Are you there yet?
Yep.
Did they let you in?
“That remains to be seen,” Val murmured.
Her stiff legs, tight from a tedious day of guarding Blair and Yuka at the factory, loosened as she strode down the sidewalk. The back door bore the MMA arena’s loud red-and-blue logo. A burly man in a suit guarded it. He had a nametag clipped to his lapel.
He held up a hand as Val approached. “Fighters only. These are the locker rooms. Spectators go around the front.”
“Yeah, I know.” Val fished out her laminated MMA license.
The guy’s eyebrows rose as he checked it, but he didn’t ask questions. He handed it back and gestured inside.
Val strode into a locker room filled with the smells of sweat, sports drinks, and testosterone. Lockers slammed, masculine voices laughed, and several men turned to stare at her as she strode past. She wore her undercut wig today and didn’t bother to look at them. She strode to the locker number she’d been assigned in the email from the promoter and flopped onto the bench.
I’m in.
Good luck. I’m watching the livestream. I still think you should have gone for one or two classes at the gym.
Val scoffed.
I Googled the rules. I’ve got this.
Liam sent a facepalm emoji.
Val grinned as she unzipped her bag and pulled out the MMA gloves Liam had helped her buy. Fighting with gloves seemed dumb, but she slipped them on anyway, then struggled to pull them tight over her wrists.
A bald, tattooed guy sat beside her. “Need a hand?”
Val held out her arms. “Thanks.”
“New here?” the guy asked, strapping the gloves tight.
Val laughed. “My first time.”
“No coach?” The guy raised his eyebrows.
“Is that a problem?” Val asked.
The guy chuckled. “You’re Valerie Stonehold, aren’t you? The chick who makes jewelry and kicks ass?”
Val grinned. “Yep.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out.” The guy winked. “See you in the final.”
He left Val to it and strode out of the locker room. A harassed-looking official, ID badge swinging from his lapel, hurried into the room.
“Manny Evans, Valerie Stonehold, you’re up!” he called.
Val rose. It was time to enter the cage.
Heat, lights, and the announcer’s blare greeted Val as she strode to the arena. The crowd bounced and roared their approval under flashing lights, but Val didn’t look at them. Her attention was on the octagonal cage. The white mat was four feet above the floor, and foam padding covered the cage’s metal mesh walls. A referee stood at the center, all baseball cap and seriousness. The announcer, who wore jeans and a sports jacket, yelled into a microphone. Val heard her name but ignored the rest.
She strode up to the cage at the same time as her opponent. He was shirtless, exposing his ripped abs and shoulders. Muscles flexed restlessly in his arms as his coach checked his gloves.
Shit. Maybe I should have brought someone. Val eyed his coach, who carried a water bottle and an ice pack.
“No coach?” the ref yelled over the cacophony.
Val shook her head, feeling stupid.
“First time?” the ref shouted.
Val grimaced. “Is it obvious?”
“Fight safe. That’s all.” The ref stepped back as the announcer left the ring.
Val met Manny Evans’ dark eyes. He grinned at her, displaying a mouth guard.
Crap. Should I be wearing one? Val slipped into a fighting crouch, feet bare on the soft mat. Like Manny, she wore stretchy shorts, but she’d added a tank top that displayed the straps of her hot pink sports bra.
The crowd bellowed when the announcer yelled her name.
The ref stepped back and dropped his arm. Val hesitated, and Manny charged.
