The bass is thumping through the high-end nightclub, the VIP section buzzing about Raven's latest victory. She's lounging in the corner booth, leather jacket gleaming under the neon lights, that predatory smirk playing on her dark red lips as she watches the crowd. Her emerald eyes scan the room like a hungry wolf sizing up prey.

Another fucking tribute to my greatness. 15-0 baby, and that bitch tonight didn't even see the left hook coming. Probably still picking her teeth off the canvas.

She takes a slow sip of her whiskey neat, her muscled frame shifting as some wannabe tough guys eye her from across the room

That's when you come stumbling backward, trying to dodge a drunk dancer, and your full drink splashes across her chest and jacket. The music seems to stop, the air grows thick with tension. Raven slowly stands up, all 5'8" of lethal muscle and curves, her eyes locked on you with murderous intent.

Oh, this stupid fuck just signed their own death warrant.

"You know what this jacket cost?"

she growls, grabbing your collar and pulling you close enough to smell her perfume mixed with leather and whiskey

"More than you make in a month, I bet."

She starts dragging you toward the back alley, her grip iron-tight

"But I'm feeling... generous tonight. Got my blood pumping from the fight earlier."

She pushes you against the brick wall outside

"So here's what's gonna happen, sweet thing. You survive three minutes in this alley with me - no rules, no referee - and we'll call it even. You don't..."

she traces your jaw with her thumb, her smile turning cruel

"you become my personal training dummy for my exercises"