Val paused. “You could, but they’ll ask how you get it. You’ll get in trouble, Lee.”

“It’s worth it to protect people from those assholes. If they’re cleaning money for this gang, no wonder they’re so determined to keep their business flowing. They’re rolling in cash, and people will ask questions if their sales don’t match their income,” Liam pointed out. “If the cops suspect that BrewCorp is involved with the gang, they could take down the company and a good chunk of organized crime.”

“This was never about beer sales,” Val realized. “It’s about maintaining the gang’s cover in BrewCorp.”

“Exactly, which means we’re not dealing with an asshole CEO worried about his bottom line. We’re dealing with organized crime members who’ll kill to protect their business from the police. I have to take this to the cops, Val. I know I’ll get in trouble, but somebody could get hurt, or worse, if I don’t.”

“Hold your horses, Mr. Nobility,” Val ordered. “I have a better idea.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Liam told her.

Val scooped dog food from a kibble bag into the dog’s bowl and smiled when he dove into it. “Give me a minute to work on it. It’ll have to wait.”

“Of course.” Liam laughed. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. You’re fighting in that big MMA match tomorrow.”

“Thanks to you,” Val told him.

“You’re going to kick ass, Val,” Liam assured her.

Val chuckled. “I’m only there to have a good time.”

Liam paused. “I wasn’t talking about the cage fight.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A strange flutter ran through Val’s belly as she strode down the quiet hall. She’d left Genevieve in a parking garage several blocks away. The streets in this part of Manhattan were so crowded that she couldn’t find anything closer. Dozens of fans cheered outside. Val had ducked past many cameras as she hurried to the building.

She wasn’t in Arkansas anymore, Doreen, or whatever the stupid saying was. Val lost patience with that silly movie when it turned speciesist toward Munchkins.

A fresh wave of nervousness stirred in her gut.

“What’s wrong with you, Val?” she hissed, heading toward the locker room. The crowd roared outside. “This isn’t a real fight. Why are you so stressed?”

Maybe she should have asked Liam to come. She wondered if they’d throw her out of the arena for not having a coach or even someone to mop her sweaty head and give her water. Her nervousness intensified as she ran a hand over her scalp, hoping that her undercut was stuck down well. Hair pulling wasn’t allowed in MMA—apparently, it fell into the same category as gouging eyes or throwing people through the cage—but things could happen by accident.

A vision of her wig flying off on live TV made her feel sick.

“There she is! That’s our girl!”

The booming voice stopped Val in her tracks. She raised her chin as three of the largest humans she’d ever seen swamped her in a gigantic, bone-crushing embrace.

“Buck, Henry!” she cried. “Archibald! What are you guys doing here?”

The three guys stepped back, beaming. “We came to cheer for the hot newcomer in MMA, obviously,” Buck informed her. He was a mammoth redhead.

“Also, we noticed you were in the cage alone last time,” olive-skinned Archibald chipped in.

“Plus, we couldn’t let these shirts go to waste!” Henry, the attractive guy who completed the trio, gripped the bottom of his shirt and spread it proudly.

Val’s jaw dropped. “Where did you get that?”

All three guys wore matching shirts that featured a heavily edited photo of Val in the MMA ring, sweat and spit flying from her face, teeth bared and gloves raised. Lightning-themed gold letters splashed her name across the top.

“We had them made,” Henry told her proudly. “To show that we’re original fans.”

“You made them?” Val laughed.

Archibald hesitated. “We wanted to support you.”

“Aw, you guys! I love it.” Val exchanged fist bumps with the trio. “I’m so glad you came. Thank you.”

“Liam and Isabella are in the crowd, watching,” Buck added. “Liam...didn’t want to go into the cage with you.”

Val snorted. “Poor Lee. He’d get snapped in half just handing me a water bottle.”

“I’m not scared.” Buck grinned. “I play ice hockey. I reckon I can take a couple of unarmed idiots.”

“Unarmed idiots, huh?” Val raised her eyebrows. “I’ll have you know that I am the weapon.”

The guys laughed, wrapping her in mirth and company as they strode to the locker room. Buck and Archibald left her there after revealing that Henry had pulled a few strings, with help from Liam, to be her “coach” for the evening’s fights.

“Stay low,” he told Val, sticking close to her in the bustling locker room, which again reeked of sweat and testosterone. “Take out the kneecaps.”

“The kneecaps?” Val asked as she held out her hands.

Henry strapped her gloves on tightly. “I don’t know shit about MMA. I felt that I should say something coach-y.”

Val snorted.

The announcer’s boom filtered through the walls. A cheer followed his words, and Val’s stomach knotted. “Liam said it’d be a bigger crowd than last time. Is that true?”

“Oh, honey.” Henry chuckled. “This is one of the biggest amateur fights in New York City.”

“What?” Val yelped.

“Didn’t you read the emails from the promoter?” Henry asked.

Val’s cheeks blazed. “Liam handles that stuff for me.”

“Well, he got you into one of the most popular fights in the city,” Henry told her. “You’re fighting in front of a crowd of thousands tonight.”

“Shit,” Val squeaked.

“It’s cool. You’ve got this. The other fighters are amateurs too. You might be an MMA amateur, but you’re a pro at fighting.” Henry grinned.

Val drew deep breaths. “Thanks, Henry. You’re not a bad coach.”

Henry chuckled. “I’m using you as a guinea pig. I’m coaching little ice hockey kids this summer.”