The announcer screamed. The referee ran up and down, panicking, then grabbed Val’s arm as if to hold her back.
“You’ve never seen anything like that, ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer bellowed hysterically. “Valerie Stonehold just threw her opponent through the cage!”
The referee waved his arms, still shouting. Val didn’t breathe again until Donovan struggled to his feet, disentangled from the adoring crowd, and slowly mounted the steps to the ring.
“Do we keep fighting?” he inquired.
“No!” the ref shouted.
Val grimaced. “Shit, dude. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Donovan chuckled. “That was pretty cool. Never fought anyone like you before, Valerie.”
She grinned. “I go by Val.”
“Don.” He held out a gloved fist.
She bumped it, and the crowd applauded.
The ref, the announcer, and several officials quietly conferred in a corner. The announcer sighed, but the ref shook his head.
Finally, the announcer stepped forward.
“Our crowd favorite has crossed a line, folks,” he called. “It appears that throwing your opponent through the cage will get you disqualified. Valerie Stonehold earns no placing tonight.”
The crowd booed.
“That makes our winner Dooooonovaaaaan Houser once again!” the announcer roared.
Val grabbed Don’s arm and hoisted it into the air. He grinned, and the crowd went wild.
“I’ll fight you any day of the week, Val Stonehold,” he called.
“Same to you, man.” Val laughed, giddy on the tide of adrenaline surging through her. “Same to you.”
Val tossed the duffle into Genevieve’s trunk. She winced as she slid behind the wheel, feeling the dozens of kicks and punches she had taken that evening.
“Humans are tougher than they look,” she muttered.
She started the engine, and Genevieve revved it to an angry snarl.
“Gennie, it was only a game,” Val assured the Mustang. “You don’t have to get your exhaust in a twist over it.”
Genevieve’s snarl calmed to a dull roar. She obediently pulled away when Val turned the wheel, and they cruised toward home through the quiet streets of late-night Queens.
They were approaching Williamsburg on the I-278 when Val’s phone rang. She shook her head as she turned on the magical hands-free—Genevieve’s human-made technology far predated Bluetooth—and took the call.
“Lee, dude, it’s late,” she admonished. “You’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Val, that was amazing!” Liam shrieked in her ear.
Val laughed. “It was very cool. I’ll be doing that again.”
“You better! You were born for it,” Liam gushed. “No throwing guys through walls, though, okay? I lost a few hundred bucks on you.”
Val grimaced. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine!” Liam laughed. “I only spent what I’d made betting on your previous fights. You’re a badass, Val. Oh, and expect plenty of calls from fight promoters.”
“I thought they wouldn’t be into me since I’m unaffiliated. You called in favors to get me this fight,” Val reminded him.
Liam chuckled. “That was before tonight. The crowd digs you, Val, and for good reason. You’ll hear from lots of promoters. Trust me.”
“Cool.” Val grinned, then slowed as they approached a familiar grimy shopping center on the outskirts of Bed-Stuy. “I’ll call you in the morning, Lee. I’m on my way home.”
“Night, Val.” Liam hung up.
Val turned into the empty parking spaces in front of the vet clinic. The cold, clinical interior was silent when she entered. She waited at the counter for a few moments before the sound of her boots drew Jess to the front.
“Hey, Val.” The vet nurse smiled, but she looked exhausted.
“You okay?” Val asked.
“Last night shift for the week.” Jess stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t be happier. Liam tells me you kicked ass tonight.” She touched her cheekbone and winced. “Looks like you got kicked.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Val grinned. “How’s our boy?”
