My breath catches in my throat. “He didn’t.”

“Guys at Redemption need to know when someone has staked a claim.” Blade Saw peers around the dude in front of him to check out the situation in the ring. Rampage has the Dark Knight on the ground in a painful submission. The Dark Knight struggles and strains for all of three seconds and then taps out. Rampage wins. He fist pumps the crowd as if he actually had to exert himself or use any skill, and receives the concomitant praise.

Jess frowns. “She’s not a piece of land.”

“She’s taken.” Blade Saw pulls her into his side. “Just like you.”

Jess’s eyes widen, and she shoots me a glance. I know what she’s thinking. Maybe Tag didn’t make his move because of the unspoken rule at Redemption about trespassing on a teammate’s territory. But, oh, poor Blade Saw. He is totally enamored with Jess. I don’t want to see him get hurt.

Before I can intervene, Ray steps into the ring. His opponent is the Anarchist, an amateur from a rival club in Menlo Park. Physically they appear compatible, although the Anarchist is maybe an inch or two shorter and much broader in the chest. He wears a black mask with eyeholes that makes Jess laugh and Blade Saw groan. Masked competitors get no respect. MMA is about the fight, not theatrics.

Ray takes the center of the ring. His muscles ripple, his six-pack gleaming under the lights as he shakes the Anarchist’s hand. He is wearing blue fight shorts with nothing on the sides. I’ve never seen him wearing anything plain and my heart tightens just a tiny bit.

The second the ref signals the start of the fight, Ray plants his right hand on the Anarchist’s jaw and tugs down the mask, covering the Anarchist’s eyes. The crowd roars in appreciation. The Anarchist flails, throwing a kick and trying to knee Ray in the stomach, except by the time his knee gets there, Ray’s stomach is nowhere to be found. Blind, the Anarchist attempts a takedown, but is easily thwarted by Ray’s solid hammer fist.

So much aggression. So much power. I want that power used on me, holding me, restraining me, fucking me. My cheers distract Ray, and his gaze flicks in my direction. The Anarchist manages to straighten his mask and throws another knee to Ray’s body and then another. As he hammers his knees home, Ray wails on him with elbows until the Anarchist sinks to his knees and taps out—a win for the Predator and the shortest fight of the evening.

We stay for the rest of the fights, but I am distracted searching for Ray. What if I’ve made a mistake? What if I shouldn’t have pushed him away?

After the last fight, Rampage meets us on the street, and we decide to head over to the Dirty Diva’s bar where Christos is playing tonight. I take one last look around the empty parking lot and sigh.

Jess gives my hand a squeeze. “The first few weeks are the hardest.”

“I know.”

* * *

Dirty Divas is hopping when we arrive, and even more hopping when it is swarmed by testosterone-fueled fighters fresh out of the ring. Rampage flexes his biceps and growls at a crowd of college freshmen, then scores us a booth at the back with an awesome view of the stage.

“I thought you said Christos’s band wasn’t any good.” Jess flips her quarter at the collection of shot glasses in the center of the table. She’s killer at Quarters and seems determined to get me drunk tonight.

“They weren’t. But they got a new keyboardist and vocalist a few months ago, and it’s been a major improvement.” An understatement if there ever was one. Their first set of hard rock covers blows me away. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so reassuring to Slim when I told him Christos would never leave.

The quarter bounces off the edge of one shot glass and then slips inside. “Score.” Jess pumps her fist in the air and then points to me. “Drink up.”

With a sigh, I take the glass and down the shot, then pull my quarter out of the game. Two is my limit. Any more and I’ll be drunk texting Ray and all the boyfriends I’ve ever had.

The band takes a break and a DJ takes over. He throws on some Lady Gaga and Jess grabs my hand. She can work Lady G like there’s no tomorrow. Slightly dizzy with the vodka rush, I grab Rampage’s shoulder to steady myself.

“You okay there?” His brow wrinkles in concern.

“I’m good. Just stood up too fast.”

Rampage frowns. “Tag and the Predator will have my head if anything happens to you.” He glares at Blade Saw and Hammer Fist across the table, both of who are trying to flip a coin into one of the glasses. “I think we’ll end the game and I’ll order you some water.”

My stomach clenches and I glare. “Why does everyone think they have to look out for me? I’m a big girl. I go drinking all the time. I know when I’ve had enough. And I’ve changed. I’m living on the edge now.”

“You’re not big.” Rampage snorts. “You’re little. Go live on the edge on the dance floor.” He points toward the heaving crowd and Jess dancing alone in the center.

“I’m not liking you very much right now.”

Rampage laughs. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even cuter when you’re angry. Go, before I do something the Predator will make me regret.”

“He doesn’t own me.” I throw out the words over my shoulder as I stomp away.

Rampage’s smile fades. “Yes, he does.”

Jess and I dance up a storm until Blade Saw decides he wants in on the action, leaving me without a dance partner. But never mind. The dance floor is packed. I wiggle and shimmy with a few of the non-Redemption fighters from the event, showing off my moves as best I can in the three-inch silver stilettos and skirt I always keep in my trunk in case of an emergency dance trip, which with Jess, happens every week.