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Tryout nights usually bring in a lot of people.

It’s kind of equivalent to college night.

Admission is the big ticket here. Sure, some betting happens, but most don’t know enough about a newcomer to bet on them.

How they do here determines the odds when they go up against their first actual fight.

So, while the money ain’t made in bookkeeping, it is on how many enter at fifty bucks a pop and the pricey drinks.

Might seem steep for some, but the show is what you’re getting here.

And while there isn’t a set time limit per se, most don’t last that long.

We fight till a coach calls it or the fighter taps out.

We only allow a coach to call it now because of how many times it was pretty obvious a person shouldn’t even be here.

While we’re flying under the radar and not doing shit legally, no one wants to bring attention to what we do by getting a person killed, or worse, sued.

Maybe a little messed up, but those in the ring have different morals than most.

I stand at the back of the crowd and loosen my muscles by throwing a few punches and bouncing on my toes.

The announcer makes a small speech about the rules, which is that we don’t have any other than stay in the ring and the crowd can’t interfere.

We once had someone try to hand a fighter a beer bottle, and the girl was so appalled that she smashed it over the guy who gave it to her.

Then it was both fighters on that one guy.

It was a freaking epic night. It turned into anall-out brawl, with fighters against just about every patron there.

Summer and I had a blast and couldn’t stop laughing when people tried to come after us.

It was pitiful. Mack finally had enough and told us to leave so he could call the cops.

He raided his own fight ring, but fortunately, not a single fighter was actually on-site when the cops arrived, so it looked more like a frat brawl than anything.

That was also the same night that they made it so most of the fight nights are now invite-only and are only open to the public on certain occasions, like tonight.

And the drinks are served in plastic cups now too.

“And in this corner, we have our opponent and the woman who will decide how much blood will be spilled tonight.”

I smirk as the commentator goes on and on, putting a bit more fear into the three women I’ll be fighting tonight.

There will be a few rounds with some others who another coach puts up as a senior to help, and a few might even fight one another.

We aren’t here to destroy but to assess a fighter.

Those who fight either have a coach already and the coach is trying to get them in the game, or they have no one and are looking to entice a coach to pick them up.

“Coming in at five feet, four inches, the lightweight senior is Menace!”

The crowd roars to life, and I force myself not to smile. It’s harder than you think because they’re chanting my name. Hundreds of people are screaming at me. Mack’s in the front, and two of his protection detail are on either side of me, trying to push back the fans as we make our way to the ring.

When we started, Summer said we needed to have cool nicknames.

Somehow, I got stuck with Menace, but it works when she and I do duos, as we come out as Dennis and Menace.

When Summer fights alone, she changes it to Dennis the Destroyer, or DD for short.

It works since that’s her bra size. Yeah, we find it funny too.

My opponent is already up, and I assess her as we get close. She’s bouncing around like she’s ready, but I can see that her technique isn’t perfect. Her warm-up is more for show than actual limbering .

Mack gets to the ring first and then holds the ropes open for me to come in next.

I stretch my neck and hear the pop but make no effort to show off.

I make sure to warm up before I get in the ring so my skills can’t be seen.

I prefer to keep it a surprise. It’s rare for someone trying out to have seen me fight before.

Sure, a coach could warn them, but usually the coaches have no clue about who’s going to fight till about five minutes before tryout night.

No real way to prep other than a few small words.

She falters a bit when she sees I’m not jumping around like a monkey in a cage and looks at her coach, who’s in the ring’s corner. I smirk. This one won’t last.

I take another beat before I turn my back on her and head to my own corner.

Mack’s only there to give me my mouth guard, and then he hops down and enters the crowd.

His protection detail stays with me, but I’ve fought enough to not need a coach or anyone in my corner.

Once I start, I don’t really listen to anyone telling me what to do.

It’s pretty straightforward—hit and block a hit. Simple.

As the bell dings to start the fight, my attention is pulled at the last second when I spot Domino in the crowd.

He’s close but not front row. His arms are folded, and he looks pissed.

I see a group of his guys with him, some talking, but his eyes are locked on me, no emotion beyond pissed-off male coming off him in waves.

And it’s making me wet.

Which is a big mistake, since I’m not focused and miss the hit to the back of the head that has me doubling over and falling down.

The ref doesn’t stop us, since this is full-on MMA underground shit, so when the girl jumps on my back, I roll.

She tries to pin me by locking her legs around me, but this isn’t my first rodeo.

Head still throbbing from her little hello kiss, I throw it back and smash it into her nose.

She jolts from the impact, and her legs give enough that I can flip in her hold and start whaling on her.

Less than twenty seconds later, the ref is calling it.

I get up, shake out my head, which is still ringing, and wobble a little on my feet. My vision blurs, but I walk it off as I see two people, her coach and the ref, dragging the woman off the mat.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to go so hard on her, but I just flipped. She came in when I wasn’t looking, and that shit doesn’t work for me. Granted, she got me down. Never had someone get me down on the mat that fast since my first year on the circuit.

And that’s when I look back at Domino and glare. Fucker is making me distracted. I’ve never cared who was in the crowd before. Never noticed, actually. But he’s here, and fuck, my pride is shot a bit that I looked like a fucking toddler up here for a second.

I don’t get out of the ring. I want another round. I want to prove myself somehow.

I nod to the announcer, and he doesn’t balk at me calling the shots.

Usually I get a break, let another senior in, but not now, not tonight.

With a nod behind him, he brings out the next contestant, making the announcement as I pace.

While he goes on and on about her stats, I look back at Domino and hold his stare.

I’m not backing down. Sure, I probably have a concussion, but I’ve dealt with worse.

I’m amped up. The dizziness is gone now that I’ve walked it out a bit, but my anger is just growing.

At Domino. At myself. At the stalker. It’s been a long time since I used any emotion in these fights.

That’s what makes me a menace: I’m unpredictable, dangerous, a threat.

I’ll cause a person harm, but you don’t know how.

I train hard and work on different techniques to not only better myself but to never be predictable.

I use that in fights, though usually only when I’m in it for a cash prize, not the standard rate like tonight.

But things have changed. Tonight is not like other nights. I can’t pretend it is.

I’m both turned on by a man and angry at him for being here all in one. If that’s normal for fight night, then I don’t know what is.

Movement behind Domino pulls my attention for a second.

I know that person too. I’ve seen him before, but not for over eight months, maybe more.

It’s not uncommon for him to show, just funny that out of all the nights, he picked this one.

I doubt he came for me, though. I wasn’t even on the roster tonight, just a last-minute change.

Seeing my sponsor, my investor, the guy who I fight under, who Mack trains us to represent, has me turning back to the ring.

If the boss is here, then I need to focus more.

I’m not about to give him a reason to pull his bid on me.

Could I get another sponsor? Sure. I’m good—really good.

Others have tried to poach me a few times, but I always turned them down.

I like my guy. He’s gone more times than not, living in Boston, but he gives Mack what’s needed for me to train, and even to heal if I need it.

He doesn’t push me to fight, but he takes a high cut when I do.

He took a chance on me the first time I fought, and I’ve got no reason to change.

I’m kind of brand loyal. Why fuck with a good thing?

As the bell rings for the next fight, I focus. And I only imagine it’s Domino that I’m hitting once, maybe twice, before I knock this one out and ask for another. I’m just getting warm, and I’m not ready to face his anger.

And if he’s smart, Domino should hope I let off a bit more steam before we talk again. He might not like what I said last time, but I can guarantee he’ll hate it when I knock his ass out if he tries to pull that shit again with me tonight.