I look over my shoulder and glare as she settles herself on the chair behind me.

“You left me and now look what’s happened,” I say. “I’m sitting in a fight club about to throw up into a bucket of protein bars.”

“You left me to chase after a guy.” Amanda crosses her arms under her ample and perfectly-formed br**sts, drawing the attention of every male in the vicinity.

“I thought he was a ticket dodger. You know I would never just run off.”

Rampage and Homicide insist on introductions. Of course they would. Amanda in a burlap sack could make any man drool. Amanda in a simple, fitted, green sheath dress and gold kitten-heel pumps, her soft golden curls cascading down her back, her perfect features glowing from an hour of doing the nasty with Jake, will bring them to their knees. If I am a desert on the dating front, Amanda is a monsoon.

The bell rings. The cornermen step out of the ring. My pulse races. How is Torment going to win a fight without anyone getting hurt?

Torment wastes no time. He throws a right hook and catches Flash a glancing blow to the jaw. He follows it with a one-two punch and then a kick. Flash backs away and dances around.

“He’s just playing with Flash,” Homicide says. “Torment is one of the top underground fighters on the circuit. He is only a few fights away from the underground championship belt. Flash only has about ten fights on his card.”

“Why would he challenge Torment?”

Homicide shrugs. “He thinks he’s something special because he was an enforcer in a street gang in San Diego. In this club you can challenge whoever you want, regardless of weight or experience. We never turn down a challenge. But in the ring, skill usually wins out over strength, speed, and aggression. Flash doesn’t have a chance.”

Even I can tell Torment is highly skilled. There is stark beauty in the precision with which his body moves. He keeps to a tight circle near the center of the ring, moving back and forth only to strike or defend. If he wasn’t wearing gloves, I might think he was dancing.

Suddenly Torment lunges forward and grabs Flash’s left leg. Flash keeps his balance. Torment grabs the other leg and slams Flash to the floor, falling on top of him.

“Nice double leg takedown,” Homicide calls.

But Flash is quick. He rolls to his side and gets up on one knee. Torment tries to push him back. He flattens Flash but just for a moment. Like a jack-in-the-box, Flash pops back up. Torment grabs him around the waist and falls back and to the side, pulling Flash on top of him.

“Oh no.” My hand flies to my mouth.

“Don’t worry. He’s nasty off his back.” Rampage says, as if that means something to me.

A few seconds later it does. Flash lifts his right arm to throw a punch. Still on his back, Torment grabs Flash’s right wrist and pulls Flash toward him. Then he wraps his right leg over Flash’s neck, hooking his foot into his left leg, which he has just wrapped around Flash’s midsection. He pulls Flash’s head down against his chest with two hands. Flash flails, trying desperately to escape, but he’s obviously in pain.

“He’s locked him in a quick triangle.” Homicide says. “Match over.”

My heart thuds in my chest. “He’s putting pressure on the carotid artery. Flash will lose consciousness. Stop him.”

Homicide gives me a sideways glance. “That’s the point. It’s a submission hold. Flash knows what will happen if he doesn’t tap out or break the hold.”

“How did you know about the artery?” Rampage asks. “I thought you weren’t into fighting.”

“She’s an intermediate-level EMT and a pre-med grad.” Amanda ruffles my hair. “And she’s damn good. She’s just figuring out what to do with her life, but I already know she’s meant to be healing people. She’s got a gift.”

“Stop it.” Tears well up in my eyes, and I bat Amanda’s hand away. She’s the big sister Susie never was and the mother I always wanted all wrapped up in one golden, best friend package.

I turn my attention back to the ring. Flash’s legs are no longer flailing.

“If he loses consciousness, I will consider it as ‘someone getting hurt.’” I grumble quietly but Homicide hears me.

“He’ll tap out,” Homicide says. “If he doesn’t, the referee will stop the match.”

As if on cue, Flash taps the mat twice. Torment releases his grip and Flash rolls off him and lies spread eagle on the mat. The crowd is a frenzy of cheers and clapping. The retro bass of “Eye of the Tiger” pounds through the warehouse. The ring girls run a circle outside the ring, bosoms bouncing, miniskirts flapping, high heels clacking as they cheer, “Torment. Torment. Torment.”

My God. If this is what happens after every fight, his ego must be blimp size.

The referee holds up Torment’s hand and announces a win by submission in forty-six seconds. Flash staggers to his feet and wavers. He takes a step forward, then back, then sideways. He blinks several times and reaches for the ropes.

“Something’s wrong with him.” I tug on Homicide’s sleeve. “Where’s the doctor?”

“We don’t have a ring doctor.” His face tightens. “After the CSAC decided to sanction amateur MMA events, the ring doctors became afraid to work the underground circuit. The penalty for working an unsanctioned event is a license suspension. No doctor wants to take that risk.”

“You must have someone here to look after injuries.”