Knock Out

Chapter One - Excerpt

OCTAGON GIRL: Responsible for announcing mixed martial arts (MMA) bouts by hoisting a numbered card overhead and walking around the eight-sided cage

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

"Yo, it's the fuckin' ballerina."

The shout rang out from high up in the back row of the jam-packed arena.

Logan Rettino notched up her chin. No matter how many times fame reared its ugly head, no matter how many times a stranger's eyes lit up in recognition, she'd never get used to her ever-growing notoriety and the steady chipping away of her private life. Her secrets.
A classic Van Halen song boomed out of the loudspeakers and the crowd went berserk. Sammy Hagar crooned loudly, prodding her onward toward the eight-sided cage they called the Octagon. She tried to shake it off, hoping she'd read the crowd wrong, that they still considered her just a half-naked ring babe with a sign. Step by agonizing step she headed down the ramp and into the main belly of the arena, until disbelief numbed her nerves and gave her pause. Inhaling sharply, she looked around.

Hundreds of widened eyes swung her way and, in one simultaneous swoop, lowered to her chest. Though no one gave voice to the words that followed, they didn't have to—their broad smirks said it all.

The ballerina with the huge knockers.

Great, just great. If tonight's raucous crowd was this thrilled about a notorious ballerina turned ring card girl, you could bet no place was safe.

Logan might have become the fan favorite since her debut as Octagon Girl a month ago, but she was also broke, desolate and weary from the endless media attention, which didn't exactly make this job a cakewalk. Now that her ex Pierre's vicious lies were prime-time news, and these MMA fans knew who she really was, all she wanted to do was hightail it back up the ramp and keep on running.

No, she couldn't claim to be New York's most promising ballerina any longer. But hell, the show must go on, right? That's what she was being paid good money to do. Just walk around the edge of a cage and hold up a sign.

Ultimate Fighter fans were gathered at Pittsburgh's Mellon Arena for what was being billed as "The Rumble on the Rivers," a mixed martial arts match-up showcasing the best fighters around, along with a few amateurs striving to make a name for themselves.

Logan was somewhat familiar with boxing and wrestling but Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu sounded more like frou-frou drinks at a suburban chain restaurant than fighting styles. Hey, whatever floats your boat, as long as it pays the bills. Logan knew little else about the world of ultimate fighting, except it paid well for everyone involved. With four bouts under her belt, most of her overdue medical bills had been paid off.

Becoming an Octagon Girl was her ticket toward restoring some semblance of her prior life. Money earned to pay off debt, then save toward the bigger dream of opening her own dance school.

If she could just make it through this bout.

Her knuckles tightened around the Round One ring card as she braced it high overhead. Making her way up the stairs, her pink Nike sneaker caught, and she missed a step. Stumbled, really. Having one's troubles aired in front of an audience had a tendency to do that, make someone falter.

Logan's spine stiffened. As she climbed the final stairs to the cage, the crowd saw a radiant smile, plastered there on her face from years of practice. A dancer's determination to never let them see the pain.

Just you wait, Pierre. Payback is a bitch. If it wasn't for him sweet talking her into that ridiculous reality TV show, she'd be on stage at Lincoln Center right now.