She was sweating, panting, her jaw throbbed from the last punch, which had nearly dislocated it.
That would've been a problem, considering she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.
The big, burly woman lunged at her again, throwing a wild punch, but Circe dodged and countered with a brutal kick to the nose. Blood splattered onto her knee.
The thing about illegal fights? You could do whatever the hell you wanted. No rules, no limits.
Which was probably why this cowardly bitch had pulled out a pocket knife.
Circe's lip curled in disdain. A knife, really? Against someone who'd already survived three grueling rounds of bare-knuckle brutality?
The crowd roared with deafening cheers, their violent energy vibrating through the dimly lit warehouse. This wasn't an official match. If you died here, you just died. No trophies, no glory.
But Circe had bills to pay back home. And she wasn't about to die today.
The woman lunged with the knife, but Circe sidestepped her, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her face into her knee.
The sickening crack echoed across the ring. Without giving her a chance to recover, Circe threw her opponent face-first onto the hard floor.
Panting, Circe stomped on the woman's wrist with her heavy boots, forcing her to drop the knife.
The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and boos, their bloodlust insatiable. Circe straddled the woman's back, grabbed her neck from behind, and yanked her backward into a brutal chokehold.
Her opponent thrashed, trying to escape with desperate belly flops, but Circe held firm. Within moments, the woman's struggling ceased, and her hand slapped the ground in defeat.
The referee counted, "One! Two! Three!"
Circe stood, victorious.
The crowd's reaction was chaotic, half roaring their approval, half jeering in anger.
"Two-time underground champion, the one they call the man-and-woman eater, JAWS!" the announcer bellowed.
Circe smirked, her focus only on the paycheck. But before she could step out of the ring, a fist blindsided her, landing squarely on her jaw.
The hit barely fazed her. She grabbed the attacker's wrist, flipped them over, and stomped down hard on their thigh, making them cry out in pain.
Another fighter climbed into the ring, microphone in hand. A blonde with a feral snarl.
"Jaws," she growled, her voice dripping with venom. "Next week, Friday night, I'm ripping you apart in this ring."
Circe grinned, licking the blood off her lips. "Can't wait, Shantel."
She grabbed her paycheck, kissed it, and left the ring as her theme song blared over the speakers.
---
In the locker room, she peeled off her gear and changed into her street clothes. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline.
Then, footsteps.
She tensed immediately, her senses on high alert. Attacks in the locker room weren't uncommon, sore losers and nobodies seeking revenge were always lurking in the shadows.
A hooded figure stepped out from the darkness, the dim light casting long shadows across the room.
Circe clenched her fists, ready to strike.
But then the figure dropped their hood.
"Wait... nerdy boy?" she said, her voice tinged with surprise.