Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: SHAYNE| Round One - Fight!

Sweat dripped in her eyes, the muscles in her legs and arms screamed, but Shayne refused to tap out. To concede defeat as her opponent broke her hold, rolled and swung up behind her to pin her down. His movements clean. Sharp. Swift.

Even if she was pushed to near exhaustion, Shayne Melo wasn't a quitter.

"Use your legs," Asher roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Legs, Shay!"

Before she found a breath to act on his shouted commands, brawny arms circled around her waist, winching tight as the heavy mass hauled her around and over. She used the movement to her advantage, twisting and turning to regain footing, sliding through his grip like a slicked palm in a handshake. Out—she shot to her feet. To where she was most comfortable, and raised her guard.

Her sparring partner rose, a solid and lean one-eighty with almost six inches on her. Tough odds, but Shayne liked to be pushed. To be challenged.

"That's it," Asher called out, clapping his hands to end the session. "Hit the showers, Mendez. Everyone else clear out, good work today, people. Let's keep this momentum going into next week." he said, casting his words to the cluster of fighters she trained with gathered around the roped ring. A large group of twelve guys and four girls. But of the bunch she was Asher's best.

Growing up, her father had insisted his kids learn how to defend themselves. Protect themselves. She'd learned Krav Maga from an accomplished from a former Israel Defense Forces turned private security, and the art of wushu from a Chinese master. She'd loved the lethal beauty of martial arts and had craved so much more, and it was here she'd found it, studying Jiu-jitsu and Judo under the tutelage of Asher Athari.

He had a great eye and had trained with some of powerful and impressive names throughout Asia and Brazil as a kid, straight through to adulthood. At twenty-two he went pro in the ring for seven years and had carved out a formidable reputation for himself when, unexpectedly, he walked away from it all and opened shop in California to train others.

It was around this time that Shayne walked into his life. She'd worked her ass off for two solid years. And had high hopes he'd pick her this year for the trip to Vegas where amateur contenders were set to congregate for a shot at breaking into UFC.

He pointed at Shayne as the crowd cleared out, and wiggled it for her to come closer. As Shayne approached, Asher pulled himself up and between the ropes to join her on the mat.

"Your takedowns are still sloppy," he said, handing her a towel so she could clean the sweat of her face and neck. "And we've got a long way to go with your ground game."

"You're full of sh!t." Draping the moist towel around her neck, she gripped the dangling ends. "Did you see me in there?"

"I did." He nodded, dark hair tied back away from his angular face. "Sloppy. You think Rousey would've given up her guard in that last hold?"

"My record is solid," Shayne argued. "Twelve and Oh, straight knock outs in the first round. You're stressing for nothing."

"Not nothing." Asher shook his head, hands on his hips. "You're getting good, but there's still a clear hole in your defenses and yes, your striking is strong, I'll give you that. Maybe too damn strong—you've never had to worry about your back and how to protect when you're on the ground. Don't mistake luck for invulnerability."

Shayne razzed her lips. "Whatever."

A sweep of legs, a tangle of arms—and she was down, quick and clean. So hard, so fast her breath slammed out of her lungs the second she hit the mat. Twisting, Shayne arched, sucking in a fresh breath as she turned against him, bucking against his chest as his fingers closed around her wrist. He was going in for a submission and she had a second to find the loophole and weasel through when she caught on too late—he'd expected that from her, and released the arm-bar to switch in for a full mount, pinning her down.