.

But Thunder’s attention was focused elsewhere. The dog’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, his eyes narrowing on the bloody prize at his feet. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, his powerful jaws closing around the severed flesh, tearing it away as he began to feast.

“No… no, not that… please… oh God, no…” Chase’s voice was barely a whisper, his body trembling as he watched in helpless horror, his dog devouring the last shred of his manhood. His head fell back, his eyes rolling up as his face contorted in pain, shame, and horror.

Silla looked down at him with a satisfied smirk, crossing her arms as she observed