Juice Can tries to get up, but Rampage pins him down. Desire pools in my belly. I imagine I am Juice Can, laid out on the floor with Rampage hot, hard, and heavy on top of me, holding me immobile. I give myself a shake. Except for a few disastrous blind dates orchestrated by my bestie, Cora, and a couple of Tinder hookups that never made it past lunch, I’ve been off the dating circuit since the spectacular media circus that accompanied the end of my relationship with Vetch. Clearly, it’s time for me to get my feet properly wet, but the last place I should be fishing is in the Redemption pond.

    Juice Can gives up on trying to get Rampage into submission and rockets to his feet. He lands a couple of shots from the outside, but Rampage doesn’t seem to notice. Juice Can throws a kick. Big mistake. Although Rampage is a heavy, muscular man, he is surprisingly light on his feet. He dodges the blow and delivers a return kick that almost takes off Juice Can’s head. Stunned and desperate, Juice Can shoots in for a takedown. Rampage sweeps his legs and then follows him down to the mat with shot after shot to the head.

    “Take him down,” I scream. Although I have resigned myself to friendship, I am not unmoved by the sight of Rampage’s powerful body quivering with each blow he delivers or the way he dominates the fight and commands the cage. So unlike the Rampage I know outside the gym. “Knock the bastard out.”

    “Bloodthirsty tonight, aren’t you?” Amanda laughs, but she enjoys a good fight, too. Her fiancé, Renegade, has been moving quickly up the amateur ranks, and she is his number one fan. “But Rampage is too nice. He’ll do what it takes to win, but never more than that.”

    Juice Can taps three times, indicating he gives up. Rampage looks up, sweat glistening on his body, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Our gazes lock, and in that moment I see power and I see pain. And beneath it all, I see darkness.

    Rampage helps Juice Can to his feet. He grins when the referee holds up his hand in a victory salute. Juice Can slams open the cage door as the crowd chants Rampage’s name. I jump back up on my chair and cheer for Rampage as Juice Can storms by.

    “Fucking cunt.” Juice Can kicks the leg of my chair, and I lose my balance, falling into Amanda before I crash to the ground.

    “Penny!” Amanda shrieks. Stunned, and praying my fall wasn’t caught on TV, I scramble to sit.

    I hear a roar, the bang of the cage door, and feet pounding on the concrete floor. A warm, strong hand clasps my arm. Rampage crouches beside me, his face a mask of worry. “Pen? You okay?”

    “Fine. I’m fine.” I try to wave him away.

    “She’s British,” Amanda says. “Fine could mean anything from ‘I’m having a heart attack’ to ‘I’m bleeding to death’ to ‘I have a paper cut.’”

    “I’m good.” I put my face between my legs more to hide my embarrassment than anything else. “Please just go. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

    “I think she’s okay.” Amanda gives him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’ll get Makayla to check her over before we come to the bar tonight.”

    Makayla is Amanda’s best friend. She is fun and easygoing and pretty much the only person on the planet who can manage the fearsomeness that is Torment, the owner of Redemption. She is also a paramedic and in charge of first aid at the gym.

    Rampage gently lifts my head, cups my jaw in his broad palm. “What happened?”

    “It was my fault.” I lean into the warmth of his hand. “I shouldn’t have been up on my chair, and I especially shouldn’t have screamed your name when Juice Can passed by. I was taking the piss. He called me a ‘fucking cunt’ and kicked the leg of my chair, although I don’t think he meant to knock me over. That was probably just me being uncoordinated, as usual, or maybe he hit the chair harder than he meant to…” I trail off when Rampage’s face morphs from friendly to fierce in a heartbeat. “Rampage?”

    With a growl, he jumps up and runs along the edge of the cage. Juice Can is making his way down the aisle to the locker rooms. Rampage shouts. Juice Can turns. Rampage rushes him, knocking him to the ground in the aisle between rows of seats. Excitement ripples through the crowd. Images of Rampage pounding on Juice Can flash on the big screens. Spectators scatter. This is Rampage as I have never seen him before. No holding back. No being a gentleman. No Mr. Nice Guy. He is full-on out of control. A warrior in full battle frenzy.

    “Oh God. Someone stop him.” I look around for the rest of the Redemption team, and Amanda gasps.

    “You’re on TV.”

    I look up, and there I am, twenty feet high and fifteen feet wide, sitting on the floor with my skirt hiked up, my knickers on show, my cheek bruised, and my hair in disarray. Bloody hell. Everything I hate about myself is magnified for the whole world to see, from my extra rolls to my chubby cheeks and from my overly generous pasty thighs to the plain white knickers that scream “She doesn’t have a boyfriend.” The camera pans from me to Rampage and back to me as if the TV crew is trying to figure out why the hell Rampage would risk his career for someone like me when there are a dozen scantily clad toned and tanned ring girls waiting outside his changing room door.

    “Kill me now,” I whisper.

    “The camera is back on Rampage.” Amanda helps me to my feet. “Time for a quick escape.”

    “Is Rampage okay?” I look back over my shoulder, but the crowd is in my way.

    “The Redemption team will look after him.” She tugs on my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here and go see Makayla.”

    “We don’t need to bother her just because I fell off a chair.” I grab my bag and we quickly make our way toward the exit. As a rule, I try to avoid medical professionals, and I’m not about to risk anyone finding out my secret for a few bumps and bruises.

    “If you’re hurt, I could start a lawsuit for you.” Amanda grins. “We didn’t do so bad when we sued Vetch Retch.”