The booming voice of the announcer pulls me away from my thoughts and from the eyes of the man whom I’ve marked for death. The deep bass of the announcer’s voice introduces my opponent, and I hone in and refocus my attention on his entrance.

A large group of men move toward the cage. I can’t help the small smile that takes over my face when the entourage splits apart in what has to be a practiced move. Clearly, I was wrong, and this is a choreographed dance after all. I try to rein in my amusement and adopt a more fitting badass demeanor, but now I’m picturing these big, burly dudes breaking into a flash mob.

Tonight’s opponent ambles towards the entrance. The word huge comes to mind but doesn’t quite encapsulate just how big this motherfucker is. The spotlight emphasizes his muscles and the thick veins that sit almost snake-like under his skin. He either spends ninety percent of his day in the gym, or he’s on a first name basis with steroids. My guess would be both.

He enters the cage and looks me over, dismissing me as a threat in about two seconds. He then turns to the crowd and lets loose a ridiculous roar. Oh yeah, there’s some definite roid rage going on.

The ref calls us to the center of the ring to give us our instructions. It’s the typical no biting, hair pulling, or shots to the junk speech, and I tune him out as I assess the beast of a man across from me. He’s colossal, and a hit from him is going to come with some serious damage. If he’s fast on top of that, then he’ll definitely make me work for the win.

My bloodlust simmers inside of me, and I revel in the potential for a challenge.

I make eye contact with colossus for the first time. He licks his lips and starts air kissing, then flicking his tongue at me. Is this guy serious? I roll my eyes and look around for Talon, so I can throw him a where’d you find this guy? look.

Talon’s usually standing front and center, but I can’t seem to find him in the crowd. I do catch a glimpse of a guy who’s staring at me with so much tension that it borders on panic. I’m used to seeing this look on people’s faces. If they’re new to the fights, it can seriously freak people out to see all five foot eight inches of me in the ring with a big scary looking dude like the one I’m about to fight.

I smile and wink at the guy, hoping he’ll relax a little, but it doesn’t seem to work. He looks like he’s seconds away from trying to haul me out of this ring. Oh, ye of little faith. He’s about to find out that there’s no part of me that’s a damsel, and nothing about this match has me distressed.

“I hope you’re still smiling when I pin you down and fuck you right here, in front of this crowd," Colossal Douche sneers at me.

He grabs the crotch of his shorts, drawing my attention to the sad excuse for an erection he’s sporting. I know Talon told me to take my time and put on a good show. But this piece of shit needs to learn some manners.

The ref finishes his instructions and the Colossal Douche and I touch knuckles before separating. The adrenaline coursing through me rubs up against the nameless power that lives inside me, and my power sits up like an overeager puppy, ready and waiting to be called on.

The ref drops his raised hand, signaling for us to start and I immediately move in. Colossal Douche roars and charges me. He holds his arms out in a useless Frankenstein stance as he stomps closer, aiming to wrap his arms around me. Quick as lightning, I lift my foot up on his thigh and use it as leverage to climb his massive frame like a jungle gym.

His arms squeeze closed, but he only manages to trap one of my legs. I climb high enough up his torso to give myself a clear shot at his unguarded head and face. I punch him hard multiple times in quick succession, each hit lands on the sweet spot of his temple. The hits daze him, and his hold on my thigh relaxes.

I drop down to the floor as Colossal Douche takes a few staggering, unsteady steps backward. He teeters, but doesn’t go down. I stay on the offensive and attack again, searching for a good opening. He swings for me when I get close, but it’s wild and doesn’t connect.

I grab his arm and use his swing against him, pulling him off balance before slamming my elbow into his forearm. Colossal Douche lumbers forward from the impact, still trying to clear his head. I grab onto his shoulder and pull myself up to knee him in the ribs. He makes a rookie mistake and bends to the side, trying to protect his ribs, which provides me another clear shot at his head. Dumbass.

I slam my knee into his face. A loud crunching sound bounces around the chain link enclosure, and I jump back to avoid the explosion of blood and cartilage. He falls backward onto the mat, out cold, and I bounce a little as his massive frame crashes to the ground. The ref rushes to check on him and signals for the medics to take over.

An odd rumble rises from Colossal Douche’s entourage, but I ignore it as I pull out my mouth guard. I scan the crowd of cheering fans that remain on their feet until I find the guy who looked so worried before. He stares at me wide-eyed, with a dumbfounded look on his face. I answer his misjudgment with a smug smile.

Someone tosses me a towel, and I wipe my hands of sweat and blood. The ref declares me the winner, and I exit the cage among the flurry of activity from people trying to revive my opponent. I look for the man who set off all my alarm bells earlier, but I don’t see him anywhere.

Security escorts me away from all the commotion and back toward the locker room I dressed in earlier. I don’t find Talon waiting to congratulate me in his usual position by the door. I don’t see him anywhere which sends a trickle of unease through me. The driver-turned-henchman who brought me here stands in Talon’s place, so instead, I follow him back to the locker room.

“Where’s Talon?” I ask, as soon as the metal door clangs shut behind me.

“He was called away.”

I wait for the guy to elaborate, but it appears that’s all he’s going to give me. I pull loose sweats on over the spandex boy shorts I’m wearing, and I slip on my socks and shoes. I yank a shirt over my black sports bra and grab my bag.

I’m ready to go in minutes, but judging by the impatient tap of the driver’s foot and the irritated expression he’s wearing, I’ve somehow taken too long. I make a mental note to ensure that Talon doesn’t stick me with this prick again.

I swing the straps of my bag over my shoulder and square up to the driver.

“After you.” Asshole.