The crowd was all about cheering for the Denver native. So when the opponent’s first kick connected with the guy’s knee, loud boos echoed through the arena.

Denver wrestling guy took his opponent to the mat.

Ronin glanced at the judges. Then he focused on Zach and Katie seated at the promotions table. Blue switched between watching the fight and flipping through paperwork.

As soon as the round ended, Katie leaped onto the edge of the ring and did her thing.

“Who do you think is winning?” Amery asked.

“The Denver guy. I’d put his points around twenty and his opponent’s at thirteen,” he said absentmindedly while scanning the surrounding area.

“Am I cramping your style or something?”

Ronin’s gaze zoomed to hers. “Why would you say that?”

“Although you’re sitting here, you’re not really here.”

“Maybe it’s because I don’t know how to act when I’m not in the cage.”

“Do you miss fighting?”

“Yes. I’ve no doubt even when I’m an old man—hopefully not suffering from dementia pugilistica—that I’ll still miss being in the ring.” Ronin tucked an errant hank of hair over her shoulder. “Are you worried I’m going to climb back in?”

“Yes. It’s in your blood.”

Ronin couldn’t disagree. “I found out tonight it’s also in Shiori’s blood.”

Amery’s gaze darted to the empty seats in front of them and back to Ronin. “Where is she?”

“Warming up. The other female fighter passed out. Shiori volunteered to fill in.”

“She’s fighting Sophia?” When she realized how loud her voice had gotten, she leaned closer. “And you let her?”

“I had no say in whether or not she fights.” He knew if he would’ve argued, Shiori would’ve thrown back her lack of influence in his choices about fighting. “And now I’ll be coaching her.”

“Ronin. How can you sit there and watch her without wanting to jump in and save her?”

“Shiori has never been the type to need saving.”

The second round started, but Ronin paid no attention. He’d been coached his whole life and done plenty of coaching himself, so he should know how to coach his sister. But his mind had gone blank.

Focus. Find the calm.

But he couldn’t when everything was in chaos.

After the second round ended, Amery rested her cheek against his upper arm. “What can I do?”

“Cheer for her.”

“Will you be okay?”

He deflected answering by kissing her. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ll meet you in the ready room after Deacon’s fight and we’ll head to the party.”

• • •

IT was more of an out-of-body experience trailing behind his sister as she entered the arena than when he walked in himself. She carried herself with feminine grace. After the official patted her down, checking to make sure her upper-body clothing didn’t have zippers or buttons and nothing had been hidden in her gloves, she ducked into the cage.

Ronin took his spot in her corner behind the netting. Ito brought the bucket of supplies and the stool.

Shiori approached him, calmer than he’d expected. In that moment, he had a punch of guilt that he had no clue whether she’d ever fought in an official fight before. During their teenage years, he’d participated in tournaments, but at a different level from his sister, so he’d never seen her compete.

“You good?” Brilliant question, Ronin.

“Yes.” She looked at him expectantly.

He had to give her some kind of advice. “It’ll be a ground fight.”

“I know.”

“Watch the arm bar. Watch those fast reversals. She’ll be aggressive with the takedown and the mount. But don’t let that stop you from using short jabs, elbows, anything in guard position to keep her off balance.”

“Noted.”

He patted her shoulder. “Put her in her place, Rokudan. You got this.”

Shiori grinned and slipped in her mouth guard.

“In the red corner, we’ve got our replacement fighter in her amateur debut, all the way from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at one hundred and twenty pounds, representing Black Arts dojo, Shiori ‘She-Cat’ Hirano.”

She-Cat? Jesus. Shiori was going to kill Knox after this.

“In the blue corner, weighing in at one hundred and thirty pounds, with an amateur record of ten wins and zero losses, representing ABC dojo and originally hailing from Brazil, Sophia ‘Stinger’ Curacao.”

Shiori and Sophia stepped into the center of the ring and listened to the rules. They bowed to each other rather than bumping fists.

When the bell rang, Ronin’s entire body seized up. It was harder sitting here waiting for someone he cared about to get smacked around than to be in the cage himself.

Thank god Amery hadn’t ever watched him fight.

Shiori came out swinging, which surprised both Ronin and Sophia. As the women circled each other, he noticed that Shiori held herself more like a boxer, hands up, body turned. She dodged a couple of Sophia’s kicks. She managed to bob and weave enough to keep Sophia from taking her to the mat.

Every second of the three-minute round ticked by like an hour. At the thirty-second mark, Shiori switched tactics and charged for a takedown.

“That’s it. Get her down and keep her down.” Ronin’s jaw tightened when Shiori sustained a strong blow to the side of her head. Didn’t appear to make her loopy, just more determined.

The ten-second warning sounded and the first round ended.

He set the stool in her corner, grabbed the towel and the bottle of water.

Shiori removed her mouth guard. “How’d it look?”

“Good. I have you ahead. You kept her on her feet longer than I expected.”

Breathing hard, she nodded and took a drink of water.

“I sensed some hesitation on her part,” he said, mopping her face.

“Me too. I think she’s holding back.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got ten years on her and it’s supposedly my first fight.”

“Supposedly?” Ronin repeated.

Shiori patted his cheek. “As you say here in the west, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Ronin grinned. “Goddamn. You’ve been holding back too.”

“Not anymore.”

During the second round, Shiori toyed with Sophia. Their ground game wasn’t evenly matched. Several times Ronin saw where Shiori could’ve ended the bout, but she opted to stay in taunting mode.

But the first minute of the third round, Shiori zeroed in, knocked Sophia to the mat, and got her to tap out by putting her in a rear naked choke.

After Shiori was announced as the winner, Ronin accompanied her back through the gauntlet. Knox and Deacon leaned against the wall, not speaking as they waited for the main event to begin.

Knox said, “Look at you, She-Cat. Not a mark on your face. I’ll admit I was hoping for at least a swollen lip.”

Shiori sauntered up to Knox, swaggering in that supremely confident and yet wholly feminine manner. She stood on tiptoe and spoke directly into his ear.

After she stepped back, Knox seemed flustered for a beat or two. Then he said, “I’ll pass.”

Shiori bumped fists with Deacon. Then she headed to the women’s locker room.

Ronin looked between Knox and Deacon. “Need anything?”

“Nah. We’re good.”

“I’ll head up to the balcony level and watch from there.”

He cut through to the side door and scaled the stairs. The seats were packed, and people were rowdy, ready for the final fight.

Since Deacon’s opponent had a less-impressive win-loss record, he entered the event center first. His theme song was Pink’s “So What,” which was just wrong on so many levels. A dozen people followed him in. He stopped and kissed a woman and a baby; then he did the “man hug” thing with guys outside the ropes.

Cut to the entrance again, where they announced Deacon as Deacon “Con Man” McConnell—which was just fucking stupid that all these fighters had nicknames. When he’d fought, they’d forced a nickname on him too, calling him Ronin “the Master” Black. Better than someone’s other suggestion of Ronin “Jet” Black. At least Ronin’s entrance music had been tongue-in-cheek—when “Back in Black” by AC/DC blared from the speakers.

Deacon’s entrance tune was old-school and a sly wink too—“Enter Sandman”—the same song he’d been using since he was Sandan belt rank. Two people followed Deacon—Knox and Ito. Deacon didn’t kiss babies. He sure as fuck didn’t hug anyone on his way into the cage. After the pat down, he retreated to his corner and conferred with Knox and Ito.

The announcer spent way too much time blathering—nothing new, that’s what they were paid to do. Once the fighters had been introduced and Katie did her thing, the bell rang.

If Ronin had the chance to study his fighters from higher in the arena, he took it. Sometimes critical errors, especially repetitive critical errors, were better seen from above.

Deacon owned the match from the start. Ronin felt a stab of annoyance that the main pro bout had such mismatched fighters.

But as he watched, he realized Deacon’s ground game wasn’t up to par—surprising for a jujitsu MMA fighter. That showed Deacon had been spending too much training time on boxing and not enough on grappling. He needed to get back to basics.

The first round ended, and Ronin had a sense of dread that had nothing to do with the rest of the fight. Everyone had convinced him that because this event launched Black and Blue Promotions, they had to host an after-party. He’d grudgingly agreed. But now the idea of glad-handing sponsors, discussing upcoming opportunities with other promoters, rehashing fights with fighters and their families, plus the Black Arts and ABC crews . . . he wanted to fake a setback injury and bow out.