“No one,” Amanda snaps, saving me from telling them I’m not Jack’s girl. Not anymore.

    * * *

    RAMPAGE

    “We need to talk.” James, my manager, stops me in Redemption’s hallway. If not for my distillery, I would be hard-pressed to pay all the people on my team. The big money doesn’t roll in for professional fighters until you start getting the big fights and the really big sponsorships.

    Four inches shorter than me, lean, and ropy, James wears his blond hair in a crew cut. I hired him because he has a reputation as a pit bull and has worked for several newbie fighters who made it to the top level.

    “I just knocked Fuzzy flat in less than sixty seconds. What is there to talk about?” Still reeling from Penny’s voice message telling me she was breaking it off because she wasn’t enough for me, I need to burn off the extra energy, not sit around having a chat. James is a four-time world lightweight champion and he knows his stuff, but five years out of the game, he’s become a corporate lapdog, and sometimes I wonder if he remembers what it feels like to be in that cage.

    “Your image.” We walk through the crowded corridor to the changing room. As always, the hallways are packed with people talking and waiting for classes, and, now that Torment has added Saturday family classes, there are also lots of energetic kids.

    “You’re good in the ring,” he says. “Fierce, ruthless, relentless. You live up to your cage name. But out of the ring, you’re too nice, and the fans are getting confused. They see you talking to your opponents, laughing with reporters, posing for selfies, and patting kids’ heads. At Redemption, you’re everybody’s friend.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a news website with a picture of me having a laugh with one of the workers who was outside Club Sin.

    “Yeah. About that…”

    “This is not the image you need to project when you’re first starting out in the pros,” James says. “You need to be Rampage in and out of the ring. You need to be storming up to the cage, knocking people out of the way like Juice Can did, going after your opponents at the weigh-ins. If you want to attract the big sponsors and make your way to the top tier, you need to build a reputation that will scare your opponents even if they’re a thousand miles away.”

    “I just want to fight a good fight.” I pull open the door to the changing room, and James follows me in, checking to make sure we’re alone.

    “That’s good. That’s what we want. But we also need you to fight a good fight out of the ring. Psych your opponents like you did when you beat up Juice Can after the fight a few weeks ago. Make them think Rampage goes through to your core, that you’re the kid who picked fights in school—”

    “I did,” I say, cutting him off.

    “That you were the badass who was kicked out of class.”

    “I was.” Now that I think about it, I was always a disappointment to my parents, my violent streak showing through even at an early age, when I was supposed to be the perfect son, the up-and-coming next CEO of the family business. Fighting is in my blood. But maybe that’s not such a surprise. My great-grandfather immigrated from Ireland and made his money in street fights and boxing rings.

    “So what happened?” James sits on the bench as I pull open my locker. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

    “I had to bury that side of myself for reasons that are none of your business, and I only let it out in the ring.” And at the club, but that’s just about the last thing I would ever share with James.

    “Let it out, or learn how to act. That’s my advice.” He tugs at the red-and-blue tie around his neck, his attempt at looking professional. “I want to see you rise to the top, but a big part of it is showmanship. You can earn six figures from sponsorships alone if you give them something to work with.”

    Christ. When I signed the pro contract, I naively thought I was signing up for the chance to fight some of the best fighters in the world. Instead, I’ve signed up to be a trick pony, not just a fighter but also a circus freak.

    “Fine. I’ll go growl at a few babies, make some kids cry, knock over a few chairs on my way out.”

    “That’s the spirit.” His phone buzzes, and he excuses himself to take a call. I pull out my phone and check my messages, although there is only one person I want to hear from—the woman for whom I turned down Sylvia and left Club Sin last night.

    “I’ve got an opportunity for you right now.” James covers the mouthpiece on his phone. “The CEO of Swish Athletics is in town. I was talking to him yesterday about sponsorship. He wants to take the brand in a new direction—give it a dangerous edge. His daughter is with him and she wants to meet you. Maybe we can set up a dinner and you can put on a bit of a show. Get into a fight in the restaurant, knock over a few chairs. Women love that kind of stuff. You could get even get lucky, and if she tells her daddy just how big and bad you are…”

    My phone buzzes with a message from Ray telling me that Penny, Sia, Makayla, and Amanda are going out to a death metal bar with a few of the female Redemption fighters tonight. He wants to know if I knew about this. How the hell is he supposed to watch his woman when he has a baby at home? And how fast can I get my ass down to the bar? I notice he has sent the message to Torment and Renegade to warn them that their women are in danger. Ray takes overprotectiveness to a whole new level.

    There is only one place I want to be. One thing I want to do. And it doesn’t involve fucking my way to greatness.

    “Sorry, James.” I grab my gym bag and tuck away my phone. “Tell her big, bad Rampage is on his way to kiss some sense into his girl tonight.”

    * * *

    PENNY

    Death’s Dungeon, San Francisco’s premier death metal bar, is hopping tonight. The last time I was here, Amanda had just started her new firm and I had just started seeing Vetch Retch. Little did I know he was reeling me in, bit by bit, waiting until I was so emotionally involved I wouldn’t run the first time he hit me.