Sionne fought in the heaviest weight class. He made quick work of his opponent, collecting his three-point win in nine minutes. Cinder was sure that the match would have ended in five minutes if Sionne had been less generous. When Sionne took to the center mat for the final, he didn’t hold back. The mighty Samoan displayed incomparable agility and flexibility. He scored his third point six minutes into the match with a slicing strike to his opponent’s midsection to collect Sheng Li’s first gold medal of the tournament.
Gian gave Sionne a standing ovation. “Let’s keep it going,” he shouted above the noise of the crowd as Chip took to the floor in his weight class.
Cinder watched Gian cheer his fighters. He defended them when their competitor fought dirty and praised them even if they lost a point in a valiant effort. He looked so handsome in his white gi with the new Sheng Li emblem embroidered on the back. High on pride, Cinder began to look forward to her match.
Zae’s running commentary, which rivaled that of Duff Brownley, ended when Chip squared off against a fighter from a rival dojo, the one to which Clarence Blake belonged. Cinder smiled, watching Zae more than Chip. Zae’s hands were clasped tightly under her chin. She cheered each time Chip scored, winced when he was flipped onto the mat. When Chip scored his third and winning point, Zae flew to her feet, clapping and cheering for him.
One by one, Gian’s fighters earned gold medals, which were awarded on the center mat. The excitement level went up after the medalists returned to their respective stations.
“This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Duff began from the control booth. “The Exhibition round!” Gian walked Cinder to the eighth mat, where she would meet her first opponent. “Are you nervous?” “Yes,” she whispered.
“Are you scared?”
She nodded.
“Don’t be.”
She laughed, the sound brittle and hard with nerves.
Gian took her by her upper arms and gazed into her eyes. “You’re ready for this. I wouldn’t have you here if you weren’t.”
“I know.”
“I really want to kiss you now.”
“Don’t,” she said. “Sionne and Chip might get jealous since you didn’t kiss them before their matches.”
Gian chuckled. “Go get your three, baby.” And just as he had to Chip and Sionne, Gian sent her to the mat with a swat on the butt.
Cinder bowed to the mat, and then she stepped onto it. It seemed to have more give than the firmer mats at Sheng Li. She reminded herself to account for that once her match started.
In a traditional gi the same shade of yellow as her hair, Cinder’s opponent took to mat eight. “Hi,” the young woman said, offering a hand to Cinder. “I’m Bunny Dearborne. I fight out of American Krav Maga in Fenton. This is my third IMA tournament. I had a baby three months ago, so I thought I’d get back into tourna ment action by competing in exhibitions first. How long have you been fighting?”
“Not long.” Cinder swallowed hard, unsure which intimidated her more—Bunny’s experience level, or the fact that she seemed to be hopped up on amphetamines.
“I’ll go easy on you,” Bunny said with a wink. “We’ll give ’em a good show.”
Bunny’s continued jibber-jabber kept Cinder from hearing the names and dojos of the fighters paired on the other mats. The woman shut up mid-word when Duff said, “Fighters ready?”
A chorus of battle barks answered. Everyone on the mats struck their fighting poses.
The fight buzzer sounded.
Cinder’s heart leaped into her chest. With the shriek of a banshee, Bunny’s pleasant smile morphed into a homicidal sneer. She charged, fists flying. On automatic, Cinder went into defense mode. She dodged right, avoiding Bunny’s left fist. She ducked left, allowing Bunny’s right foot to sail past her rather than make contact with its target, her right hip. In the quick second it took Bunny to reset her balance, Cinder threw out her right arm, spun to punch with her left hand, and finished with a low kick that left Bunny on her butt.
Three bells sounded from Judging Table Eight.
One of the two judges raised a placard with the word VIXEN printed on it in neat block letters.
“In thirty-nine seconds, Vixen wins on mat eight! Vixen makes it to round two!” Duff announced.
“I’m so sorry,” Cinder said, genuinely concerned as she helped Bunny off the mat. “I didn’t mean to do that. You came at me so suddenly, and I just reacted without thinking.”
“What are you?” Bunny asked as they left the mat, her eyes wide in shock. “A ninja?”
Bunny never got her answer. Gian, Chip and Zae swept Cinder into a huddle. “That was awesome, girl!” Chip said enthusiastically.
“Damn,” Zae whispered emphatically. “You took your fighter down faster than I took mine!”
Gian, his arm around her waist, walked her back to Sheng Li’s station. “I think you caught their attention,” he said quietly. “Look.”
Cinder followed Gian’s gaze. Spectators cheered her and clapped, some shouting, “Vixen!” as she passed their section of seats.
“I’m Vixen?”
“I had to think of a name for you on the fly,” Gian explained. “I was at the registration desk, and you and Zae were going into the locker rooms. You looked so good. I couldn’t call you Sexy, so I decided on Vixen.”
“Because I’m a fox,” Cinder groaned.
“I should have named you Champ.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Cinder scoffed. “Bunny scared me into the fight. I didn’t have any kind of battle plan other than to keep her from beating my butt.”
Back at their station, Gian sat Cinder on the lowest bench of their bleachers. Massaging her calf muscles, he said, “I don’t know who you’ll meet in Round two.” He looked over his shoulder. “Weight and experience don’t factor into the exhibitions, so you might get someone a lot bigger than you are.”
“Bunny had to outweigh her by twenty pounds,” Zae offered from the middle bench. “She took care of her with no problem.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, I’d put Cinder up against any—”
“Congratulations, Gian.”
Gian turned at the familiar voice.
Karl Lange stepped up to him. He wore a black gi tied with a gold obi. Around his neck hung official IMA volunteer credentials.
“You gotta be kidding,” Gian grumbled.
“I wouldn’t miss this tourney for the world.” Karl’s black eyes glittered at Cinder. “Ever since I got fired from Grogan’s, I’ve been taking whatever work I can get. IMA was glad to have me. They don’t often get volunteers with my level of experience and knowledge of the sport.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Gian asked impatiently.
“Yeah, actually. I’m here on official IMA business. One of your fighters has a wardrobe problem.”
Gian rolled his eyes. “What? Who?”
“Aja Oshiro didn’t remove her sandals before she took to mat one for her exhibition match.” Karl snickered. “She was disqualified.”
“We got an exemption for Aja,” Gian nearly shouted. He reached around Karl and took a piece of paper from the table. He shoved it in Karl’s face.
Still smiling, Karl took it and glanced at it. “I guess you did. Too bad the judges didn’t know that before they gave her the DQ. Better luck next time, G.” He dropped the exemption on the table and moved on, a slight bounce in his step.
“What a dick,” said Cory, who had won his exhibition match and arrived as Karl delivered his news. “He knows Aja always fights in her sandals.”
Gian gathered his fighters. “You guys have to be careful out there,” he said. “Karl’s working this thing, and, obviously, he’s working against us. Zae, Cory, Cinder, you guys are fighting in round two. Make sure you observe all the protocols and rules before, during, and after you step on the mat. I need to find Aja and see if I can’t get her DQ reversed.”
Cinder watched Gian go. He had never loo
ked more magnificent. His posture and demeanor set him apart from the other fighters, elevating him in such a way that heads turned to follow his progress.
I love you, Cinder thought. She swelled with pride, adoration, and respect for the man who had taught her how to drop a fighter in thirty-nine seconds. I love you, and I’m going to make you proud today . . .
* * *
Zae toyed with her first- and second-round opponents before beating them. While the crowd loved her showy antics, her third-round opponent wasn’t so easily amused.
“Poor thing,” Cinder murmured to Gian, commiserating with the fighter facing off against Zae. “I’d hate to have to fight someone so much bigger than I am.”
“Cory can handle her,” Gian said. “He’s a goofball in the dojo, but he knows how to settle down and turn it on once he hits the mat.”
Cinder was impressed with Cory’s performance. Zae had four inches and thirty pounds on him, but his youth and experience gave him the match. At the end of it, Zae and Cory were the only duo to hug after leaving the mat, much to the crowd’s enjoyment.
Gian pulled Cory aside when he returned to their station to rest before his round three match. “We have a problem.”
Zae’s smile melted. “What’s the matter?”
“Cory’s next opponent scratched,” Gian said. “What does that mean?” Cinder asked.
“The kid pulled out with an injury,” Chip said. “Although he looked fine when Karl was talking to him after his second round fight.”
“So my fight is cancelled?” Cory fretted.
“The meet organizers found an alternate,” Gian told him.
“Who?” Cory asked.
Duff Brownley answered. “Viper is out of the tourney with a back injury. He will be replaced in round three by last year’s IMA middle-weight champion, Karl ‘The Caveman’ Lange!”
“Crap,” Cory muttered.
“It gets worse,” Gian went on. “Since Cinder won her match, she’s in the final. She’ll have to fight whoever wins your match, Cory.”
“No pressure then, huh?” Cory laughed uncomfortably. “I could go in for Cory,” Chip offered. “I’ll get the three off Karl.”
“These are friendlies,” Cory reminded them. “He’s not gonna try anything in front of twenty-five thousand witnesses. If I can beat Zae, I can beat Karl. He’s not as strong as she is. Besides, I’ve never scratched or forfeited in a tournament. I’m not about to start now.”
Gian spent a moment thinking. “Keep it super clean, Cory. Karl is a man without a dojo out there. The audience will automatically be on his side because he’s solo and a past champion. I don’t want the energy of the crowd giving him an advantage.”
“Sure,” Cory agreed.
Cinder remained on the bleachers while Gian paced near mat six, where Karl “The Caveman” Lange stood toe-to-toe with Cory “Widowmaker” Blair. Darkly impressive in his gi, Karl stood several inches taller than Cory, whose sinewy forearms seemed to dangle from his wide sleeves. Cory’s gi was printed with characters from The Simpsons and tied with an obi the bright blue of Marge Simpson’s hair.
Cinder’s spine stiffened at the sound of the fight buzzer. With each punch and kick, she expected Karl to do something cruel. He fought clean and hard, and emerged the victor twenty-six minutes later. Cinder was convinced that had Cory been fresh, like Karl, he would have taken him.
As apprehensive as she’d been for Cory’s fight, Cinder was doubly so for her own. She had fought one man and two women to earn her way into the Exhibition final, and none of her opponents had been terribly challenging. Her longest match had lasted seven minutes; she spent more time waiting between matches than she had in combat.
Walking to the center mat when her fight name was called, she understood that fighting Karl would be different. Everyone else she had fought had taken the mat for fun. She wasn’t sure what Karl’s motives were.
“I don’t like this,” Gian said quietly, accompanying her on her last few steps to the mat.
“I’ll be fine,” Cinder assured him. “Cory was right. What’s he going to do in front of all these people?”
Gian fiddled with her collar to buy another moment with her. “I can call this off. I’ll scratch you.”
“Don’t you dare. I’m the best example of the Sheng Li technique and style. I can’t walk away from this match. Every rookie watching me is a potential Sheng Li student if Pritchard Hok likes what he sees today. Kuriko told me—”
“Too much, evidently,” Gian interrupted.
“I won’t let you down, sensai.” Cinder executed a neat bow toward Gian and another toward the mat. She didn’t look back at Gian before climbing onto the dais.
The glare of the bright spotlights obscured the crowd. The pounding of a Kid Rock song drowned out all noise but for Duff Brownley’s voice as he told the audience that the championship exhibition round would last until one fighter scored three points on his or her opponent.
While Duff introduced the judges and thanked the event sponsors, Cinder tried to acclimate. She saw only Karl, standing tall and impassive before her like a live oak. A barefooted referee wearing a whistle stood at one edge of the mat.
She took a few deep breaths, exaggerating the movement of her diaphragm. Pulling back her shoulders to breathe in, she flexed her abdominal muscles to force the air back out. She replayed in her mind everything Gian taught her. Envisioning Chip, Sionne, Cory, and Zae in their matches, she recalled what worked for them and what hadn’t.
Breathe, she told herself. Concentrate. Focus.
The buzzer sounded.
Roaring, Karl came at her hard. His big feet flying, his spinning kicks drove her to the out-of-bounds line at the far edge of the mat. The referee’s quick reflexes stopped her from hitting the floor two feet below the fighting area.
“You okay?” the ref asked, ushering her back into the fighting circle. “You want to go on with this?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted a bit too strenuously. She straightened her tunic and returned to the center of the mat, urged on by light applause.
One side of his mouth hooked in a sinister grin, Karl struck his fighting stance, flexing his arms so that his veins stood out against his muscles. “Having fun yet?”
Cinder answered with the twitch of an eyebrow. She silently vowed to wipe the smirk off his face.
A short blast from the referee’s whistle restarted the match. Again, Karl threw himself at her in full attack. She stood her ground against a string of quick, hard punches, blocking them or dodging them entirely. Karl dropped and swept out his leg, tripping her to the mat. She rolled clear of a stomping kick that would have won Karl his first point and possibly broken one of her ribs.
Only vaguely aware of Gian protesting at the judges’ table, Cinder shoved a foot between Karl’s legs, sending him crashing to the mat. In a showy move she’d seen only on dance floors, he flipped back onto his feet as she regained her own footing. Dropping into a crouch, she awaited his next volley, more comfortable on defense rather than offense.
Sneering, Karl signaled his next combination with a loud cry. A series of kicks flew at Cinder, all of which she deflected. He surprised her with a vicious strike to her midsection, earning his first point. Duff Brownley was still announcing the point to the polite applause of the crowd when instead of stopping the fight to reset in the center of the mat as Cinder had, Karl delivered one more punishing kick.
She caught his huge foot right in the face.
Horrified gasps rose from the stands. Cinder clumsily fell to the mat on her elbows and knees, her hands cupped over her bleeding nose. Writhing in pain, she heard Gian shouting at the judges to stop the match. The referee leaped between her and Karl, backing him away from her. First aid personnel reached her as she rolled off the dais, but Gian was there first with a white towel to press to her nose.
During the two-minute injury timeout, the crowd quieted. Pumped up on adrenaline, Karl traveled over the mat as if he owne
d it, bouncing on the balls of his feet while Duff Brownley announced the loss of Karl’s point, the penalty for a dirty blow.
“That son of a bitch,” Gian growled in hushed tones. “He can’t beat me so he goes after you? I’m stopping this right now.”
“No,” Cinder said. “I’m ready to fight him.”
Gian gave his head a little shake, grimacing in confusion.
“I never really fought him before,” she quietly explained. “I’ve got a feel for the way he moves now.”
His jaw firm, Gian said, “Baby, he’s a third-degree black belt. You can’t—”
She grabbed his wrist and pulled down the towel. “Watch me.”
“Do you think you can go on?” asked the paramedic who’d come to her aid.
“Absolutely.”
Gian’s heart pounded painfully hard. Cinder climbed onto the dais, and while the crowd cheered, it took every bit of willpower Gian possessed to stop himself from grabbing her and pulling her into the shelter of his embrace.
He moved back a few steps at the referee’s bidding, but he had no intention of straying too far from the mat. He didn’t care if he got kicked out of the venue or risked everything with Pritchard Hok. If Karl drew one more drop of her blood, Gian would hop onto the mat and finish what he’d started at Grogan’s Superette.
On the mat, Cinder faced off with Karl, who stared at her while the referee sternly warned him to keep the fight clean. The ref’s whistle sounded, and the fight resumed.
“How’s your nose, little girl?” Karl taunted, circling her.
Cinder stood her ground, her weight low but centered, her fists at the ready.
“Gian’s crazy to let you back on the mat,” Karl chuckled. “He’s so whipped.”
“So are you,” Cinder said. “You just don’t know it.”
She didn’t give Karl a chance to digest her reply. She spun, turning her back to him as she raised her leg. As her body rotated, she took a quick jump on her second step, propelling herself into a flying roundhouse kick. The tornado kick was one of her favorites for its beauty and power, and it hit its target—Karl’s thick neck.
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