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over me.
    The crowd was
thick tonight. That was no surprise. The Herminator was an underground
celebrity, and I was coming into my own right along with him. We were both
undefeated, but Herman had been at this a lot longer than me. My guess was that
the smart money was on him, which meant I was going to disappoint a lot of
people tonight, because I had no intention of breaking my winning streak.
    I’d been doing
this for months, and still the short walk out to the ring made my insides
twist. Hearing my name and Herman’s chanted among a cacophony of whistles and
unintelligible shouts made my pulse pound in my ears. It was all so deafening,
and not at all unlike the chaos of a battlefield.
    I swallowed
thickly and tried not to let my nerves get to me. I was a weapon. A machine.
This was what I was born and bred for. What I was meant to do.
    I stepped into the
makeshift ring and tossed my robe aside in Vic’s general direction. I flexed,
refusing to wince as my bruised ribs protested the movement. I was still
sporting my last fight’s injuries whereas Herman, across from me, looked like
he hadn’t seen a fight in weeks. I wasn’t sure who had the advantage there:
him, obviously well-rested, or me, more freshly experienced.
    “Good luck,”
Jasmine said. She was on my left, leaning over the ropes of the raised ring.
She blew me a kiss. She had way too much eye makeup on tonight. “See you in the
winner’s room, Killer.”
    I gave her a
noncommittal shrug in return, and that seemed to only make her panties wetter.
I shook my head. I’d never understand chicks like that. Not ever.
    There wasn’t a
whole lot of fanfare in underground fighting, not like you see on pay-per-view
boxing matches or in legit MMA. There’s no announcer to get the crowd going, no
pomp and circumstance, no profiles of each of the fighters. That shit all gets
hashed out while people are still placing their bets, and since this shit is
illegal, time is usually of the essence. No sense wasting precious minutes
blabbing when the crowd could be getting what they came for, not to mention we
were less likely to get busted if we didn’t hang around all goddamn night
drawing attention to ourselves.
    So now that I was
on the mat, robe off, fists clenched, the fight was about to begin. The
Herminator stood up and we both came to the center to quickly bump fists, the
ref reminding us of a few ground rules.
    “No eye gouges. No
kicks to the balls. And what I say goes. Got it?”
    The Herminator and
I both nodded. Easy enough to remember. We’d only heard it about a thousand
times.
    The Herminator was
a big damn guy up close. I couldn’t believe this fucker and I were in the same
weight class. He was taller, with shoulders the size of my head, and a mean
look in those black eyes of his, something that seemed not even human. He had a
reputation for ruthlessness, even more than I did. I guessed my advantage would
be agility. I couldn’t let him get in a hit, otherwise this was gonna be a
disaster.
    We backed up a
respectable distance and I put my hands up. Don’t let ‘em drop, I
reminded myself—elementary shit that was easy to forget when you got tired or
were in the moment. You had to protect yourself at all times, ‘cause nobody
else would, and you didn’t wanna miss an opportunity for a knockout because
you’d let your guard down.
    I heard the bell
and let Herman come for me, first, dancing around him on the balls of my feet
as we sized each other up. He feinted a right hook and I dodged, which earned
me some jeers from the crowd. Fuck those guys. I bet none of them ever took a
hit to the jaw like I had. It fucking sucked.
    The Herminator
kept his eyes on me, seemingly an endless font of endurance. He was sharp, too,
studying my every move, adjusting his tactics and position based on my
reactions. I was going to have to stay light on my feet and switch it up if I
wanted to make it out of this one with the purse. I kept my breathing even and
tried