“She’s got her daddy’s legs, too,” Roxy added right as her daughter went airborne, the power of her legs taking her up and over the railing and into Donna McNelly. She hit her with such force, the two slammed into the ground and then kept rolling until they were deep in the infield. The referees and the two teams surged on them, trying to separate them, but even in that pile, Lock could still see Gwen’s fist as it rose up again and again before slamming into whatever part of McNelly she had a hold of.

Sure, the Gwen cheering section went wild behind and around him—especially Alla, who seemed to be enjoying her first bout immensely—but then so did everyone else except for the growing-smaller-by-the-second Furrier fans across from them.

In that moment, TastySkate was the darling of most of the audience. And she probably didn’t even know it.

It took most of her team to pull Gwen off McNelly, and most of the Furriers to hold McNelly back. But once they were separated, the referees put Gwen in the penalty box—actually a bench in the infield, but whatever—and only the Furriers’ jammer on the track for the next jam. In other words, the jammer wouldn’t have to worry about anything but getting through the pack and getting points in the next two minutes, because the Babes wouldn’t have their own jammer out there.

Panting, Gwen sat on the bench and kept her head down, completely embarrassed. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking.

Blayne dropped down next to her.

“What are you doing here?” Gwen asked.

“They suggested I may have slammed the Furriers’ pivot in the back of the head with my knee—

repeatedly—until I got to you. But I don’t agree!” she yelled over at the refs, who ignored her.

Gwen bumped her forearm into Blayne’s. “I’m sorry, Blaynie. I fucked up.”

“Getting thrown out of the game would be fucked up. Mostly because you kind of have to kill somebody.”

“Nice.”

“I like the precise rules we have.” She unhooked the right side of her muzzle.

“I let you guys down. I let her piss me off.”

“Gwen…listen to the crowd.”

“I hear them. It’s Ma and Mitch and those insane wild dogs.”

“No, sweetie. It’s not just them.”

Gwen finally lifted her head and looked around. Blayne was right. The entire crowd was chanting her name and screaming for her to be back on the track.

“Bitch, they love you.”

“I don’t…” Gwen shook her head. “I…I…”

Blayne put her hand on her knee. “All I want you to do, Gwen, is when you get back out there—you be the most diabolical, calculating, plotting bitch that you are in everyday life. You don’t let anything get in your way. You don’t let anything stop you.”

“That’s an interesting pep talk.”

Blayne gave the grin. “You can thank Daddy.”

Gwen glanced at the scoreboard. “We’re already six points behind.”

“So? This championship is still ours to take.”

Gwen rested her arm against her knee and wiped blood from the open wound on her forehead. “You know, it was this sort of attitude that nearly got us expelled from St. Mary’s of Perpetual Sorrow.”

“I still say it was a fair question to ask.”

“Not when the Pope is coming to visit.”

Blayne held her hand out—after flicking the blood off—and Gwen clasped it with her own.

“Let’s win this, Gwenie.”

Gwen smiled. “You’re on.”

“Five bucks, though, you crack a nail.”

Gwen glanced down at her hands while Blayne hooked her muzzle back on. “You are so

on.”

“I have to be honest,” Ric admitted, looking away from Gwen and Blayne in the infield and at Lock.

“I’ve never found a handshake so frightening before.”

“I can’t argue that observation.”

“I do have a question for you.”

“Sure.”

“Why is my family name on the Babes’ asses?”

“Because apparently you’re a sponsor.”

Ric let out a sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

Gwen rolled out on the track, Blayne beside her. When they separated, they tapped fists and got into position. McNelly rolled by Gwen, winking at her. Lifting both hands, Gwen gave her the finger—twice.

The two teams laughed, as did the audience. But Gwen wasn’t laughing and neither was McNelly.

As she’d done before, Gwen crouched and waited for the second whistle that would be her signal. The Furriers’ jammer stood next to her. She remembered this one from Blayne’s first bout. A superfast cheetah with a mean streak named Pussy-N-Boots.

“You sure you’re up for this, Fresh Meat?” she asked, grinning at her.

Gwen shrugged shyly. “I hope so,” she replied in a small voice.

She saw the cheetah’s grin get wider. “You’ll be fine, kid,” she said.

The first whistle blew and the pack took off. A moment later, the second whistle. Pussy-N-Boots shot forward and Gwen came up after her…behind her. Reaching down, she caught hold of one of those long cheetah legs and gripped it with both her hands. Spinning around and using the upper-body strength she’d inherited from her mother, Gwen lifted the Furriers’ jammer up and flung her out and over the railing. Without waiting to see where the female landed or if she’d cleared the railing, Gwen spun completely around and took off after the pack.