“Vic’s business partner,” Shen volunteered.

Vic gritted his teeth.

“This your first bout?” MacRyrie asked.

“Yeah. Blayne invited me.”

At the mention of Blayne’s name, Novikov looked around MacRyrie and snarled at Vic, baring extremely long fangs. Vic roared back.

“I have no problem killing both of you,” MacRyrie snapped. “And keep in mind, I used to kill for a living.”

Well aware that MacRyrie used to be in the same Marine unit as Dee-Ann, a unit that hunted the hunters, Vic decided not to push the issue. Thankfully, neither did Novikov.

“So how does this work?” Vic asked MacRyrie.

“The jammer has to pass as many of the opposing team as possible within two minutes. The problem is, the jammer has got to get past the blockers—and they don’t want to let her do that.”

Vic stretched his neck, trying to loosen the tension there. “I’m going to be so bored.”

“You might like it.”

“Vic hates sports,” Shen explained.

“I don’t hate sports. I just don’t understand its purpose in my universe.”

MacRyrie grinned. “I get that, too. Not everyone enjoys sports of any kind. But if it helps, the players on this derby team all wear tiny shorts and tank tops.”

Vic shrugged. “That actually does help.”

Two lion males walked to the empty seats in front of Vic’s. At first, he was annoyed. Those manes would just disrupt his viewing pleasure. But then he saw the face of one of the lions.

“Hey, Mitch!”

Mitch Shaw turned and smiled. “Vic!” They shook hands. “How ya doin’, man?”

“Pretty good.”

“What are you doing back here? I thought you were still in Albania?”

“Nah. Doing a local job. This is Shen Li,” Vic said, pointing at the panda. “Shen, this is Mitch Shaw. He works for Bobby Ray’s security company. I get a lot of work from them.”

“This is my brother, Brendon Shaw.”

“You’re not going to say hi to me?”

The lions’ expressions turning to disgust, matching gold gazes moved from Vic and Shen to MacRyrie.

“We are going to be family, after all,” MacRyrie added. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you two?”

Vic watched the felines fight their desire to rip MacRyrie apart, finally settling on ignoring the man altogether.

Mitch nodded at Vic. “We may have some work coming up for you soon. I’ll let you know.”

“Great.”

With one more glare at MacRyrie, the two cats sat down in their seats.

“What was that about?” Vic asked the grizzly.

“Nothing really.” MacRyrie grinned. “I’m just marrying theirsister.”

The main lights were turned off and AC/DC’s “Back in Black” was cranked up. Colored strobe lights moved across the track, and a female announcer who sounded like she needed to lay off the cigarettes said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, cats and dogs, foxes and bears. It’s what you’ve been waiting for . . . what you’ve been needing . . . what you’ve been craving. Now is the time and this is the hour for you to finally get exactly what you deserve! And tonight it’s the ruling champions against the angriest bitches on the block. So welcome, one and all . . . to Buroughs Brawlers Banked Track Derby!

“Let’s give a big hand to our first team, the toughest bitches on the East Coast . . . the Jamaica Me Howlers!”

The first team came out on the track, fists pumping, screaming at the crowd, working to get everyone psyched up for the bout. When each team member was introduced, depending on the breed or species, different parts of the auditorium erupted in applause and cheers.

Yet even with those cute, tight outfits on the players, Vic could already tell he was losing interest. He finally pulled out his cell phone and opened up a book on Stalin that his father had told him he might find interesting. “Although,” his father had added, “nothing about that fistfight he had with your grandfather over woman.”

While Vic read, he stopped listening to the announcements and the music that was playing and the teams. What could he say? He really was not a sports fan. Not even when it involved hot girls. But then suddenly Vic heard booing and hissing. It came out of nowhere and seemed strange since he hadn’t heard any of that before. And when he looked up, he saw that Livy was moving across the track.

“And it’s the woman you love to hate, the bitch you know to fear . . . it’s The Bringer of the Pain!”

That was when the booing got even worse.

Horrified, Vic watched Livy, wondering if this was why she didn’t play all the games. Because everyone was so mean to her.

The Bringer of the Pain, aka Livy, stopped on the track, looked out over the booing, hissing, screaming crowd, and raised both her arms to about chest height, middle fingers extended from each fist. She stuck her tongue out and made some gestures with it that he was not entirely comfortable with her using outside the bedroom, and then turned on her skates and basically told them all to kiss her ass.

But he knew Livy well enough now to know that she wasn’t upset. No. She was enjoying herself. She liked being the bad guy of the derby world. The one everyone hated. And without the usual confinements of a relatively polite society, she was able to express her own feelings right back.

Of course, Vic figured out within the first ten minutes of the game why Livy was hated and why she had earned her particular derby name.