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like to get hurt now. It’s new. It’s his first time. He’s not like me, I can see that, not in this key way. When someone comes after me, I become this force, this hurricane, where there’s no sound, no thought, nothing but sheer will and flying fists.
    At least there used to be.
    I’m not seeing this in Hudson. It’s like he’s realizing for the first time, this is hard . It hurts . It’s exactly what Akoni recognized. Hudson isn’t mature enough in his game for a fight.
    I want him out of there. Exterminator feeds on Hudson’s reluctance and comes for another punishing set of blows. This time Hudson puts his gloves to his face. The crowd wants blood and their screams hit a fever pitch.
    Then Hudson seems to snap out of it and strikes back. Exterminator is caught off guard, thinking he had him. Hudson gets several hard blows in, and I’m shouting with the crowd. Everybody wants a good fight, a solid fight. Nobody wants to watch a one-sided match.
    Exterminator takes some hits, but I know when he steps back, he’s got something Hudson doesn’t — he wants it. He wants the win. He sweeps into the next blows, and I see it, that snap of the chin that means a concussion. Hudson’s going to go down.
    Most refs, when they see this blow, are right there. They block the other fighter and wait to see if he’s going to recover.
    But as Hudson goes down, Exterminator gets more manic. He rains blows on Hudson.
    My brother hits the mat, crumpled. But he’s not out. So Exterminator keeps on him.
    In any ordinary fight, MMA or boxing or kickboxing or anything, this match would be over. I’m angry and worried and now I find that the force that drove my hurricane must still whirl within me, because I jump over the entire set of ropes in a single shot. Before I even realize it, I’m on Exterminator, knees locked around his waist, my arms pinning his head.
    He tries to buck me off, but I’m good. Submission pins are a specialty in women’s MMA. When he tries to swivel to get me off, I get him in a headlock. He can’t really fight me in his bulky gloves.
    I don’t hear or see anything. All I see is this smug jerk’s body, the side of his head. My arms are a vise and his gloves pull on them without effect.
    I’m pure fury. How dare he pummel a fighter who’s down? What sort of screwed-up person does that? This sort of fighting isn’t sport. It’s bloodshed.
    Then he’s falling, and I’m going with him. The world starts to penetrate. There are arms on me, pulling at me, lots of them. I can’t fight them all, and have to let go of Exterminator. I realize there’s lots of people in the ring.
    I reel and struggle and punch at anything that gets near. I’m back, I can feel it, pure hurricane, pure action. They back away as my fists and elbows and legs land in soft places. More than one spurts red as I hit a nose or mouth.
    Finally everyone backs away, and I’m in the center of the ring. Hudson is still on the ground. I dive for him, slapping his cheeks. “Come around, Hudson,” I say. “Wake up.”
    He groans and rolls over.
    My relief is so intense, I actually see stars for a moment, as if all the blood has rushed from my head to my heart. I look around at the stunned faces, quiet now. A few people are holding their injured faces or hands, angry.
    “How was THAT for a bonus round?!” Big Daddy shouts. “Look at that girl!”
    But the crowd isn’t feeling it. I help Hudson to his feet. We duck through the ropes. The crowd parts. I don’t bother to grab the duffel. All the supplies are replaceable. We’re almost to the door when a voice shouts from the ring, “Hey, sister!”
    I stupidly look back. Exterminator is leaning on the ropes, his face mottled and red. I don’t answer.
    “Get the hell off my island,” he says. “We don’t need your kind around here.”
    I wonder what “kind” he means. They’re not all islanders. But I ignore him and push out the door.
    I’m used to enemies. They’re what