“But it’s accurate. I admit I will buy the pay-per-view because I want to see this fight. But seriously, I can’t believe the amount of people kissing Beckinsale’s ass. No matter how exquisite it is.”
“Fuck, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“Oh man, totally. Hottest fighter I’ve ever seen in my life. What is she, like, twenty? Sunshine coloured hair, bright blue eyes, fit and toned as fuck with above average, c-cup tits? Give me a break. How can I take someone like that seriously in the Cage? I saw a pic of her the other day in some magazine or whatever, and I’m like, she should be a model or an actress. Or, if there’s a God in heaven, a porn star. I have to sit down anytime she’s on screen; I get that hard. That’s what irritates me. We’ve got all these experts saying what a tremendous fight she fought... bro, she got CREAMED! If taking a beating is the standard now for a great fight, no wonder the women’s division sucks. I can guarantee you if she looked like a wet dog, no one would even click on a link with her name.”
“Nah, c’mon man, that ain’t true. The women’s division has plenty of great fighters and no one cares about their looks.”
“I want to believe that, but tell me, has any of them ever got the exposure that Beckinsale has? Think hard. I wanna know. This was her FIRST fight, bro, and we have heard nothing but her name for months. Two fighters dropped out, or were suspended, whatever. All of a sudden, this absolute bombshell gets a golden ticket to the front of the line with only amateur fights under her belt? Then, after all that, all these people demanded she get another shot? Who the hell are they to demand shit? Why? Sympathy? She failed, pure and simple. She’s hot but she lost. Now she gets another shot and paid a fortune because any picture of her in an article sells. That’s all.”
“Well to be fair, Nash made short work of Wale.”
“At least Wale deserved to be there. Look, I’ll say this to all the listeners out there, love Ava Beckinsale or hate her; I don’t care. Crave the rematch or never watch it. But let’s not pretend we don’t all know what’s going on here. I saw an article yesterday where Beckinsale was praised as being an inspiration for never giving up. I call bullshit. She inspires erections and gets the fight fans who jack off over her through the door. The company knows this and is just chucking advertising money around her. Milking this cash cow until it runs dry, then Beckinsale will be tossed aside and forgotten when the next big thing comes up. Any male fight fans who say they love her heart, only say that because it’s behind a great pair of tits. You’re lying to yourselves and leading this poor chick to the slaughter. I hope you’re happy with yourselves when she gets crushed again. It may be hard for people to hear, but Beckinsale needs to get out of the fight game. No one but a select few believe in her worth as a fighter, and Nash is going to eviscerate her. It’s sad but it’s the truth.”
Ava walked into the gym with one minute to spare. “Run!” came Chris’ voice.
“What?” she asked, seeing him emerge from the locker room.
“Run! To the end of the gym and back. Now.”
Ava took off. A little shaky on her legs, but she made it to the wall, slapped it and raced back.
“Up the stairs to the second level. Three at a time. Up down, up down. Then back here. Go.”
Ava blew a breath out and raced to the stairs as instructed, her legs already screaming. Months away from any training had murdered her fitness, not that Chris cared. Hell, he told her it would be rough.
“Again. Faster. High knees. Both ways.”
Ava sprinted as hard as she could, and though she stumbled, she still made it back, ducking a swing from Chris. “Whoa!” she yelled, falling to her knees as the fist sailed just over her head. “Wait! What the—” She didn’t have time to finish the question. She had to roll out of the way of quick, stabbing kicks. She rolled again, trying to get to her feet but Chris stopped her momentum by pressing down on her chest with his knee. “Chris! Get... off...”
“That’s how you’re going to counter her when she gets you off your feet? That’s what you think is good enough?”
She let out a huge gasp as he got up, the pressure on her chest easing. “Jesus Christ—” She coughed, getting to her feet.
“Again,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Do it. Again.”
Ava ran a tongue over her upper lip as she did what was instructed, determined not to show weakness. She knew this was what was needed to succeed. Not that it made it any easier. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ruben prepping an area inside the practice cage. She came to the final leg of her sprinting, buckling over and reaching for her water bottle as sweat poured down her forehead and dripped onto the gym floor.
“No rest. No water!” came Chris’ bark. “Straight into the ring.”
Ava jogged, she couldn’t possibly sprint, over to the ring and put her gloves on. Her head was spinning, she could feel her pulse thundering in her temples, but she was determined to do whatever it took. She pounded the hand pads Ruben held as he called out combinations. On and on it went. Kicks and punches. It was relentless. Her muscles felt like string cheese. She was now hitting the pads with the tops of her hands, more so than her knuckles.
“Come on, harder,” he hissed, swinging his hands at her head, which she only just managed to block.
“I can’t...” she wheezed.
“Bullshit. Can’t doesn’t exist. Harder,” he yelled before sinking two punches into her stomach.
“I can’t!” She dropped to her knees, a mixture of bile and water spewing from her mouth. She coughed so hard she struggled to breathe. She felt Ruben’s hand gently rubbing her back but she shoved him off. “Seriously?” she cried, wiping her mouth. “What the fuck is this?”
“What you need to prepare,” Ruben replied. “What you agreed to.”
“I get I need to train hard. I know this is my biggest test, but this isn’t the Marines! I’ve only just got through my last day of physical therapy! Can you cut me some slack?”
They were joined by Chris who brought towels to mop up the vomit. Both men lowered themselves to sit and kneel beside her.