Will watched from the ledge above, and he knew what was happening.
Max had reached the edge. Her edge.
Whenever I slide into that ring, it’s like a switch. I’m not Max anymore. I’m Maverick. I kick asses, take names, and enjoy every second of it. Maverick is angry all the time, and I take that anger out on whomever is unlucky enough to be in the ring with me. That is my edge. If I go over the edge, I’ll break. I’ll snap. I’ll lose every connection to my real self that I have. I’ll never feel love or happiness again. I’ll forget how to be my real self, and I’ll forever be Maverick – the psychopath who hates the world with a passion.
Alain stood by his side, eyes fixated on the ring where Max stood, staring at her opponent with cold eyes.
The opponent, Satine, was still dazed from Max’s backhanded slap that sent her careening into a corner post only seconds before.
Max’s eyes were cold as she dragged Satine out into the middle of the ring. Max steadied her, and stared at Satine for a long moment, her face gently pensive.
Please don’t do it, Max. You can win without going over the edge. You don’t have to do it. The thoughts ran through his mind furiously, even as he struggled to keep his mask on straight while Alain was only inches away.
Max grinned and ran toward Satine, and Will’s heart dropped as she spun, as graceful as a dancer, and brought her heel down on the side of Satine’s face.
She stood there, boldly triumphant as she grinned over the limp body beneath her.
Will closed his eyes as a split second lightning-bolt flash of pain crashed through him.
She was gone. She was over the edge.
Will watched with Alain as they snacked on fruit and watched Max.
They were on the first story of the house now, and mingled half-heatedly while they watched the fights.
Alain gestured for a waiter to come closer and he plucked a small plate of cheese and fruits off of the platter, and gestured for Will to do the same.
“It’s like watching a movie at the theater. You need food to complete the experience,” he said with a fatherly grin.
Will grinned back as they turned their attention back to the rings.
The woman that Max was in the ring with was huge; at least six feet, six inches.
“Damn. Where do they find these women?” Alain asked in shock.
“I don’t know,” Will said in honest horror.
The tall woman, Tremor was her name, backhanded Max and sent her onto the ropes, where her torso hung backwards facing outside the ring.
“Ooh!” Alain winced as he watched.
Will grimaced.
Tremor stalked forward to Max, her brutish face screwed up into one of amusement.
Tremor leaned forward over Max.
Max’s legs came and her heels connected on either side of Tremor’s face before her ankles locked around the back of Tremor’s neck.
Unbelieving, Alain and Will stood as they watched.
Using only her ankles and her own strength, Max pulled herself up far enough to hook her legs over Tremor’s shoulders like hooks. She let her arms swing back and pulled herself up and around so she was straddling the back of Tremor’s neck, her long legs cutting off her opponent’s oxygen.
