Finally, the door opens, and Penny walks in. She’s wearing a fitted gray suit and a cream blouse, her hair in a neat ponytail. Damn, my girl looks good. Sexy and professional and walking with all the confidence in the world.

    After I make the introductions, she hooks her computer up to the projection screen, faces the table, and smiles.

    “Meet Sadist.” She turns on the computer, and there I am, in the middle of a fight, my face twisted in a snarl as I bend my opponent’s arm into an impossible angle. “Is he a true sadist? Are the rumors true? Does his nice guy exterior hide a monster inside?” She flips between images of me drinking beer at Score with the team, talking with the seniors in one of what have now become our weekly visits to Ambleside, and holding up a victory fist with an unconscious opponent at my feet.

    Now she flashes some logos on the screen. The word Sadist written in red, dripping blood on a black background. Fucking awesome.

    “Now that Jack has gone pro, he needs a new image. Rampage was good for the amateurs, but moving into the top ranks of the pros takes more than talent. We need to build up his reputation. People need to be scared just hearing his name. So, to get a feel for the market, we spread a few rumors that he might be a true sadist, positioned him in places where suggestive pictures might be taken. And, as you saw, the media ate it up. Now we need to run with it. We rebrand him as Sadist. We keep people guessing. We build up a cult of fear. Maybe it’s true and he enjoys making his opponents bleed. Maybe he feeds off their pain. Maybe he spends his weekends whipping people in underground sex clubs. Maybe it’s part of the act. They’ll never know.”

    She outlines a detailed marketing and branding plan. More pictures. Logos—some with whips and chains, me crushing a skull in my hand, fierce faces and lots of blood.

    Torment leans over and whispers, “Fucking genius. If I wasn’t with Makayla, I might steal her away.”

    “Friend or no friend,” I growl, “I’d break your fucking neck.”

    My manager, James, claps at the end of Penny’s presentation and pronounces it a kick-ass plan. More claps follow. The MEFC crisis team has a brief discussion and gives her proposal the thumbs-up.

    “So, is it true?” one of them asks.

    “The fact you had to ask that question just shows how effective the campaign can be.” Penny smiles through her evasive answer, never losing her cool. That’s my girl up there. Rocking the entire room. Saving my ass. She is magnificent.

    “What agency are you with?” James asks her.

    For the first time since she walked into the room, Penny stumbles. “I…”

    “Worthington Communications,” I say. “They are a boutique agency based in the Lower Haight.” I grab my phone and send a quick text to Renegade, letting him know I’ll be renting out the top floor of the building that houses Amanda’s office.

    “We’ll put them on file,” he says. “Very impressive work.”

    “She’s an impressive woman.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.

    And she’s mine.

    * * *

    PENNY

    “Sadist!”

    “Sadist!”

    “Sadist!”

    All heads turn as Jack enters the Kezar Pavilion for his first professional MMA fight as Sadist. Through the shouts and cheers of the near-capacity crowd, I can hear the voices of the Redemption fighters, come to cheer on the most popular member of the team. But no one is cheering louder than me.

    “You did an amazing job,” Amanda says, holding up her phone to snap a picture. “The logo, the shirt, the cape… Everyone is talking about him. They all want to know…is he a sadist for real?”

    “His family kept asking him that when we went down to Tennessee,” I shout over the cheers. “I think they hoped his old girlfriend had been wrong and it was all made up.” I sigh, remembering our trip and how impressed his family was at his success in the MMA world. How they couldn’t know what their son did for a living was beyond me, but I made it my mission to make sure they understood just how hard he had worked and exactly what he had achieved.

    Convincing them that his kink didn’t make him a different person was a harder sell than rebranding him at the team meeting—especially when that Avery bitch kept insisting he was sick—but we won them over in the end. Not only because they missed him and just wanted an excuse to get their family back together, but also because they saw us together in what appeared to be a normal loving relationship. Of course, after the lights went out and we went to bed, “normal” went out the window.

    “He’s loving this.” Cora says, nestled in the crook of Blade Saw’s arm. “Look at that scowl. He’s really putting on a good show.”

    “He’s probably imagining how I’m going to be spending my nights taking marketing courses instead of jumping into bed with him,” I say. “And the weekends fixing up my new office.”

    Amanda looks over and frowns. “Don’t mention the new office. I’ll never be able to replace you.”

    “At least you’re going to get rid of Ray’s blue couch.” I offered to take the couch, and Ray with it, so Amanda could buy new furniture consistent with her new look. “I’ll just be upstairs. And I got you a new client to make up for losing Gerry. Damien’s the bomb. You’re going to love him.”

    Poor Gerry had it rough after the article about Jack hit the stands. What was meant to be a warning to the rest of the people he planned to blackmail almost became a death sentence. His office was ransacked, surveillance equipment destroyed, and he was found badly beaten in an alley not far from Club Sin. Witnesses saw six men and a woman in the vicinity, but no identities were confirmed. However, after the beating, Gerry had a change of heart. As a gesture of “goodwill,” he signed the title of the building over to Damien and then retired to Barbados. I had a strong suspicion his gesture of goodwill was made under duress and an even stronger suspicion about who led the attack. But I knew better than to ask.