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“Oh shit,” Menace mutters, and I see her hand cover her mouth just a little. “I forgot to tell her about the name thing.”

“You know this one?” Domino asks with a head tilt to his woman.

But she doesn’t look at him. No, her eyes catch mine, and I feel my blood pressure spike.

“No.” It’s all I say, but despite my protest, there she is, bending below the ropes and standing tall to face her opponent.

“Oh shit. Viv, what the hell did you do?” Domino stands tall too, glancing at me before looking back at Natalie.

“What? The girl needed some serious release.”

“And you thought fighting was the answer?” Domino says, flabbergasted.

Menace just shrugs and leans over the railing. “It was that or sex, and she didn’t seem like she’d be interested in that right now.”

“You think?” I ask as I eye the exits and run through at least twenty different exit strategies to get her out.

“You have to stop this,” Domino demands, but his girl looks at him like he’s the densest person she’s ever met.

“You crazy? This is the big event for the night. The crowd alone will kill you if you try to take her out, not to mention the investors.” She nods to the men and woman in the overhang with us who are watching with glee in their eyes. No doubt they all put money on Big Bertha over Gnat. A small bug who will now be likely squashed from the leering look she’s giving her opponent.

“She’s right,” I mutter, even if I hate agreeing with the woman. Especially after she’s the one who got Natalie into this. After everything in her life, the ring is the last place she should be.

But I don’t look away to glare at Menace. How can I? Even from this distance, I can see how fluid Natalie is on her toes as she goes on the attack right as the bell sounds. She’s aggressive, I’ll give her that, but sloppy too. She attacks when she should protect, leaving herself open for more than one hit.

“Damn, she needs to block more,” Menace mumbles as she nibbles on her fingernails.

I cast her a look out of the corner of my eye because I can’t hold back my anger as well as I want to. I’m close to exploding as it is, but seeing her next to Domino is the water on the fire burning inside me, reminding me that killing an old lady isn’t what a Hound officer does.

No matter how much a person deserves it.

“You didn’t teach her that?” Domino asks, and I grunt in agreement.

“We only had a few sessions. Everything else was on her own.”

My head whips so fast to her that my neck cracks. “You put her in a cage without the experience to be there?”

I know enough about Nat’s past to not assume this is her first fight. Or so I thought, till I watch each hit. Big Bertha is favoring her left hook, and when she goes to punch, she leaves her right open for a split second. Not long, but enough that an experienced fighter would know to exploit it. Probably why she’s a three-time champ—she fights those who don’t know shit.

Like Natalie.

“Chill before you explode. She had a few tussles in the back alley, remember? She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t know enough. I might not have trained with her daily, but I made sure she was taken care of while I was gone. She did the cardio on her own, but I had a prospect get her to the gym each day. From there, she had….” She pauses as if she knows she’s about to be in even more trouble.

“Had what, Viv?” Even Domino is pissed, and from her small guilty look, I think Menace is finally seeing she went too far.

“Had one of the gym owners help her. He had some experience in the underground.”

“Who?” I ask, because I can’t see any person in the Misfits club that Kitten and Troublemaker are part of being anything but shiny clean.

Menace looks back at the fight and I see her wince. Nat must have taken a hard hit. Something I don’t want to see.

“A name, woman,” I growl.

“Meekail,” she huffs as if she’s insulted that I even asked.

I share a look with Domino, then go back to watching the fight. Meekail came to us after Troublemaker and Hunter were taken. Something almost every old lady has in common. He and his husband, Jordan, wanted to take Hunter in. An adoption that was never on the books since the guy was aging out of the system. The club didn’t know if we should allow it, as we took the kid in as one of our own when we pulled him out of his own personal hell. But he was still too pissed off to be a good brother.

Trust me, we all get mad. Half of what makes a Hound is our anger. But it’s how we use that anger that separates the Hounds from the lunatics.