Sundays were big training days because Sundays were usually the only time any of them had more than four hours off at a time. They also planned bouts. They didn't train at ALARM because it was depressing somehow to see the club not full of people; instead Busta met them at a park, at one of the few patches of grass left in the city.

Sometimes they showed up, sometimes they didn't. Christina usually slept sunday round, but today she felt like going. Christina and Pink drove in together because Pink had stayed at her place again last night. Before they got on the bike Chris said, "I gotta make a stop first."

Pink didn't say anything, just nodded and got on behind her. Christina knew that Don lived at the club, and was there mornings too. Britney had told her. Tucked into her jacket was two thousand, in a plain white envelope Nick gave her when she asked him. Nick was home Sunday mornings, too.

She walked up the stairs to the back entrance, knocked on the door, and one of Don's people opened it up. He offered to take the package but Christina refused, dug her heels in until Don herself came to the door. "I have something for you," and she thrust the envelope at Don. Don took it, looked inside, and Christina told her, "Every penny. Give Sean his half." She didn't wait for an answer. She didn't wait for anything, but went down to the bike, started it, and drove straight to the park.

~

The heat of the day was partly diffused by the shade of the nearby tenements. this was one of the few green spaces left in the whole city. The grass was brown, discolored, and the trees were gnarled and brown too. Christina dismounted, left her helmet dangling carelessly from one handlebar.

B and the rest were already there - they were stretching, pulling the mats out and doing some moves. Training meant nothing actually connected - you touched the guy, not hit him. you planned the moves you'd use against each other. Ballet. Christina shucked her light overshirt, and came up in just a bikini. It was light enough that you could see the faint white lines running down everyone; scars from operations, bruising, cuts. you could even see the one cutting all the way across J's back where someone tried to knife him from behind. If Christina looked down, she knew she'd see just as many little white lines criss-crossing her limbs, too.

Pink had a hand on her shoulder, sunglasses in place. Christina wished for a second she had glasses, something to dull the glare of the day and make those white lines fade. They were only visible in the daytime.

J nodded to her, tossed her a mat to unfold. Pink grabbed the other end. Busta looked her up and down, looked at Pink, and he nodded to himself. "There ain't never gonna be anyone in the ring like you, A."

She felt queasy somehow. "I ain't out."

He looked at Justin, and at Pink, and said, "You will be."

 


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