Page 98 of Strike Zone

“We’re all out of minutes, Dee. It’s time to get back in there and make good on all these months of training. I know you’re all sunshine and rainbows of happiness these days, but right now, you need to forget about the fact that you’re a mom and go out there with the proper attitude. You’re not a mom in the ring, Dee.” That’s where he’s wrong.

“Shut the fuck up, Gray! I swear to God I’ll pound you into the ground if you don’t back the fuck off,” I scream in his face.

“That’s the Dee Lex I’ve been looking for. Go get her, killer.”

I crack my knuckles one last time—a stupid superstitious ritual—before stepping out of the tunnel to the roar of the crowd, camera flashes blinding me from every angle.

“Dee Lex. Dee Lex. Dee Lex.” Thousands of voices band together to create a collective boom that reverberates through every cell of my body, shaking me to my core. This is it. It’s now or never.

As I approach the cage, I search the crowd for Linc, knowing that he’s the lone voice in the crowd, truly chanting my name—Diana. I know he’s ringside—cage side—whatever you want to call it, and the moment I spot him, we lock eyes, and I hold his gaze in a desperate attempt to block everyone else out. He knows me better than anyone, but that’s a double-edged sword. He’s more worried about my safety than anyone in this arena. I can see it in his face as much as he’s trying to hide it behind a big smile and puffed-up chest.

Shrugging out of my robe with Diana emblazoned on the back in large, bold black lettering instead of my customary ‘Dee Lex,’ I wonder if anyone but Linc will notice. Brooke and Anders are by Linc’s side, cheering me on, all three of them clapping and whooping for me.

The closer I get, the more my nerves take hold, and it’s written all over my face as I look to them for strength, but Linc, being the man that he is, only sees it as a challenge. Throwing his hands in the air, he starts a freaking Mexican wave that ripples through the crowd.

The camera crew catches on, following the wave as it moves back and forth through the sea of eager spectators, Linc appearing on the Jumbotron. He doesn’t notice with his gaze still firmly fixed on me, and when I chance a glance back at him, I can’t help but smile, his wry grin and a sly wink taking the edge off my nerves if only for a moment.

Once Kayla makes her entrance and her fans go wild, the announcer gives his little speech, and we step into the cage. This fight has now been two years in the making, the hype so much more than either of us ever planned. The familiar tension of the mat beneath my feet is comforting as we stand face to face. We’re roughly the same height, so neither of us towers over the other.

The scents of blood, sweat, and disinfectant hang in the air from the warm-up fights that took place earlier this evening, getting the crowd ready for the headliner—me. I’ve fought here before and won every time, but never as the main attraction and never as a comeback kid. I became the best in other big venues, but everyone in UFC, male and female, wants to fight at the MGM Grand. This is a defining moment, and I want to savor every second without losing my nerve.

As soon as the bell rings and the first round begins, Kayla comes at me with everything she’s got, body slamming me with brute strength over skill, knocking the wind right out of me. There’s a collective gasp in the crowd, but I’m quick to extricate myself from underneath her and shake it off. I do not get pinned in the first round. I never have, and I’m not about to start now.

The next time she comes for me, I’m ready with a quick dodge and a fast blow to her side, ensuring a sharp pain in her kidney, her groan—all the confirmation I need that I hit the target. We trade blows until round one is under my belt.

The second I retreat to my corner, Gray is in my face with only the cage separating us. “What the fuck? She took you to the ground in the first five seconds.” I get that he’s pissed, so am I, but I’m just finding my feet. I haven’t taken a hit that hard in a very long time, and my body knows it.

“And she didn’t do it again. Trust me, she’s hurting more than I am after round one.”

“You need to pick up your feet. If you miss a single dodge, her fists are like The Hulk.”

“I know, Gray. I’m the one taking the fucking hits. I’ll move faster in the next round.”

“She’s slow, and she leaves herself wide open when she swings with her left. She doesn’t guard herself at all. Try to take advantage of that where you can.”

“Understood.” One of my team squirts water into my mouth and another offers a bucket for me to spit. The metallic taste of blood isn’t something I’m used to after the first round.

Time to head back in.

Brooke, Anders, and Linc are screaming for me in the front row, but I know they can’t do anything for me now. It’s all on me as the bell rings for round two.

This time I’m on the offensive. I swing the first punch, giving Kayla no time to block, throw a punch, or attempt a kick. I land a direct blow to her jaw, the sweet sound of bone connecting with bone bringing me enough satisfaction to outweigh the pain it causes my hand.

Next, I head in for a combination of kicks to her side before sweeping the leg, years of muscle memory flooding back in a rush of adrenaline. She’s solid muscle, so it requires a lot to take her down, but I do it, and once she’s down, I try to pin her, but she manages to throw me off and land a knee to my right side in the process.

Fuck!

The pain of taking a knee to the ribs is intense, like having someone crush you from the inside out. I’ve definitely cracked a rib, maybe two, but not enough to stop me. This is too big a fight to forfeit. Now, we’re both scrambling to stand as this round comes to an end. It’s a matter of pride to push myself into an upright position and stride to my corner with confidence.

Before I make it to my corner, Linc is at Gray’s side, looking even more concerned than the day I gave birth to Lilah. While Gray barks at me, Linc crouches down at the side, his fingers holding onto the cage as he leans in so I can hear him.

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many ribs do you think you just broke?” His expression is as pained as my side.

“I’m okay, baby. I need you to trust me.”

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