I stepped in behind Rachel and let the door mechanism hiss behind us.

  “Oh, one thing I was meaning to mention, but forgot.”

  Rachel half-turned. We stood just inside the helipad access doorway on the second floor. Her necklace glittered in the fluorescent overhead lighting. I pointed at it, a smile teasing my lips.

  “Yeah? What about it?” Rachel asked.

  “I’m really happy to see you kept it and are wearing it, that’s all.”

  She looked at me like she was trying to figure out my angle.

  “It’s just that… You seem like you mostly wear what’s comfortable and…” I glanced over her outfit. “...Durable? You don’t really seem to do much in the way of decoration or styling.”

  I reached out and took the medallion I’d made for her between my thumb and index finger. No, not a medallion. More of a… talisman? A totem, maybe? A chunk of Hookwolf that I’d ripped straight out of him. A broken link from one of the heavy chains he used as longer-range weapons in a fight. It was as thick as my finger as Morgan. I’d bent one end into a closed loop like it was a paperclip, as Apex, when I’d fashioned it on a whim for Rachel.

  Her response was terse: “So?”

  A simple thing, a crude thing, made as a flight of fancy and given freely. It looked like the number nine, but I’d meant for it to look like a curved claw. Like Apex had. Apex and her dogs.

  I don’t remember exactly why I made it for her. I think she looked angry, maybe? And I thought it would cheer her up? Feels like a lifetime ago.

  There was a beauty to it. The metal was lighter than would be expected, and there were colorful rainbow hues around where it had been snapped apart. It was also a dark thing, too. A piece of someone’s body, taken as a battle trophy, inorganic as it might be.

  The fact that she’d kept it and continued to wear it meant something. But she was so hard to read, and so unpredictable, I couldn’t hazard a guess as to what it might be.

  She was squinting at me as I twisted it between my fingers. I recognized that look as simply one of her default modes of existence.

  I wonder if she’s ever been to an optometrist? Funny to think about, but maybe she needs corrective lenses.

  There were a number of things going through my mind looking at it. I had questions. I didn’t think she’d answer them. I’d already sort of pushed her boundaries pretty far as it was.

  I let go of the pendant and let it hang freely from the stout leather cord I’d tied through it. I looked up at her.

  “It looks good on you, that’s all.”

  “Tch,” she turned and headed back towards the gym. I followed right along.

  Amy and Taylor were still sitting next to one another on one of the side benches, and Taylor looked, as Amy had promised, as good as new. I shoulder-bumped Rachel when we were back in the gym. “Go get fixed up with Amy.”

  “I’m fine,” Rachel grumbled.

  “I know you can take it, Rachel, but the city’s a fucking mess, the gangs are showing their assess all over and attacking, robbing and stealing from people left and right. Get yourself straight so you can kick their ass if they step on your turf.”

  The stubborn thing grunted, then trudged over and flopped on the bench next to Amy. Amy glanced at me, and I gave her a short nod. I expected that was as close as Rachel was going to get as far as asking for help was concerned. Amy reached over and touched her forearm and held it for about thirty seconds, and she was all done.

  Then Amy hopped up and left the two with an Amy-sized gap between each other. They watched the sparring going on, studiously avoiding looking at one another. But after a minute or two passed, I saw lips moving on both of them. Amy walked over to me and dropped her voice when she was close.

  “Wicked deep hematoma in her thigh, and she’s just strolling around through it. Incredible. I don’t get her. At all. If she were older… Stuff like that can be life-threatening. Leg clots are no joke.”

  I bumped against Amy, nudging her like I’d just done with Rachel. “She’s proud and thinks she’s surrounded by enemies. Or, if not enemies… certainly not allies. She doesn’t dare show weakness. We had a good talk outside. I figured she might have just left, but she didn’t. I was a bit surprised.”

  I looked at Brian and Crystal sparring. They’d clearly gone more than one round, maybe doing best of three or five.

  “How’s this been going?” I asked Amy, gesturing towards the two with a flick of my chin.

  Amy twisted her lips from side to side. “Sort of a dead heat. Crystal’s better by a decent margin, but Brian’s a real big guy. She’s not going easy on him, and he’s not going easy on her, either. He got a mean slam on her last round that ended the fight. Knocked the air straight out of her. I swore I could feel it, just watching it.”

  I elbowed the shorter girl, and she looked up at me with all those freckles dancing as she made a face. I grinned at her. “Look at you. You’ve learned enough to be able to actually make accurate observations and follow what’s going on. Be more specific, though. What’s Brian doing that’s working to his advantage?”

  She rolled her eyes at me and glanced back at the two fighters circling one another, backs leaning forward and arms out, prepared for grappling attempts.

  “Uhm. He’s got this boxing thing going on. His height and his arms make it hard to get close to him.”

  “Downsides?”

  “Ugh, I don’t know,” she complained.

  “Yes, you do, quit whining and use that head of yours. I know we’ve talked about this, and you have plenty of time fighting Neil, who is even bigger than Brian is. Man’s a fucking… giant.” I wasn’t exaggerating, either. Neil is a damn big guy. Barrel-chested, powerful build from head to toe, and fucking seven feet and change tall. He was also a seriously experienced martial fighter, and much faster than one might expect, despite his size and weight. Properly dangerous, without even considering his wicked abilities.

  “Fine, fine. Uh, let me think. It’s sort of awkward to fight someone when there’s a big height difference. You’re either like, punching up, or punching down,” she commented.

  “Sure. Which of the two is better?”

  “Punching… up?” She didn’t sound very confident.

  “Yes. Why?”

  She scrunched her face up and muttered.

  “Need a hint?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s a core physics issue.”

  She blinked rapidly, and I saw the proverbial light go off over her head. “Oh. Oh! Center of mass?”

  I bobbed my head along. “Yup. Pushing up, you’re lowering your center of mass, you’re more difficult to destabilize as a result. The opposite is true of throwing fists down. What else?”

  “Slower?” She ventured, but I shook my head.

  “Can be, but you can’t count on it. Some people are just freakishly fast, even with longer limbs or more mass to move. Something about the ratio of muscle types, but I don’t remember the details.”

  Amy was nodding along seriously now.

  “What else does Brian have going on for him? It’s an obvious and fighting fundamentals thing we’ve both taught you to be extremely mindful of.”

  “Oh, yeah, I did notice that, but I just didn’t put it into words. His footwork is like… really good. He keeps his spacing and placement really tight.”

  I flashed a toothy grin at Amy, and she glanced away. “Yep. Good job, Amy. Because boxing is so focused on striking power with fists, the legwork has to be tight, or you can’t really get good power. Remember what I keep nagging you about when you’re doing exercise.”

  Amy groaned. “I swear you’re obsessed with asses, Morgan.”

  “What can I say,” I snickered. “I enjoy a nice-looking sculpted butt! But that’s not why I bring it up.”

  Amy repeated in a robotic voice, like it was the ten thousandth time she’d heard it. “The butt is the powerhouse of the body…”

  I leaned in close and whispered to her: “Good thing you’re making good progress in that territory!”

  She scoffed and slapped the back of her hand across my belly. I laughed loudly. I didn’t need to look at her to tell that her cheeks were glowing.

  Oh, now that looks familiar. Is she going for what I think she is?

  I watched Crystal shuffle closer. She was in the danger zone right now. Brian had a Goldilocks zone, where he wanted you far enough to get good extension with his leg or arm. If you could get right on top of him, suddenly his reach was a big disadvantage. The trick was crossing that zone without getting your shit clobbered.

  He threw a fast series of punches at Crystal. Crystal leveraged a few blocks that were straight out of Neil’s playbook, but my eyes were on her feet. She was able to get in close with only one fairly solid glancing blow, and she appeared to be setting up for some upper-body and arm blows on Brian. But that was a ploy. If he let her, she’d take it, as I’d taught her , but her real goal was one of my plays. A good mix of the two fighting styles that she trained with the most.

  She stepped forward and planted the ball of her foot on top of Brian’s forward foot and set her weight on it while fishing for a good shot at him. He realized what she was up to just a touch too late, and she grabbed his arm and supported herself with his upper body strength to hook her other foot behind his knee, popping it forward, dropping him down, and into a prime position for a throw to the mat. She didn’t even need to exert herself that much; she was redirecting his own momentum.

  She flipped his tall frame straight over with a solid whack into the mat, and kept her hold on his arm, moving with him, rotating, twisting, and– there. She had him in a submission hold. Were this a real fight and not a spar, she could dislocate his shoulder or break his wrist from the hold she had him in, trivially easy. He’d either be out of the fight entirely, or one of those pure grit sorts who’d try and fight on, but wouldn’t be able to mount a very good defense or offense with a single arm.

  Brian tapped out, but he was grinning. He liked this kind of shit nearly as much as I did. Getting your ass beat was part of the process of getting better. And I knew he was taking notes.

  “Yeah, go, Crystal!” Vicky shouted from behind. I clapped, and both Taylor and Amy joined me.

  “Good fight, you two!” I called out to the two. They got to their feet and shook hands. I looked around the room, seeing who would go next. It was good to mix up different skill levels, but everyone learned a bit differently. Some did better with close peers, others did better with repetition with someone a bit out of their league. “Who’s going next?”

  Vicky had her Glory Girl costume on; she must have just gotten back from either a job or patrol. I expected a patrol, considering her rather pristine appearance.

  Then again, her forcefield keeps her clean. What a nice side effect.

  Vicky’s main power was a little deceptive. She was super strong, super tough, very fast, and could fly, the typical Alexandria package cape. But all of these things were granted to her by a forcefield wrapped around her body, only millimeters off her skin. It kept her dry, clean, and looking composed most times, unless she was getting hit hard, and it was breaking. She could reform it pretty quickly, but there were small gaps of time where she was vulnerable. She was good at accounting for those windows.

  I heard a certain someone clear their throat. “What about our spar?”

  I glanced over at Vanessa. Nobody else was volunteering at the moment, and I had agreed to spar with her when I got back.

  Looks went around among some of the other occupants. I could feel a piqued interest. The humming of the fans and low rush of moving air was the only real sound in the room. I turned around to face her properly. She was still rocking that catty expression from earlier.

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  I nodded. “Sure, we can do that. And I thought of a place we can do it that’s bigger. We can use the helipad. It’s like fifty feet to a side, so bigger than a regulation ring. It’s got a vibration-damping mat bolted down on top. Certainly not as ideal as our mats in here, but at least better than pavement or concrete.”

  “Sounds perfect to me!” She replied and stepped off the wall.

  The rest of the room stood up and moved towards the door. I walked over to her and asked, “You have your own gloves?”

  She gave what I’d describe as a titter as a response to my question. “I won’t be wearing any. You can wear whatever you like, of course.”

  Challenging me to see if you can push me out of my comfort zone?

  I shrugged as we walked into the hall. “No gloves is fine with me,” I glanced at her hands. The ones she constantly preened. She had very graceful-looking hands and fingers. She’d either cut her longer nails off or she’d removed them if they were artificial. “I just didn’t want you to wind up hurting your hands on accident, I know you’re particular about them.”

  She hiked a precisely-maintained eyebrow at my observation. “Oh? And what about your hands and fingers?”

  I saw Vicky split off from the procession to converse with the people on the couches. I was a bit surprised to see that Melody wasn’t back yet. No way she was going to miss her fights tonight. I looked back up at Vanessa as we stepped outside. “I mean… I’m a changer. This isn’t even really my body, you know? It’ll get… recycled, or something, when I change and then pop back to how it normally is when I next use it.”

  Vanessa licked her lips and resumed her smirk. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re more concerned about my safety and well-being than your own. I’m not sure if I should feel flattered that you care, or insulted that you’re not worrying about yourself as my opponent.”

  I climbed up the short staircase to the landing pad surface and into the middle of the pad, just off to one side of the giant H painted on it. I turned back around to Vanessa and grabbed the straps of my Brockton Strong tank top and tugged it over my head. She had that same mildly amused, cocky look on her face, but I caught her eyes wandering. She was not subtle about it, either. I held my shirt loosely in one hand and cocked my hip to one side, planting my palm on it.

  The rest of the group was lingering by the door as people walked out, and it looked like there were far more interested parties in seeing this fight than the spars earlier. Nearly everyone, in fact.

  “See something you like, Vanessa?” I asked her quietly enough for the rest of the group not to be able to easily pick up on. I certainly thought I looked good, standing there barefoot in my small shorts and tight, padded sports bra.

  When old Apex had changed to new Apex, she’d not just grown in size, but had bulked up significantly. Oddly enough… so had I, when I was like this. I wasn’t doing anything differently, I wasn’t picturing myself as bulkier Morgan, but as the same Morgan as always. Still, the effect, along with some of the other oddities I’d noticed, like my nails, teeth, and hair, persisted. And seemed quite stubborn about it, as well. It didn’t happen when I tried to become someone else, but it did when I tried to become Morgan. In any case, it looked like I’d put on about 15 pounds. I went from sculpted and very well-toned to more of a professional fighter in-season look.

  She wants to fuck with me all the time? Two can play that game.

  I tightened my core a little. Abs for days. Not just abs, but obliques as well. I did my best impression of the cocky princess smirk. Vanessa’s eyes flitted up. “I am certainly not complaining,” she said, slipping her flip-flops off, wedging one into the straps of the other, and then tossing the pair over towards the edge of the helipad.

  The spectators climbed up and took positions around the outside of the helipad. Taylor and the Undersiders were in one group, Vicky, Amy, Crystal, Chris, and Leet in another. Jamie was just sort of off on their own. I raised a hand to Crystal and tossed the tank to her. She caught it and tilted her head.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a shirt on? If either of you goes to the mat, the burn on bare skin is going to be real. ”

  I chuckled. I’d already considered that. The rash would be wicked, but Amy would probably help with that. I was more concerned with getting choked out by the tank top, or it getting destroyed by either blood or tearing. “Thanks, Crystal, but I don’t want it to wind up getting ruined. Easier to fix skin at the moment.”

  She glared at me and shook her head.

  Brian called out to the two of us in the middle: “What’s the terms of the spar? And are we sure it needs to be here, and not inside?”

  I waited to see if Vanessa was going to say anything. She was still just staring at me. I turned to Brian. “Spar to submission or knockout. We’ve both agreed to bare-knuckle and full contact. There was a concern about room to maneuver, so we’re out here, where it’s at least a full regulation size, with plenty left over.”

  Brian’s face darkened, just a touch. That was sweet of him. “That’s it?”

  I looked back at Vanessa. She rolled her eyes. “Sure, we can make sure it stays on the pad, too. For safety,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “If that’s what you both want… I can call the start for you two, if you’d like?” I looked back over at him and smiled. “Yes, thank you, Brian, that would be great.”

  Vanessa and I spaced and squared off. I clasped my hands and bowed to her, as I would any formal opponent. She surprised me by doing a fist and palm salute and bowing deeply.

  “Vanessa, ready?” Brian asked. She looked over and nodded to him.

  I took several deep breaths and prepared myself.

  “Morgan, ready?” I held my hand out toward Brian and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Ready!” Brian called out.

  God, I want to wipe that fucking smirk off her face. But I need to keep it professional. Let’s see what we’re working with first before we try and commit to anything.

  “Fight!” Brian shouted.

  We both assumed our stances. I was going to take this seriously, so I dropped some, knees bent, feet wide, with my back straight and my hands forward and spaced.

  I looked at Vanessa’s stance as we shuffled forward and to the side, circling.

  What- what the actual fuck is that?

  I didn’t recognize it at all, and worse, several things just shouted wrong, bad in my head. She was mostly erect, her shoulders were relaxed and loose, but also rolled forward some, which was weird. Her feet were properly spaced, and she was maintaining good contact and balance, but again, it was off. Her feet were angled inward, in a pigeon-toed way, and her knees were also in. Her hands were up, elbows low and tight to her body. No fists, open palm, but again, very floppity-looking. She kept her chest angled, switching between having her left shoulder and hand forward, or her right, depending on how we were angled.

  We circled inward, and I threw a few low snap kicks at her. She brought her closer hand down twice and swatted my foot to slightly deflect it, while taking a short step back to just barely avoid the kick. The third time, I nudged in a bit closer to try and get a bigger evasion out of her and create an opening, and rather than deflect it with her hand, she brought her opposite foot up, intercepted my leg just above the ankle, and pushed my kick out.

  Seriously, what the fuck? She’s hardly moving, which is a good sign that she knows what she’s doing, but she’s also not even attempting to counterattack; she just goes right back to that weird stance. I’m going to try and close in and see what she does.

  I feinted another kick and transitioned into two quick steps forward. I threw an overhand right punch at Vanessa’s temple. It was a feint, I wanted her to commit to a block so I could try and go for a clinch on her. She didn’t block the punch. At least, not what I’d consider a block. She brought an open hand up and sort of lightly pushed it, while stepping in extremely close herself, close enough that it threw my calculation for grappling her off. My punch slid off the back of her head without really transferring much in the way of force.

  Meanwhile, Vanessa had dropped her free hand low, and I thought she was going to go for a throw. Instead, she made a fist and punched me in the ribs, her other hand joining in, and she hit me a good four or five times in the time it took me to hop backwards. The punches weren’t hard at all, quite light, actually. But even light punches to the ribs, much less four or five of them in a split-second, hurt like hell.

  I switched stances. She was using some kind of striking art, I had zero idea what, but I’d yet to land a hit on her, and she’d gotten several on me. That wasn’t working. I’d focus on mid-range kicks and strikes with less of a focus on my grapples.

  This is fine, it’s not like I’m shabby with striking. She’s got reach, but I am pretty sure I outweigh her even with our height difference.

  I stepped forward and launched a low roundhouse to check her low guard. She hopped over it, darted right back up super close, totally ignoring her reach, and hit me with another flurry of rapid punches, this time in the solar plexus. The rapid-fire whack-whack-whack-whack of her fists on my lower chest was followed by a grunt from me, and I quickly backpedaled two steps back out of whatever that was range.

  “Go, Vanessa!” Taylor's voice called out. I wasn’t taking my eyes off Vanessa for even a fraction of a second. She was fast. Someone let out a whoop on the back of Taylor’s yell.

  I took a breath to stabilize the twinging in my diaphragm and kept my core tight. Vanessa and I circled more, and she kept up her smirk.

  “I thought you weren’t into that tap-tap shit?” I teased her.

  She snerked and approached on her own. I threw a cross punch, and Vanessa used a more traditional parry, one I was familiar with. What I wasn’t expecting was her bringing her other shoulder forward mid-parry, getting her arm under my guard, and then curling it back towards herself before I could react.

  My entire world was rocked when her elbow hit my jaw super hard and rattled my brain.

  It was on. I absorbed the hit that had sent my head and shoulders back on my back leg and extended it to launch right back into Vanessa. I acted without having to do any conscious thought as to what I was doing. I went for a collar grab, she used the backs of her hands and her forearms to pop my hands off before I could get a good grip on her–her tight, slick compression shirt not helping.

  But that was okay. I had ulterior motives for the grab. I brought a knee up high for a brutal ribshot. She partially blocked it, but I still got a fairly good impact through the tender area, and I immediately followed through with a nasty hook just under her ribcage on the opposite side. Vanessa’s eyes went wide, and she let out a pained grunt.

  The hit drove her a partial step back, and I expected her to space. I hoped she would space, my vision was still a touch fuzzy. She didn’t. She stepped right back in and threw an open-handed slap with her left hand. I blocked it with my wrist, which she grabbed and yanked. Before I could stabilize, her right hand came up for my face, and she whipped me right in the eye with her palm.

  Now my vision was really fucky, this eye-strike had my left eye watering like hell, and the skin around my eye throbbing. I most likely had broken blood vessels in the thin skin surrounding my eye. I backed up several steps from Vanessa to get my bearings, and she didn’t immediately press in.

  “Hey!!” Brian shouted from the sidelines. There was murmuring from a handful of the people in the assembled crowd. “That shit ain’t legal in a match!”

  He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he wasn’t a hundred percent right, either. A lot of American and Japanese fighting arts and leagues didn’t allow a number of strikes for fairly obvious reasons. Things like kidney shots from the rear, head shots to varying degrees, depending on the sport, although rear headshots were nearly universally banned. Groin, eyes, and throat were usually in the no-go zone as well, because of the potential for serious harm.

  But I knew American and Japanese martial arts fairly well, and whatever Vanessa was using? That wasn’t it. There were plenty of martial arts in other areas of the world that allowed for nastier types of hits, especially if it was a match between experienced fighters, as this was.

  I held a palm out to Brian, not taking my eyes off Vanessa. He dropped his voice from a shouting protest to a low grumble.

  This was okay. I had to change my metrics. I’d go more bloodthirsty myself to level the playing field. I knew my fair share of dirty tricks for use in actual fighting scenarios. Vanessa was favoring her ribs on one side, just slightly. I knew I’d gotten good hits on both sides, and she was hurting, although if I were score-keeping, I’d say I was down a fair number of points.

  Vanessa shuffled in quickly with that queer stance of hers.

  Fuck, she’s fast, though.

  I didn’t get a chance to set up for a solid attack, so I let her come in close to where she seemed to want to operate. I solidified my core and engaged my hips to thrust forward with a blisteringly fast spear-hand strike aimed straight for Vanessa’s throat. I wanted to throw her off. This was extremely illegal in a spar, and I saw her eyes widen and focus the moment she realized what I was doing. She jerked her head and upper chest back so she’d be just outside of my reach.

  Perfect.

  I followed her and successfully locked her in over-under clinch, with one of my arms over one of Vanessa’s, and the other one under her arm, hiked up towards her armpit. I locked my hands behind her and proceeded to throw her straight over my hip to the hard rubber of the landing pad. I was expecting more resistance, but she flowed with the throw, like we were doing a training drill.

  Oh, FUCK!

  I figured out immediately why that was. She flipped over and hooked a leg around my neck, bringing me along for the ride down. I hit hard, harder than she did, and I had to grab onto her thighs as I was getting inverted so I could brace my neck. My landing wasn’t picture-perfect. I managed to kick my legs out to hit the rubber and break the impact some, but the impact of doing so sent pins-and-needles sensations through my toes.

  We were both down, and Vanessa didn’t waste a moment executing her plan. She pinned my neck between her thighs and locked her ankles in a very effective chokehold. My positioning wasn’t ideal. I was at a right angle to her lower body, and I was facing her upper half. My jiu-jitsu training kicked in. Scissor locks like this on a head or neck were uncommon, but it was potentially an immediately fight-ending position.

  It made sense why she’d gone for it. I looked up at her, her face was flushed, and that fucking smirk was back again.

  “This is a good look for you, Morgan,” she whispered. “With your head between my thighs.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  I wasn’t going to let whatever that was throw me off. I tried to get an arm between her legs and my neck, and wasn’t successful. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. Then she started to apply pressure.

  I had to reposition immediately or I’d be taking a nap. Training clicked, and I moved. I tugged backwards with my neck as hard as I could while scooting my hips up behind her back. Having her at a right angle would allow her to cut off the blood flow to my brain and knock me out in seconds. If you needed more time, you could angle things to lessen the direct pressure. There. I was less susceptible to blacking out now, but I still couldn’t effectively breathe, so I was on a tight timetable.

  She wasn’t letting me get an arm and shoulder up. Time for plan B. I formed a rock-solid fist and punched her in the back of the thigh, as close to the inner thigh as I could manage with the positioning. One, two, three wicked blows. Vanessa turned a brighter shade of red and grunted. I knew damn well just how bad that hurt, but her grip didn’t loosen.

  Figures the bitch knew how to take a good hit.

  “I see you like to play rough too,” she teased, her voice a bit strained.

  I was running out of options and out of time. My lungs were starting to burn.

  I had an idea. A stupid, risky, dangerous idea. It could blow out the fight in her favor if I fucked it up.

  Fuck it. It’s either that or tap and take the L. No guts, no glory.

  I scrabbled my legs around, flipping the angle I had to the opposite side. Her grip on my throat tightened as I transitioned, and she was squinting at me, trying to figure out what I was up to.

  They don’t teach this in the dojo, bitch.

  I got my legs under me, fighting like hell to straighten upright. I succeeded, burning precious seconds off my remaining time in the process. Vanessa was flipped onto her back, but her legs weren’t going anywhere. I locked onto her hips with my hands and shoved, transitioning from my knees to my feet. Vanessa was half-frowning, half-boggled looking.

  Good.

  “Oh! OH!” Brian shouted from the sidelines. The crowd had been getting progressively louder while Vanessa had me in a headlock, but it was hard to hear over the blood pounding in my ears.

  I spread my feet, squatted, wrapped my arms around Vanessa’s hips, hugging her ass to my chest tightly, and heaved with everything I had left in the tank, using my core, back, butt, and legs.

  “OH SHIT!!” Brian yelled.

  Vanessa’s upper body came up off the landing pad. My back was burning like it was on fire, and I think I tore something in the process, but I brought the busty bitch up off the mat, raising her higher and higher as I straightened my back.

  Her eyes were bugging out of her head, and that smirk was nowhere to be found on her face as she stared at me.

  Even if I lose, this moment will have been worth it.

  I released every straining muscle in my body and engaged their matching opposing muscles. Vanessa tucked her chin into her chest, clenched her jaw, closed her eyes, and brought her hands up to the back of her head.

  I power bombed her back squarely into the landing pad with the full force of her weight and mine.

  Her whole body rattled with the impact, and her legs splayed. I shoved off her ass and rolled across the mat several times, coming to a stop on my belly with my head facing her. I sucked in deep, heaving breaths and rested for a moment to try and reoxygenate. Vanessa was stunned, twitching and flexing her abs in little mini-curls. I was in no position at the moment to capitalize on it. So I focused on trying to recover faster.

  Less than a minute passed, and I pressed up onto my hands and knees. Vanessa rolled onto her stomach and followed suit. I got up, rubbed my neck, then shook myself out and assumed a fighting stance. I waited for her to get up and ready. She might have done some dirty shit, but I wasn’t going to just knock her ass out when she was getting up from a blow that would have knocked the piss out of either of us.

  Vanessa flipped her hair, thrust her shoulders back, and shimmied, probably to try and get feeling back, or to lessen what I expected was a wicked burning sensation. She rolled her neck and got back into her own fighting pose and squared up with me. The smirk was back, but it didn’t extend to her eyes. No, those were all business. We’d started this fight with me seriously under-estimating her, and then she’d pulled off a praiseworthy reversal on a throw and locked me up in something that was likely going to win her the fight. But then she’d learned the same lesson I had in the minutes prior.

  We moved in, and it was all business. No show, no entertaining the crowd. She was coming at me to hurt me now, and the feeling was mutual. Two people with wounded pride are locking in and committing to fight.

  She approached quickly, but I was a bit better prepared this time for her speed. I got several good low calf kicks in on her, but she soaked them and kept pushing, and I wasn’t able to maintain distance. She got in, broke my guard, and hit me with more of those rapid punches up the centerline of my torso before spinning and catching my head with an elbow.

  Again, my world was rocked. Elbows and knees to the head were brutal hits. I staggered some, but found a grip on the arm that she just elbowed me with. I got her into an elbow lock, and she started spinning to get out of it. I spun too, darting behind her as she broke out of my arm grab. She didn’t get a chance to see my right cross approaching from her blind spot, and I connected with her jaw. Now it was her turn to stagger.

  She went for a combination kick, hitting me low successfully, then coming up for a mid. I moved to block, and she twisted her leg, flipping her knee and bringing her foot down and stomping into my lead foot. I drew my lips back and hissed in agony, and caught a palm strike right to the fucking nose. My eye was back to watering, and now I could taste blood. She’d for sure broken it.

  I normally kept silent when I was fighting seriously, but I couldn’t help myself. I let rip a growl that wasn’t entirely Morgan. As she was stepping back from the palm strike, I spun in place and hit her with a side kick right to her waist, which knocked her back two steps. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, and came straight back in, her fists blurring in my swimming vision with attempts to strike my chest and arms. I blocked several, took several, and then she hopped forward and kneed me right in the solar plexus.

  As I was crunching my abs and trying my damndest not to flounder, I launched a straight punch down into her thigh as she was dropping it. I hit her dead center over her femur, and my knuckles bit deep into her muscle. She sucked a breath through her teeth and stumbled back, favoring her leg.

  The fight was nearly over. The spectators were loud. Neither of us paid a iota of attention to them. It was just the two of us, doing this dance back and forth and really, truly beating the hell out of one another. I was fighting to suppress the constant urge I had to cough from where my diaphragm was having a low-key meltdown in my chest. Vanessa was both limping and breathing hard. My eye was swelling up to the point I could barely see out of it, and I probably looked as bad, if not worse, than she did.

  I shook my hands, then clenched my fists. Her mobility was impacted, and dodging was probably agony for her. I was going to make her choose between dodging or getting knocked out. I went into a series of kicks I’d painstakingly practiced until they were flawless. It was tae kwon do, it was flashy, but it was also effective. Pure offense with reach and force that was very risky to try and block, and demanded either an extremely quick counterattack or evasion. A low kick immediately into a spinning high kick, followed by a crouching leg sweep, and then into a savage roundhouse.

  Vanessa did evade, and I could see her lagging in her responsiveness from her leg and her face pulling tight from the effort of moving it. She low-hopped and then ducked the low-high opener, flipped over the leg sweep into a handstand, and while I was setting up for the roundhouse, split her legs and spun on her hands, kicking at my head. I was forced to abort my last kick.

  What the fuck is that!?

  She seemingly springboarded off her palms back onto her legs in close proximity to me. Her landing wasn’t great because her leg wasn’t responding and supporting her weight well. I saw an opportunity and I went for it while she was momentarily off-balance. I went for a grab and tried to get side control, she knocked me out of the grip, spinning her wrists and striking my forearm. I stepped in for a cross punch to her jaw.

  She slapped my arm mid-punch with another of those open-hand strikes, pivoted on one leg, and I had the tiniest fraction of a second to realize I’d just lost before her elbow smashed into my temple.

  I heard shouting, and then, silent darkness took me.