Where Can He Be?

Thud thud thud.

“Duck in, hit hard, get out.”

The thoughts echoed through Aidan's head the same way the sound of her fists hitting the punching bag echoed through the gym, the same way the stupid song was swirling in her mind.

Thud thud thud.

“Gut, kidney, head. Make every shot count. Wear him down with each one. Leave him so light-headed and in pain that he can't set a submission in right.”

She dodged an imaginary blow, continuously circling around the heavy bag before lunging in for her shots.

Thud thud thud.

“Never stop moving. Make him wear himself out. He doesn't have the stamina you have. The strikes are going to start getting to him. He's gonna start gasping for breath. Keep running him down until he can hardly move.”

Thud thud—

Rather than landing the third strike she hopped up to wrap her legs around the bag, simulating a grapple as she fell backwards and then performed a few inverted crunches.

“If he starts to get you there, be unexpected. Fight. Don't let him get it locked in.”

Thud thud thud.

She rained wicked elbow strikes into what would have been her imaginary opponent's head.

“He's not used to tumbling...”

She flipped backwards off of the bag, hands to the mat, and landed in a crouch after what could have been a simulated hurricanrana.

“...so keep that son of a bitch dizzy.”

Silence.

She remained there in the crouch. Breathing in and out, regulating her respiration while she recovered. Beads of perspiration ran down the back of her neck. Her dark brown hair clung to her skin.

“Just when he thinks he's got you, that's when you show him what a second wind looks like. Right after that look of relief crosses his face and he thinks it's finally over, show him that you can go all night.”


Thud. … Thud thud thud.

She charged the bag with her shoulder, locking in a Muay Thai clinch and driving her knee into it repeatedly with blinding speed.

“When his head is spinning and he's sucking air and can't see past the sweat running in his eyes, that's when we go for it.”

Thud thud thud thud thud.

The home gym echoed with each devastating knee strike. The scenario played out in her head as she shoved the bag—her opponent—back and landed a high roundhouse kick to the side of the “head.”

“Push him until he's got nothing left, then take even more. He can hit you, but you can recover. He can go for a submission, but you're a wiley little fuck. Slip out, don't give up, make it happen. He can chase you, but only for so long.”

Crackle.

The water bottle protested as she squeezed the flimsy plastic for a drink. Leaving the bag swinging, she began to unwind the black wraps from her hands.

“You've got this. The fans are going to be screaming. The whole Manhattan Center is going to be on its feet. They came to see this. They came to see you pick apart Declan Black. They don't want to see sweet little Candy against the Red-Headed Self-Hype Machine—fuck I hope blondie wins—they don't want to see the Triple H newbie opener. They are going to be there to see the destruction the Alpha Bitch and EOW Heavyweight Champion leaves in her wake. You're not gonna let them down.”