That was how the competitors were to be picked.
Forget clever technology, they were drawing out of a hat.
A sparkly one at that…in a savage competition of America’s finest.
If that was not a great reason to dislike the Donovans…well, I had a hundred others.
Once the competing groups were seated, Mrs. Donovan reached into the hat. I had already finished writing down which groups corresponded to the colors by one of the programs I had snatched. She drew a lime green slip first. Titus Protection. She stated the name of the individual, and a brute of a man made his way through the stands. There was polite applause, but there were also loud whistles, probably the celebrities he had previously helped. Mrs. Donovan reached into the hat again, while the Mayor quickly punched into a handheld computer, reading the participant’s stats and accomplishments to the crowd. Mrs. Donovan pulled out a hot pink paper.
The Mayor glanced over her shoulder when he saw the color, and they both stared at the name a moment before glancing at the brute. Mrs. Donovan cleared her throat, her face void of any emotion, and stated clearly, “Anna Tran of Lion Security.”
I blinked, trying to place a face with the name, but she had not been in the group while I had interviewed them earlier. As applause sounded much louder than the first guys’ had—not surprising since Lion Security was the top security company in the United States—I turned and zoomed my camera on their group, and stared through the lens.
Good God. That man was going to crush her.
She was not tiny like me, but she was not a fierce, muscular woman either. And honestly, she was looking a little nervous as she walked down the stairs toward the ring. That guy might be big, but it was obvious that he was fast. This was a no holds bar competition. Other than killing blows and permanent damage hits, anything went.
I turned my camera on Carl Tran of Lion Security, her husband. Oh, my goodness. He appeared like he wanted to wrap her in his arms and throw her back on her seat so he could beat the shit out of the man that was about to fight his wife. Well, this should be interesting.
I lowered my camera and quickly jotted down their names and companies. I was going to keep a tally, so I could report the match numbers accurately.
The Mayor read off her stats and accomplishments, and I was startled to realize she was the one to uncover Brent and Cole were still alive, and aided them back to the United States after their military mission was complete. Definitely a smart cookie. Still, she was damn jumpy; by the way, she kept clenching her fists.
The Mayor and Mrs. Donovan left the ring while the referee stayed, explaining the rules to the competitors, even though they already knew them. If they made it through three songs without a knockout or a ten second down rule, then they would each have the opportunity to pick someone from their group to fight with them, two-on-two style. Poor Anna reminded me of a nail about to battle a house as she stood in front of her opponent.
I heard…yes…Ember shout, “Kick his weak legs, Anna!” Odd advice. Normally, it would be ‘kick his ass’, but whatever. It got a resounding roar from the audience.
Anna glanced back to her group, and I could have sworn she mouthed, ‘Thank you’.
A ding sounded, and then rock hard music started blaring over the sound system.
Anna immediately ducked a fist that flew at her head, the blow barely missing her since the guy was fast like I had noticed. This back and forth volley went on far longer than I had imagined it would with her smaller stature. Then the guy got a glancing blow against her jaw, and she fell. But, as she did, she twisted, letting her whole body rotate with the motion, swiping behind his knees with both of hers.
The brute went down hard on his back, and they were both immediately rolling away and popping back up. Anna shook her head hard, and it was on again. I cheered right along with everyone else, trying to get decent shots when I could.
I got it when she twirled and dove at his legs when he aimed high with a fist. Again, he went down hard, but Anna went with him with a knee straight to his crotch and an elbow to his head. I snapped a picture as she did the combo. She jumped up as he rolled onto his side, one hand on his masculine bits, the other on his head. I knew the men had to be wearing some kind of cup, but she had probably broken the damn thing with how hard she had nailed him.
He did not get up. Lion Security had their first win.
An hour passed before another hot pink slip was pulled. The Mayor once again glanced over his wife’s shoulder. They both blinked before Mrs. Donovan grabbed the mike, her expression actually cracking this time with worry. “Ember Lerrus from Lion Security.”
The normal stats were given while I snapped photos. However, once Ember entered the ring, I focused my lens on Grigori and kept it there. This was what I was here for.
He sat stiffly with his eyes just as cold as hers.
I heard Mrs. Donovan state, “Woody Chin from the Marine Corps.”
I immediately started snapping pictures as his gaze darted over the competing groups. I could not see why he stopped moving his head, but his eyes narrowed. I got pictures as his gaze altered from ice cold to fevered intensity.
His jaw clenched before he blanked the expression.
Yep. More there than meets the eye.
I lowered my camera and almost dropped it. I had not noticed before, but Daniil was seated with Zoya and his bodyguards only a few rows up on the other half of the bleachers reserved for family. He was staring right at me. I turned on my chair quickly and got my first view of Woody Chin.
Oh.
If Grigori had been sizing him up, I understood the hostility. Woody Chin was a man of Asian ancestry, tall and lean, not bulky, and the way he moved into the ring spoke of long time training. The Marines must have taught him to be an assassin with the deadly mien he wore.
Ember and I were pretty much the same size. I think I had an inch, maybe, on her, but we were both damn close to the too-tiny rage. She observed her opponent with a…creepy…gaze, and I quickly snapped a few photos before putting the camera down as she watched him move, her eyes repeatedly surveying his frame. She closed her eyes and scrubbed her face as the referee said the rules all over again. When she opened them, she glanced up to her group. I could not read what she was telling them with her expression, but her ponytail shook the slightest bit, as if she was indicating she could not beat the guy.
I could have told her that. She was going to go down. Hard.
The bell dinged and a different set of songs started. The fight was on.
Holy shit, I stared in shock as Ember held her own against this martial arts three-time black belt. They went around the ring, sometimes missing, and every so often hitting their target; effectively, kicking each other’s asses.