Page 23 of Wrestling With Love

Diamond rolled her shoulders, wincing at the sharp ache spreading through her ribs. “Yeah, great idea.”

She was about to say something else when she heard it—footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

They weren’t done.

The street outside the bar was bright, buzzing with late-night energy. Cars passed, music spilled from other bars, and people lingered on the sidewalks, some laughing, others too caught up in their own worlds to notice what was about to happen.

But some did.

Phones were already out, cameras pointed their way, anticipation thick in the air.

Then they came.

The first guy moved fast, a knife glinting under the neon glow of a streetlight.

Diamond barely dodged in time, shoving Lena back.

Another came from the side. She swung an elbow, catching him in the ribs, but a third was already grabbing at her.

Too many.

Lena cursed, landing a sharp kick to one guy’s knee, sending him stumbling, but it wasn’t enough.

This wasn’t a bar fight anymore. This was revenge.

Diamond fought hard—fists, elbows, kicks—giving as good as she got, but it didn’t matter.

The burn of a blade slicing her arm made her suck in a sharp breath.

A fist crashed into her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.

She heard shouts now—some amused, some alarmed. The crowd wasn’t intervening. Just watching.

Phones still recording.

Another hit—this time to her head.

Her vision blurred.

She heard Lena scream her name.

And then nothing.

***

Everything smelled like antiseptic.

The hum of fluorescent lights dragged her back to consciousness, and Diamond instantly regretted waking up.

Pain ripped through her.

It came in sharp waves, radiating from her ribs, her arm, the pounding in her skull. Every breath felt like a battle, every movement a reminder of the fight she lost.

She blinked up at the ceiling, sterile and too bright. The walls around her were that awful hospital shade of off-white, the kind that made everything feel colder.

A voice—Lena’s—pulled her back.

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