STORM WARNING

INVASION, JULY 22ND, 2001

The entire locker room was eerily quiet as everyone reflected on the night ahead. Even those who weren’t directly involved were going to be cheering on their teammates from the back. But now there was no cheering – there was barely any talking.

It had been much the same all day, since Angel had woken up feeling fine apart from a few aches and pains – the hallmarks of the professional wrestler. She wasn’t too concerned about it, however, knowing that, if she stretched up properly, the aches would subside as the day wore on. And so she went through a light training session at the gym, dressed casually and ate well, with Jericho by her side the whole time (well, except when she was dressing, of course). He was equally subdued, which was very strange for him, but they were both 100% focused on their respective matches. Jericho’s was perhaps even harder than Angel’s for, while he had a quartet of very capable tag partners, three of the four had recently been his enemies and he honestly couldn’t profess to liking any of them – even the Undertaker. At least Angel only had to fight for herself, well, that and the luxury of being taken seriously. That was the hardest part of all. Sure, even Chyna had taken years to garner respect as someone who was capable of fighting men, and she had a good three inches and fifty pounds over Angel. It hadn’t been easy for Chyna – and she was the 9th Wonder of the World. But Angel? Angel was the Next F’n Thing. She just had to prove it.
Angel and Jericho had showed up to Cleveland’s Gund Arena very early, but had found that most people were already there, even people like K-Kwik, Kaientai and Essa Rios, who would make up the cheer squad.

Although there were other locker rooms available, everyone had congregated here – the place was packed. Out in the ring, Sunday Night Heat was just about to start. There were two matches on that card. Chavo Jr. was taking on Scotty 2 Hotty, while Matt Hardy would face Mark Jindrak. Both Matt and Scotty knew exactly how important their matches were, despite not being on the Invasion card proper. Wins on Heat would be great for WWF morale and would count as official wins for the entire night.

“Well,” Matt said, climbing to his feet and extracting himself from Lita’s grasp before stepping over to the door. “Here goes, everybody.”

“Good luck, Hardy,” someone called.

“Pound his ass!” someone else agreed and the rest of the shouts were indecipherable as the entire locker room erupted into a wall of noise. It didn’t let up, not even when Matt’s music hit and, Lita-less for the first time in ages, he made his way down the ramp.

The cheers turned to hearty boos and jeers at the appearance of the Alliance’s Mark Jindrak. He was an able-looking fellow – tall and moderately good-looking, very all-American, but nothing particularly special. He didn’t have the incredible intense blue eyes of Benoit, the heart-melting smile of Jericho, the thoughtful coolness of Jeff Hardy, even the outstanding ass of Test, the perfect hair of Edge and Christian or the endearing fun-loving grin of Bradshaw. He seemed, like most of the Alliance, mind-blowingly boring, as if they’d gone to a wrestling school somewhere and had cut men from a mould. That’s when she realized that Jericho was right. Being a shooter was important, but so was entertaining the fans. WWF superstars were all special in their own way. They were outstanding wrestlers and fascinating entertainers. The entertainment factor had allowed them to bury ECW and WCW in the past and tonight their wrestling skills would help them bury the Alliance again. Angel nodded at the TV from where she sat on Jericho’s lap, the room being very short on chairs.

“Let’s go, Matt!” she called out. “Bring him down. Destroy the Alliance.”

They all watched noisily as the match progressed. Matt was winning and winning in a big way. Jindrak, despite being much larger, had hardly gotten a shot in at all. Matt, being a Hardy, was just too quick.
He landed his leg drop and tried for the suplex, but Jindrak was a little big and reversed it, scooping Matt through the air in the powerslam, but catching the ref on the way through, knocking him down. Matt battled back, finally flagging the Twist of Fate. Bam! Jindrak hit the deck and Matt made the cover. Just then, Rob Van Dam flew off the top turnbuckle in the crossbody, holding a chair in his hands. He slammed down on Matt who leaped up, startled, only to have the chair thrown into his hands. Before he knew it, crack! RVD hit the Van Daminator, slamming the chair into Matt’s face.

Jeff and Lita leaped to their feet.

“Stay here, Lita,” Jeff snapped. “That goes for you all, too.”

“No, Jeff. I’m going to help Matt,” Lita insisted, chasing after him.

Jeff stopped in the doorway and his expression when he turned around was positively savage.

“Stay here, Lita!” he screamed, then he grabbed a chair out from under Crash Holly and raced off.

Angel stepped up to her cousin, who looked worried for Matt and indignant at Jeff, but above all, surprised.

“God,” she muttered. “I’ve never seen Jeff like that. It was so unlike him to snap like that.”

“I know,” Angel nodded, equally bewildered. “It was sexy.”

Her mouth dropped open at her own admission and her hand quickly covered it. It didn’t matter too much, though. Lita was firmly fixed on the TV.

“Here we go,” called Faarooq.

Sure enough, Jeff raced down the ramp just as RVD was climbing from the ring. He spotted Jeff just in time and ducked out the way, then sprinted up the ramp. Jeff started after him, but just then the ring bell sounded and Jeff turned back. Matt was still down. Jindrak had gotten the duke. Jeff furiously threw the chair away and dragged himself onto the top turnbuckle, hitting the Swanton Bomb on Jindrak and forcing him from the ring. Jeff knelt by his brother’s side.

“Matt. You okay, bro?”

“I lost,” Matt cringed. “Van Dam…”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, Matt. I’ll get revenge.” He turned to the ramp, where RVD was looking right back at him, grinning and holding his hands in the air, mouthing ‘Rob Van Dam’ with his hand signal before he finally walked away. “That’s for sure, Matt. I’ll teach him to attack you. It’ll all be fine.”

* * * *

“Angel Torres,” came the well-enunciated all-business voice of Lillian Garcia. “Tonight you’ll be facing Alliance member Hurricane Helms in a ‘Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is’ match. Can you explain how that started?”

Angel shifted her posture slightly, sticking out her jaw and her chest. This was her opportunity to get over and once the fans noticed you, your peers and the officials were never far behind. She’d been pretty surprised when Lilian had called her out to the interview spot just as Scotty left for his match with Chavo; only those deemed important enough for an interview got one before the Pay Per View, the only step up from that being the Invasion show itself. But here she was, standing next to Lilian, who was sticking a microphone in her face. Now all she had to do was answer the question.

“Well, Lilian,” she replied simply. “I knew after those cute little chair shots Helms gave me last week that he really was a special guy. And I thought, he wants to roll in the ring with me? Who am I to deny him? But seriously…” Her face turned to a scowl. “Helms pissed me off. You don’t piss me off and expect to come away unscathed. People have been discovering that the hard way ever since I first appeared on WWF TV back in January. And so, I challenged him to a match. But what kind of a match? I didn’t want any ordinary match. I mean, this is Invasion. And besides, I had to make it special for Helms. I mean, everyone remembers their first time, so I wanted his to be real good. And so I thought up the ‘Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is’ match. The rules are simple. Whoever wins gets the other person’s salary for a month.”

Lilian nodded rapidly. “But isn’t this true that if you win, you won’t even be taking Hurricane Helms’s money?”

“That’s right,” Angel confirmed. “When I win tonight, I get something more important than money. See, what Shane, Stephanie and their little minions in the Alliance fail to realize is that some things are more important than money. I don’t wanna be getting all ‘A Very Special Seventh Heaven’ on you, but it’s the truth. And one of those things is titles. Gold. That’s what I want and, once I win tonight and earn my title shot for tomorrow night on Raw, I will have that gold. I don’t know what title yet, but it doesn’t matter. I will win it, just as I will win tonight.”

Lilian nodded again. “Well, thank you, Angel…”

“Just a minute,” Angel cut her off, pulling the microphone back towards her own mouth. “Do you mind if I sing a little song? Serenade my opponent?”

Lilian frowned. “I can’t see why not.”

“Good.” Angel broke into an endearing grin and began singing. “Ooh baby. Oh yeah. Ooh Helms. I knew the very first time I looked at you. I had a feeling deep inside. And I knew in my heart I wanted you…” She broke off, scowling viciously, right into the camera. “…In that ring, tonight. I want you, Helms. And when it’s over, and that bell rings, and the referee holds one of our hands aloft, rest assured, neither of us is going to be the same. And you can one…two…three-count…on…it.”

She threw the microphone down fiercely as the camera’s red light shut off.

“Thanks Angel,” Lilian said.

“No problem,” Angel replied crisply, shrugging her shoulders rapidly. She was there now. She was ready. Too bad there was still probably an hour before her match.

She stormed back towards the locker rooms so she could catch Scotty’s match with Chavo. Just then she was stopped by a slow clap. She spun defensively and came face to face with Paul E. Heyman.

“Angel Torres,” he greeted her. “You’re looking delectable as always. That was some speech you just gave. Very inspiring.”

Angel’s eyebrows shot up. She knew he was being sarcastic, but decided to pretend he wasn’t. “Glad you liked it.”

“Oh, I did,” Heyman assured her. “And I feel I must also tell you. Your exquisite little hiney is particularly fine today.”

“Wish I could say the same about your not so tiny ass,” Angel shot back, storming past him. He caught her arm but she spun on him and quickly slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, funny and feisty. I like that. Listen, stay a while. I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

Angel stopped and glared at the beady-eyed jackass.

“Let me guess,” she replied smoothly. “You want me to join ECW.”

“See?” Heyman cried. “And you always thought you weren’t smart.”

Angel let out a disbelieving sigh. “Don’t even try, Heyman. I was never a part of your team.”

“But you see, you could be. I had your cousin once but I hear you leave her for dead.”

Angel glowered at him. “You never had Lita.”

“Sure we did. Only she didn’t go by Lita then. She was Angelica. Miss Congeniality. Angelica,” he repeated. “Why, I bet she got that from your name, didn’t she? Is that your full name? Angelica?”

“Is that your full bloated gut?” Angel mocked him. “Or do you keep another as a spare? Trust me, Heyman. You’re wasting your time and mine. All jokes aside, I’m not going to join ECW, so you might as well give it up. Oh, and quit siccing Lance Storm on me. I’d rather watch paint dry than listen to that guy talking again. If I can be serious for a minute.”

Heyman stared deep into her eyes. “You know, Angel. Right now you have a choice. But this is that last time you will be asked.”

“Great,” Angel nodded. “Then maybe you’ll leave me the hell alone.”

“So, you won’t join, then?” Heyman asked.

“Not even if you dressed in drag and did an interpretive dance to ‘Oops I Did It Again.”

“Well.” Heyman folded his arms. “You try to give people a choice. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Angel, but it certainly looks as though it does. I will be seeing you.”

Angel rolled her eyes. “Right. Catch you later, Mr. E.”

With that, she stormed off to the locker room. By now she’d probably missed Scotty’s match and would soon have to get dressed and ready for her own. Right now she was wearing jeans, sneakers and her Y2J hockey jersey – definitely not ring gear. But she had a great outfit for tonight – an outfit so unique she’d left her leather pants at the hotel. It didn’t matter, because apparently Trish and Torrie Wilson would be doing the leather thing tonight and she didn’t want to looks as though she was part of that bra and panties thing. Not to take anything away from Lita and Trish – they were definitely going to kick some serious Alliance butt, but that was their thing and Angel was no more a part of it than she was the inaugural brawl. She had her own critically important match and that was where she belonged. Kicking the living hell out of Hurricane Helms.

“Who won?” she questioned, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“They’re ahead, two, zip,” Bradshaw replied solemnly.

“Shit,” Angel swore, sadly shaking her head. “Well, I guess I should start getting ready, since I’m up after you guys in the APA and you’re what?”

“Third,” Bradshaw told her. “But go right ahead, honey. Hebner v Patrick won’t last long and ours ain’t either if we got something to say about it.”

Angel nodded enthusiastically. “Make sure you kick their asses in record time.”

She stepped over to Jericho and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Did you see my interview?”

“Phenomenal as always,” Jericho grinned, pulling her back onto his lap. “Listen, baby. I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, watch out,” Angel joked, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder.

“I don’t want you to come down for the brawl,” Jericho finished solemnly.

“What?’ Angel frowned, unsure if she’d heard right.

“You should stay back here during the brawl,” Jericho repeated. “You shouldn’t come to ringside.”

“But…” Angel stammered. “I’m your bodyguard.”

“And you do a great job of guarding my body, but tonight? Me and those other four guys? We gotta do this on our own.”

“But I’m betting Vince will be there,” Angel argued. “And Shane, Stephanie and Heyman will too. You know that. So what’s the difference?”

Jericho sighed. “You don’t own a Fed, baby. Look, Debra and Sara will be backstage and…”

“Oh, screw that,” Angel snapped. “I’m not a damn wrestler’s wife. I’m a talented technical wrestler and high-flyer.”

She leaped off his lap and stormed over to where her bag was buried under the seat, digging it out from between Billy Gunn’s legs without a word. She hoisted it onto her shoulder and started for the door.

Jericho’s voice carried through the air. “It’s for the best, baby. You’d be a target out there, simply because they know we’re close. I just don’t think…”

“Forget it,” Angel cut him off, her voice sharper than a shard of glass. “I gotta go get ready for my own match, don’t I, and since I don’t expect you to be out there…”

“I don’t want you mad at me!” Jericho called out.

“I’m not,” she snapped, spinning towards him. “I’m not mad at you. I know what those guys are capable of. I know what they could do if they got a hold of me. I know they’d attack me just to get to you, but…” She suddenly threw down her bag and leaped at him, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re my best friend, Jerky, and if they could do those things to me, they could do them to you too.”

“I know,” Jericho replied, hugging her tightly. “But I’m booked for the match. I have to be there. You don’t have to be there and I don’t want you there.”

“Okay,” Angel nodded. “Okay.” She pulled away from him again. “So, we’re oh and two now?”

“Afraid so,” Jericho confirmed.

Angel sighed and stepped up to two people who were sitting together. Two people she hadn’t spoken to in some time. “So, you guys are fighting Storm and Awesome tonight?”

“Yeah, we are,” Edge nodded. “What about it?”

“I fought Storm a week ago,” Angel told them. “And I would have won it if it wasn’t for Hurricane Helms.”

“Yeah, I totally hate that pesky kid,” Edge agreed.

“Scooby Dooby Doo!” Christian cried.

“So, anyway,” Angel went on. “You guys don’t have to listen to me, but I know that you, Christian, beat him this week, so if we combine what I know with what you know, you’ll be in the best position to break our duck.”

“Duck?” Christian frowned.

“Yeah, you know, Christian,” Edge told him. “Duck egg? Zero? Totally roundaged? Donutageous?”

“Oh,” Christian nodded. “Ducktackular.”

Angel frowned. Well, that was a pretty good interpretation.

“Okay, look,” she said. “Don’t bother trying to wrestle him, because you will lose. Wear him down with speed – sunset flips, crossbodies, that kind of thing. Reverse everything you can and don’t let him isolate a body part. Then, once you’ve got him stunned, finish him off with a spear or the Unprettier. Stay away from any hold that might lead to the half Boston crab and if you see the superkick coming, get the hell out the way.”

“Thanks, Angel face,” Edge nodded. “Totally adviceriffic.”

“You’re welcome,” Angel replied. “Oh, and one more thing. If he picks up a microphone, make sure you interrupt him early, because if you don’t, it’s gonna take us most of the night to wake the crowd up again.”

“Yeah,” Edge laughed. “That guy is brutal!”

“He sure is,” Angel agreed. “But anyway, good luck. I know you guys can do it.”

“Totally,” Christian nodded before turning to Edge. “Well, mon frere, I think it’s time to show Mike totally not Awesome and that other dorkasaurus exactly who truly, totally, completamentally reeks of awesomeness.”

“The E to the C,” Edge finished and then the two of them set off.

Angel followed them, picking up her bag on the way though. While they had their match, she had to get ready for her own and would probably miss most if not all of it. But oh well. If they followed her advice and found a way of negating the power of Mike totally not Awesome as they’d dubbed him, they’d win for sure. And with Earl Hebner taking on Nick Patrick and then the APA against Palumbo and O’Haire, by the time it got to Angel’s match, the WWF might even be up three to two. Sure, things had started badly for them, but they’d turn around. No problem whatsoever.

* * * *

“If I can be serious for a minute, without being interrupted,” Lance Storm stated firmly, flanked to his left by the imposing form of Mike Awesome. “Tonight will be a defining moment in the history of this business, for a variety of reasons, all of which I will divulge now…”

“You think you know me. You think you know me…”

Before Lance could get another word in, Edge and Christian made their way to the ring accompanied by huge cheers from the crowd. The two of them were unusually quiet, with neither carrying a microphone. They had more important things to do than offbeat shenanigans themselves right now. They had to put Team WWF on the board with a win.

Lance scowled as they approached while, in the women’s locker room, Angel hadn’t seen or heard a thing. She’d just finished dressing and was touching up her hair and makeup before stretching up. Maybe if she had heard what Lance was saying, if she’d known the importance of what remained unsaid, maybe she wouldn’t have been so eager to let Edge and Christian interrupt him. Maybe she would have had some warning. As it was she had no idea. None at all.

* * * *

“Please give me good news,” she begged, stepping back into the main locker room. She’d passed a monitor on the way there and knew that the Acolytes were now fighting – she must be only moments away from being called herself.

Lita stood up, arms spread. “Two and two.”

Angel breathed a sigh of relief. “Fantastic. How’s Matt?”

“Right here,” Matt called, waving at her from the bench. “I think he just stunned me. I wish I hadn’t lost, though. I feel like I let you guys down.”

“Oh, no way,” Angel argued. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“See?” Lita told him. “Hey, Ange. What’s on your face?”

Angel slowly broke into a smile, grabbing the bottom hem of her hockey jersey.

“Check this out,” she announced, swooping it off over her head and revealing her ring outfit. She was dressed in camouflage combat pants with a dark khaki tank top and had black warpaint smeared just below her eyes. On the tank top, in huge white letters, were two words – Vinnie’s Army.

“You like?”

“I love!” Lita cried. “You should have said something. I have combat pants and Trish has camos. We could have gone with a theme.”

“Ah, but you two are in the bra and panties tag,” Angel smiled, noticing that the two of them seemed to have buried the hatchet…and not in each other. “You guys have to look hot. Which you do, by the way.”

The weird part was that, although they were like night and day, Trish and Lita had somehow coordinated outfits. Trish was wearing sparkly blue leather pants and a shimmery black tank, while Lita wore royal blue cargos and a white singlet top with blue and black stars. They truly looked like a team.

“Oh, Angel, it doesn’t matter what you wear on the outside,” Trish cried incredulously. “It’s your choice of underwear that counts. See?” She lifted her tank top to show a hot pink bra.

“Not that we’re planning on losing or anything, though,” Lita smiled. “But here’s what I’m sporting.”

Angel had to admit her cousin’s patterned bra was pretty funky. But of course, the guys in the locker room were only interested in a flash of tit.

“Show us yours, Angel!” someone cried.

“Yeah, what you got?”

Angel grinned. “Who says I’m wearing a bra?”

“Show us!” someone screamed before they all started chanting. “Show us! Show us! Show us!”

“Oh, all right,” Angel sighed, giving them the briefest of flashes as the guys cheered.

“Yeah!”

“That’s it,” Angel grinned, pulling her tank top back down. “It’s over.”

“Oh my God, Ange,” Lita cried, her voice carrying over the disappointed protestations of the other wrestlers. She jumped over, grabbed the bottom of Angel’s tank top and hoisted it back up a little, showing the bandages. “You’re still hurt?”

Angel hurriedly grabbed the top from her and dragged it down. “Don’t worry about it, Li. I feel fine. The doctor said I can take it off tomorrow, if I don’t injure it again tonight.”

“You will be careful, won’t you?” Lita frowned.

“Of course.” She gave a little smile. “Well, wish me luck. I’d better go.”

“Good luck, Angel!” everyone called. “Kick some ass!”

Angel nodded and headed out the door. Just then there were arms around her. She jumped a mile only to hear loud laughter.

“Jerky!” she cried, turning to him furiously. “What are you doing?”

Jericho grinned at her. “I thought I’d walk you down, then go visit Vinnie Mac just before you start.” He took her hand and led her along.

“Well, that’s sweet of you. Oh wait, hold up.” She stopped and bent over, fiddling with her boots.

“What is it, baby?” Jericho frowned.

Finally Angel stood up, holding out her fighting sticks and nunchukas. “Can you hold these for me? I’m not allowed to take them.”

“Sure, baby,” Jericho nodded. “No problem. So, you’re going in unarmed, eh?”

“No, Jerky,” Angel replied, staring at him intently, her expression so intense it was almost frightening. “My body is a weapon. I don’t need any sticks. I don’t need any help. I am a shooter.”

And at that moment, Jericho knew she was in the zone.

* * * *

“I hate Chris Jericho,” Stephanie snarled as his little meeting with Vince ended.

In the very same breathing space, her brother Shane was trying to talk to the man whose identity he’d more or less stripped away – Hurricane Helms.

“What you need…”

But Stephanie had jumped between them. “I hate him.”

Shane tried again. “What…”

“I hate him.”

This time Shane didn’t even get a word out.

“I hate him!” Stephanie screamed.

“Please calm down,” Shane snapped. “Okay, we’re not doing so hot right now and we need to change the tide. We can do this. You need to take Angel Torres out, Hurricane. That’s what you need to do. It doesn’t matter that she’s a girl. She’s a wrestler and she’s on their side, not ours. You have to take her out. Angel is fast, okay, and she’s gonna take it to you. You need to outsmart her and you need to get the job done.”

“Don’t worry,” Hurricane replied. “It’s all under control.”

“Under control?” cried a voice as Paul Heyman rose from where he was sitting behind them. “Under control? We’re losing! We’re losing everything. We’re losing momentum and it’s all up to you, Hurricane. You have to pull this one out. We’re at the point of no return, Hurricane. You have to win this match. It’s all up to you.”

“Relax, Paul, relax,” Hurricane insisted. “I’m a former cruiserweight and hardcore champion. And that Angel didn’t just insult me. She insulted my past. She insulted WCW. And for that I will make her pay. Trust me. When this thing’s over my wallet’s gonna be a whole lot fuller. And that’ll be something worth singing about.”

* * * *

Angel stepped confidently down the ramp, her song and the cheers of the crowd ringing in her ears. Team WWF was on a roll, having won the last three matches. They were now up three to two and Angel wanted to keep it up.

In the ring, Howard Finkel held the microphone to his mouth. “The following is a…”

“No!” Angel cried, signaling frantically. She sprinted to the ring and dove in, then stepped up to Finkel. “I don’t want to steal your thunder or anything, but I’d kind of like to try.”

“Of course, Angel,” Howard nodded, handing her the mic.

“Let’s give it up for Howard Finkel!” Angel cried, before clearing her throat. “The following ‘Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is’ match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, representing Vince McMahon’s loyal troops of Team WWF, from Adelaide, Australia and weighing in at one hundred and fifty very well-proportioned pounds if I do say so myself, she is the Next F’n Thing, and she is me, Angel Torres!”

The crowd went wild and Angel grinned. This was very cool.

“And, my opponent,” she went on, when she thought they were ready. “Representing the Alliance, from Raleigh, North Carolina, weighing two hundred and six pounds on a fat day, he is the man I screwed out of the WCW cruiserweight title. Please put your hands together for a man who really, truly blows. In and out of the ring. Hurricane Helms!”

They were booing him, the crowd were booing him. This was absolutely perfect.

And then there he was. He did not look impressed by her introduction. Well, screw him. She’d gotten her licks in before the match. All she had to do was follow through.

He did a bit of showboating for the crowd, who couldn’t have been less impressed if they’d tried, then stepped up to the ref and handed over his robe. He pointed at Angel.

“Pat her down. You’re looking for nunchukas and Mexican fighting sticks. Maybe more, even.”

The ref, whose shirt bore the black and white stripes of the WWF official, first checked Hurricane’s boots, before heading over to Angel.

“Hands off!” she cried in disgust as he got just a little too friendly for her liking.

“Sorry,” he replied. “But I’ve gotta make sure you aren’t carrying any weapons.”

“Are you done?” Angel snapped.

“Yeah,” the ref said at last. “You’re all set.”

He signaled for her to stay in her corner, then did the same to Hurricane before stepping back from them and signaling for the timekeeper to ring the bell.

Angel circled Hurricane slowly, her expression focused and set.

“Come on, Backstreet Boy. Let’s get it on.”

They made a normal lockup with Angel trying for an armwringer.

“No submission!” cried the ref.

“What?” Angel shouted and almost immediately felt herself being whipped into the ropes, so she ducked the clothesline, grabbed Helms around the waist and rolled him up into a pinning predicament. He jumped out of it, but Angel leaped over him, carrying him into the sunset flip.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

But Helms kicked out quickly, landed on his feet and flew at Angel with a right hook above the eyebrow. Angel’s hand flew up instinctively and came down bloodied. He’d busted her open and was now sinking his fist into her ribs. She snapped, hitting a series of knife-edge chops and backing him right into the corner. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! She hit him with hands, with boots, pounding him relentlessly.

“Okay,” called the ref. “Get it out of the corner. Get it out.”

Angel let out a roar and whipped Hurricane into the other corner, racing at him as fast as she could. He simply ducked and hoisted her out of the ring. Luckily, she landed on the apron, gripping the ropes as Hurricane turned towards her. Wham! She thrust her legs through the ropes, connecting with his stomach and doubling him over. This bought her a couple of seconds, so she went up top. She waited for Helms to turn to her and then, as soon as his eyes filled with fear, she flew, bringing him down in the hurricanrana. She leaped back to her feet and bam! Standing dropkick. Helms hit the deck and kept on rolling, landing on the ground and walking away.

“Not a good idea,” Angel muttered, circling the ring, then breaking into a run. She leaped, bounced off the top rope and cannonballed through the air, slamming down on Helms in the somersault plancha.
She reared back as the crowd went absolutely wild. The shouts intensified, but what Angel didn’t know was that they weren’t for her.

There were no count-outs so she had to win this one and win in clean. No weapons, no submission. She grabbed Hurricane by the trunks and hoisted him back into the ring, climbing up onto the apron herself.

“Come on,” she whispered as Helms floundered around. “Come on.”

Finally he straightened and turned to her and she pushed down on the top rope, flew through his legs and brought him down in the Frankensteiner.

“One!’ counted the ref. “Two!”

But it still wasn’t enough. Frustrated, Angel grabbed Helms by the hair and dragged him to his feet, punching him furiously.

“Yeah! Hit him!”

Angel froze at the voice. It was close, far closer than even the ringside seats. She turned her head and came face to face with Raven. But not just Raven. Raven and Tommy Dreamer.

“What the hell?” she gasped and then Helms Irish whipped her. She recovered immediately, noticing he’d ducked his head for the backdrop. Crash! Boot to the skull. Angel leaped onto him quickly, pulling him into an armdrag and then another before bouncing to her feet. Now, about Raven and Dreamer. She spun to them, but as she did so, something else caught her eye – Rob Van Dam and the Dudley Boyz. Angel circled the ring. She was surrounded, surrounded by ECW. They were all there; the other five being Rhyno, Tazz, Awesome, Storm and Justin Credible.

“What the hell is this?” Angel cried.

Just then, Hurricane ran at her, hitting the clothesline into the ropes and sending her over and to the outside.

Tazz and Rhyno quickly leaped out the way to avoid being hit as Helms climbed to the ground, kicking Angel in the side and the stomach and then grabbing her by the legs and lifting, almost as if he was going for the Walls of Jericho. But of course he wasn’t. There was no submission. Crack! He hit the slingshot and Angel’s face slammed into the ringpost, busting open her eyebrow again. Blood was streaming down her face as he grabbed her by the hair and pants, shoving her back into the ring. He climbed onto her in the cover and…

“One! Two!”

Angel got her shoulder up, greatly impressing the ECW guys, who applauded loudly.

Helms wasn’t too concerned, scooping her straight up and dropping her over his knee in the backbreaker. Another cover.

"One! Two!”

Angel punched out again and the ECW guys went wild.

“Yeah!” cried Tazz. “Let’s go, Devil!”

Helms leaped to his feet and spread his arms. It was time to close this out. He dragged her up and slammed her head between his legs but Angel suddenly pushed him back with all her strength, right into the ropes. She caught him on the return, flew up to the top turnbuckle, twisted around and bam! Tornado DDT. She bounced to her feet and tried to Irish whip him, but he reversed and whipped her instead. On the return she hit the deck, skidding through his legs, then, before he could turn around, she put the waistlock on and bam! One German. Bam! Two Germans. Bam! Three Germans into a bridge.

“One! Two!”

Again Helms kicked out. Angel dragged him up and whipped him into the corner, then got some momentum up for the bulldog, but just as she was about to hit it…

“Kick his ass, Angel!”

Justin Credible was cheering her on. And not just that. He was waving a Singapore cane over his head.
And suddenly, with a rush of clarity, she knew what this was. They were there on behalf of the Alliance to lose her the match. Helms knew very well her history with hardcore weapons – that’s why Justin had the cane. And when the time was right, he’d throw it in her direction, the ref would see it as the weapon it was, see that it came from ECW, who were now cheering her on, and DQ her on the spot. She wouldn’t even have to touch it. It’d be guilt by association. It just wasn’t fair.

Bam! Hurricane hit the superkick and she dropped like a stone.

She was seeing stars – pyrotechnics, actually. ‘Shooter’ was playing, but J-J-J- BOOM! She jumped and it was enough. She’d kicked out on two and a half.

Helms picked her up as blood continued to stream down her face. It had filled her right eye now and she couldn’t see a thing out of it. She was fighting almost blind, but she dropped out of what would have become a powerslam, raced at the ropes and, before he knew what was going on, hit him with an Asai moonsault, knocking him down. She clambered up wearily, feeling very light-headed.

“That’s it!” she cried, spreading her arms.

Bam! Bottom rope moonsault. Bam! Second rope moonsault. Leap up top, leap around. She slipped, her feet pounding down on the mat. She took a deep breath, reorienting her thoughts. Helms was still down. She could still do this. And so she dragged herself up top and caught her balance.

“Lucha libre!” she cried and then she flew.

Unfortunately, Helms rolled out the way just in time and her back rocketed into the canvas. And then Helms was grabbing her, forcing to her feet, bending her back. Bam! Nightmare on Helms Street.

“One!”

“Angel! Angel! Angel!”

She didn’t know where it was coming from. Those two-faced ECW jackasses? The crowd, maybe?

“Two!”

“Angel! Angel!”

And she kicked. She’d kicked out of the Nightmare.

Hurricane was surprised, but didn’t dwell on it, dragging Angel into the backslide again. He turned over into the hold for the Vertebreaker, holding Angel upside down. Just then Angel kicked over, her feet hit the ground, but she still had the hold on.

“Argh!” she screamed, straightening her back. She had it in. She collapsed her legs and bam! She’d hit the Vertebreaker on Helms. She made the cover.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two! Three!”

The bell rang, the ref grabbed her hand and hoisted it into the air.

“Here is your winner, Angel Torres!”

The ECW guys were restless.

“Wait,” Lance called out and they stopped. They were awaiting his signal.

Angel was jubilant despite her loss of blood, throwing her arms into the air as the fans went nuts. She climbed up the turnbuckles to signal the crowd.

“Now!” Lance shouted.

They all knew their roles. Justin leaped into the ring, cane in hand. Angel had turned at the sound of Lance’s voice and her mouth dropped open.

“No!” she screamed, but crack! The cane slammed into her abdomen and she was falling, falling backward, falling out of the ring. And then someone caught her.

“Come on, little diva. It’s time to go.”

It was Mike Awesome. He had her over his shoulder, his hand was gripping her ass.

“Let me go!” she squealed, trying to wriggle free, but he was even stronger than Benoit was. She didn’t have a hope.

“Just so you know,” Awesome growled. “If you bleed on me, you’re fuckin’ dead.”

“Let me the fuck down!” Angel hissed, but Awesome just laughed and grabbed her ass even tighter, groping her for all he was worth.

The other guys had formed a circle around Awesome and were led by Lance and Justin. Attack was impossible from any angle, which was exactly what Chris Jericho found when he flew in there. No sooner had he tried to leap over Tazz and make the save, than wham! Rhyno hit the gore and he fell helplessly onto the cold hard hallway floor.

The Hardy Boyz were next, racing in and trying to make the tandem hiptoss on Bubba Ray Dudley, not knowing that Rob Van Dam had a steel chair. Bam! Bam! Both of them hit the deck, but this time RVD didn’t stop to gloat, falling back into his place in the contingent. The moved quickly, orderly, stopping only when they reached the back doors.

“Now, you men stay here and wait for them to come again,” Lance ordered. “When we leave you can go back inside. Good luck in your respective matches.”

He nodded at Justin and Mike and led them through the parking lot. When they found his car he popped the trunk and Justin hastily fumbled with something inside.

“It was supposed to already be open, you dumb fag,” Awesome chided him.

“Shut up, I’m doing it. Oh shit, Lance. What is she bleeds in my case? I can’t use it if she bleeds in it.”

“Justin.” Lance laid a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Have you ever bled?”

“Yeah, but I never spilled juice in my damn case.”

“Just stick to the plan,” Lance ordered.

And all the while, Angel was struggling, trying to get free, hearing every word that was said and slowly dripping blood onto the concrete.

Suddenly she was thrown down and zip…zip. Everything was dark. She must be in Justin’s suitcase. And then clonk! The trunk was slammed shut.

‘Now what?’ she thought. ‘Are they just gonna leave me here?’ But Lance had said they were leaving. Where were they going? Where were they taking her? Suddenly gripped with fear, she wriggled in the small amount of space she had and touched her hand to her forehead. Oh shit. She was still bleeding. She didn’t know where they were going. She could bleed out before they got there. They were in Cleveland. They could take her to Canada, anywhere. She applied pressure to her wound, praying it’d stop bleeding, praying she was going to be okay. And then she felt the car roar into life and she was moving. But where to? She didn’t know. She didn’t even have a clue.

* * * *

“Did you see that? Did you see what they just did?” Jericho screamed, flexing his muscles dangerously as he led Lita, Trish and the Hardyz into the room.

“Yeah, I saw it. Just calm down, would you?” Vince snapped.

“Calm down?” Lita cried. “That’s my cousin! They kidnapped my cousin!”

“Okay,” Vince mused, flopping down onto one of his couches. “Let’s just think rationally about this. More than likely nothing’s going to happen to her.”

“How can you just say that?” Jeff demanded, just as intensely as Lita and Jericho. His hands were restless. He didn’t know what to do with them. “If they do anything to her, I swear to God…”

“Probably they won’t do anything,” Vince insisted. “You saw what happened with Debra on SmackDown. DDP abducted her and then he let her go at the next corner. It was all just…”

“Next corner?” Jericho asked and everyone jumped up.

“Hold it!” Vince called. “All of you have matches tonight. We need you. I need you.”

“I had my match already,” Matt piped up.

“Go, Matt,” Lita pleaded. “You have to find her.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, Lita,” he replied and off he went.

Jeff glared over at Vince. “You want us to stay here for our damn matches while they might kill her?”

“They’re not gonna kill her, Jeff,” Vince assured him. “They’re not that stupid. They might hurt her, yes, but even that is highly unlikely,” he amended, seeing the worry and fury etched in the faces of his superstars. “I think what we have here is exactly what we had on SmackDown. It was just a little mock-up to get Austin out of the ring so they could all beat on Kurt. Tonight, it’s a little different, but it smells just the same to me. You all have matches, like I said. Now, look at the facts. Ten men go down there but only three leave in the car. Two of these have already fought tonight while the third wasn’t even booked. They’ve kidnapped this girl, your friend, your cousin, Lita, because they want to throw you. They know we’re up four to two. We’re destroying them! So they take her away and look how many people it affects. What you have to do is keep fighting. Chances are Angel will turn up unharmed but you don’t know that. So, you go into your matches tonight, Chris, Jeff, Lita and Trish, you go in and you hit them with revenge. Jeff, you’re facing Rob Van Dam. He was down there when it happened. He helped get her away. And Chris, the same goes for Rhyno and the Dudley Boyz. Lita, Trish, so maybe Torrie and Stacy weren’t there. It doesn’t matter. They’re part of the Alliance and this was an Alliance plot. You go out there and you fight for Angel. You make them pay. You win for her, that’s what you gotta do. Okay? Okay?”

Jericho slowly moved his gaze around the room.

“Let’s do this,” he said solemnly. “Let’s tear those jackasses apart!”

Lita jumped to her feet. “Yeah. Let’s do it for Angel.”

“Right on!” piped up Trish.

They all left the room, newly inspired. All except Jeff.

“What happens if Matt doesn’t find her?”

Vince sighed. “Well, chances are she’ll show up…”

“And if she doesn’t?” Jeff demanded.

Vince gave a little nod and made eye contact. “If we don’t see her by Raw tomorrow night, we file a missing person’s report. That’s all we can do.”

Jeff fell forward, his face in his hands.

“Jeff?” Vince frowned after a moment. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need another pep talk? You are facing Rob Van Dam tonight. You know, I could get Steve…”

“No,” Jeff suddenly blurted, sitting up straight. His expression was intense, unreadable. “I don’t need any pep. I’m going to kill him.”

* * * *

Jeff was sitting in one of the warm-up rooms, stretching his muscles, ready for his match.

“Hey, man.”

Jeff titled his head towards his brother’s voice, then stretched his arm over it gracefully, extending his neck muscles. “Anything?”

“Sorry, bro,” Matt sighed. “I looked everywhere. They’re gone.”

“Fuck,” Jeff spat, punching the ground. “Well, he really knows how to get at me. First hitting you with a chair and now this. I’m gonna kill him.”

Matt just nodded. “Listen, Jeff. I know you can do this. You gotta finish it fast, then we wait for the girls and then we’ll go searching. We’ll look all night if we’ve gotta. Don’t worry, man. We’ll find her.”

“We better,” Jeff muttered, jumping to his feet, title belt in hand. “Or I’m not just gonna stop with Van Dam. I’ll get every single one of them. I don’t care who I have to hurt.”

“Well, right now you just worry about RVD. Listen man, I’m gonna go keep looking. Maybe they came back. We don’t know. I’ll check the locker rooms, the janitor’s closets, the bathrooms, anywhere they might hide her.”

“Okay,” Jeff nodded. “But careful, okay?”

“Yeah, you too.” Matt held out his hand. “Naves?”

“Naves,” Jeff nodded, linking fingers with his brother and then pulling away.

* * * *

“Home sweet home!” Mike cried, throwing the suitcase through the doorway and onto the nearest bed.

Lance spun to him accusingly. “Are you completely out of your mind?”

“What?” Mike frowned. “I threw it on the bed, didn’t I?”

Before Lance could respond, Justin stepped out from behind Mike. “Can I have my case back now?”

“Yeah, let her out,” Lance nodded. “The case was simply a practicality issue.”

Justin stepped up to the bed, not sure how to approach it.

“Shit!” he shrieked. “Look! It’s blood! There’s blood on my fucking case!”

“And probably a whole shitload inside it, too,” Mike guffawed.

“Fine,” Lance sighed. “I’ll do it.”

He moved to the bed, spun the case so he could access it more easily and put his hands on the zips.

“Now, Angel,” he called. “I’m going to let you out now. I’d appreciate it if you’d be as quiet now as you were in the lobby. Think you can manage that?”

From inside the case came a muffled, “Fuck you.”

“Now, Angel,” Lance sighed. “I would hate to let Mike have his way with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you up all right,” Mike agreed.

“In both senses of the word,” Justin added.

“Just let me the fuck out,” Angel cried. “I won’t scream, I promise.”

“Oh, we’re counting on that,” Lance told her calmly, finally unzipping the suitcase.

Angel sprang out like a caged animal. She focused on Lance first, grabbing his shoulders and bringing her knee up, right in his crotch.

“Ah, shit!” he squealed, collapsing to his knees as Angel bounced off his bed, flew into Justin with a dropkick and hit the ground running, desperate to get to the door. Bam. She slammed right into the huge hard body of Mike Awesome. He plucked her up, holding her by the neck about a foot from the ground.

“Lance warned you, bitch,” he growled. “Now I get to fuck you.”

“Mike, put her down,” Lance groaned, still bent double. “We only told her not to scream.”

“Fuck,” Mike sighed, reluctantly setting her down, but not relinquishing his place in front of the door.
Angel quickly did a lap of the room. There was no way out. She was trapped. She ended up in the corner, curled up in a little ball. If she pretended this wasn’t happening, maybe it wasn’t.

“I don’t believe this,” Justin was saying. “There’s blood all over my suitcase. What am I going to do? I don’t believe this.”

“You’re not the only one,” Angel muttered.

“Hey!” Justin snapped. “You don’t talk. You just shut up.”

“Justin,” Lance hissed. “Take your own advice. If they hear shouting in here, they’ll be on us in no time.”

Justin stepped back, rolling his eyes. But he did leave Angel alone.

After some time spent in what was all but silence, Lance recovered enough to move. Before Angel knew it, he was standing over her.

“You should stretch up,” he told her solemnly. “Your muscles must be impossibly cramped.”

Angel turned on him, eyes blazing through the bloodied mask that was her face. She still couldn’t see through her right eye, but she could see enough. “Oh, and whose fault is that?”

Lance was unmoved. “You must be thirsty, too, after your match.”

Angel shrugged. She was completely parched, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, knees pulled close to her chest and chin resting on top.

“Here. Drink this,” Lance called, handing her a bottle of red drink. “It’s a sports drink. It’s better than water because it rehydrates you faster and doesn’t leave you bloated.”

Angel just glared at him. “You sound like a fucking TV ad.”

Lance’s eyebrows went up for a moment before settling. “There’s water in the bathroom if you’d prefer. Justin!”

“No,” Angel snapped, snatching the bottle from him. “This’ll be fine.” She chugged the whole thing down before handing back the empty bottle. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lance nodded.

“So, um…” Angel murmured, turning her body a little to face him. “Now what? What are you going to do with me?”

Lance stared back at her, his blue-green eyes serious. “Nothing.”

Angel’s mouth dropped open. “You mean, you’re not going to tag team me? Just you and Awesome, of course, unless Justin swings both ways like his ex does.”

“She better shut up,” Justin scowled.

“You know,” Mike called out suddenly. “I just thought of something. Your ex? X-Pac? X-Pac!”

“Shut up, Awesome.”

Lance ignored them. “Has your wound stopped bleeding?”

Angel reached to touch it. “Yes.”

“Good. I think you should take a shower.”

Angel turned on him again. “What, so you and that pervert can jack off watching me? I don’t think so.”

“No,” Lance replied. “So you can wash the blood from yourself and clean your wound. The risks of staph infection are very real in our business.”

“I think I know that,” Angel snapped. “Thanks anyway, but I’d rather stay bloodied.”

“Suit yourself,” Lance sighed, stepping away.

Angel scowled and put her head down on her knees again. Her sweat had all but dried but she was clammy. Clammy, stinky and bloody. She really could go a shower. She slowly rose to her feet, feeling her leg muscles cramping, just like he’d said.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “But you lechy perverts have to stay outside.”

Lance nodded, stepping over to the closet and picking out a hotel robe. “You can dress in this when you’re done.” Everything he said was so matter-of-fact, it was seriously pissing her off.

“My clothes are fine,” she replied icily.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re covered in blood,” Lance informed her.

“So?” Angel challenged.

“Suit yourself,” Lance said again.

Angel scowled and snatched the robe from his hand, then stepped towards the bathroom, giving Justin a little shove as she reached the door. She stopped then, turned back, her expression beneath the bloodied mask oddly confident.

“You know, when I get away, and I will get away, I will press charges. You assholes will be doing time for abduction. That is my promise.”

With that, she turned away and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Justin,” Lance said immediately. “Your room joins ours via that bathroom. Go into your room and make sure she doesn’t try to escape.”

“Don’t worry, Lance,” Justin grinned. “If she tries anything, I’ll break her fuckin’ neck.”

He whipped his Singapore cane through the air, high-fived Mike and then left the room.

“He left his case behind,” Mike observed.

“Yes,” Lance nodded, stepping up to it. “I suppose I should clean it for him.”

“Nah,” Mike waved him off. “Make Angel do it. She’d make a fuckin’ hot little housewife and she’s gotta do what we say now. She’s our slave.”

“She’s not our slave, Mike,” Lance argued. “She’s our guest.”

“Our guest?” Mike cried.

“Yes. In case you’ve forgotten, kidnapping her was just phase one of our plan. Phase two is keeping her.”

“Well, shit,” Mike muttered. “You’re not on about that ECW diva bullshit again, are you?”

“No, Mike. Actually, I’m still on it. And in fact, given the success of tonight, Paul and Stephanie can only agree.”

“Agree that you’re out of your fuckin’ mind. Face it, Lance. That ball-breaking bitch is never going to join ECW.”

“She won’t have to,” Lance replied reflectively.

“Now what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Mike, remember that old saying?” Lance asked. “Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them? Well, Angel Torres is just about to have ECW thrust upon her.”

“Well, I’d sure like to thrust upon Angel Torres,” Mike muttered. “But I don’t see how you’re going to do it.”

“Patience, Mike,” Lance mused. “Tomorrow is another day.”

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom flew open and there stood Angel, wearing the robe Lance had given her. Her face was clean, her hair was flat and her eyes were blinking heavily.

“You,” she growled savagely, glaring over at Lance as she kept on blinking. “You fucking fuck. What the fuck did you put in the fucking Gatorade?” And with that, she promptly passed out.

Lance calmly checked his watch. “Right on time. Now, Mike, if you wouldn’t mind…” He suddenly caught sight of Mike’s sick expression. “Actually, I’ll do it.”

He gingerly picked Angel up and set her down on one of the beds.

“I call sleeping with her,” Mike cried.

“No you don’t,” Lance replied simply, pulling the blankets up around Angel.

“What?” Mike challenged him. “You’re gonna sleep with her? Shit, Lance. She’s not your kinda girl.”

“No, I won’t be sleeping with her either,” Lance informed him. “I think that your being here makes her nervous.”

“Me?” Mike cried. “This was all your idea and she knows it. Besides, thanks to the fag’s sleeping pills, she’s not gonna know or care who fucks her.”

“Mike, I’d like you to sleep in the next room tonight.” There. He’d said it.

“What?” Mike frowned. “With Justin?”

“Yes. And Rob when he gets back.”

“RVD?” Mike cried. “But there’s only two beds.”

“I am aware of this,” Lance nodded, reaching for his wallet and pulling out some cash. “Here’s your share for this room, in US dollars, no less. It’s up to Rob and Justin whether or not they make you pay a share.”

“Fuck that,” Mike blew it off. “Where am I going to sleep?”

“These rooms sleep four, as you know,” Lance reminded him.

“Yeah, in two fuckin’ beds!” Mike cried. “I can’t sleep with Justin, he might try and rape me.”

Lance rolled his eyes, stepping towards the bathroom. “So share with Rob. You can both drink yourselves into a stupor first, if you want to.”

“Uh-uh,” Mike shook his head. “Rob looks kinda like a woman. What if I got beer goggles on?”

“I'm sure Rob wouldn’t let that happen,” Lance called, returning momentarily with a bag full of Angel’s clothes.

Mike’s eyes widened and he was distracted long enough to change the subject. “You got her panties in there?”

“No,” Lance replied, placing the bag on the second bed and opening up his own case. He found what he was looking for – a non-pressurized prewash stain removing spray and got to work.

“Shit, Lance,” Mike muttered incredulously. “You really are a woman.”

“Nothing wrong with cleanliness,” Lance said simply. “Besides, if I don’t work on this now, it’s not gonna come out.”

“I’m still waiting for you to come out,” Mike muttered absently. “I can’t believe you’re kicking me out of my damn hotel room.”

“I’m sorry, Mike, but Angel has to be as comfortable as possible when she wakes up tomorrow. I can convince her. I know I can.”

“Well,” Mike sighed. “Just so you know I’m not leaving here until Rob shows up. You couldn’t pay me enough to be alone in a hotel room with that fag Credible.”

Just then there was a knock at the door.

“I hope that’s Rob,” Mike commented, walking away from Lance’s clothes cleaning service to answer the door.

“Hey Mike,” Rob greeted him, stepping inside and noticing Angel and then Lance. “Sleeping Beauty rests. I guess it worked.”

“It sure did,” Lance nodded, giving a half smile, which for him was a lot. “How was your side?”

Rob grinned. “Perfect. Hey, so Stephanie came to us for help distracting Jericho, but did you know Angel also has connections to Lita, Trish Stratus and the Hardy Boyz?”

Lance nodded coolly. “Lita is her first cousin, Trish is nearly as close a friend as Jericho, she dated Jeff Hardy earlier this year and as for Matt Hardy? Pick as secondary relationship based on those I just mentioned.”

“Wow,” Rob nodded. “How do you know all that?”

“I do my research.”

“Well, then, I gotta thank you for this idea,” Rob smiled. “Because it got me this.” He held up his prize, the WWF hardcore title.

“Way to go, RVD,” Lance nodded. “And how about the other matches?”

“Raven won, Tazz lost and, despite being against both Trish and Lita, the WCW divas lost.”

“And the brawl?” Lance questioned.

“I got a riddle for ya, Storm,” Rob told him. “What do you get when you take two Dudley Boyz and a psycho man-beast, team them with a psychotic stalker and the WCW champion and pit them up against one freaked out Jericho, a guy and his brother who are too worried about what stalker guy’s gonna do next to concentrate properly, one guy who thinks he’s a real American hero and finally…finally…well, shit, this calls for a celebration.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small bag, then dragged his wallet out and found something in it.

“Fuck, RVD. Why don’t you just bring your bong?” Mike asked.

“Impractical,” Rob replied, rolling out his joint. “You guys want?”

“I’ll take a hit,” Mike nodded.

“No thank you,” Lance answered. “So, what’s the riddle?”

Rob lit his joint and took a long drag, exhaling slowly and thoughtfully. “New riddle. What would Jim Ross scream out if Stone Cold Steve Austin screwed the WWF over and cost them the win in the inaugural brawl?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lance frowned.

“How about this?’ Rob asked. “ ‘I can not by God believe it! Stone Cold Steve Austin had turned his back on every man, woman or child who has ever supported him.’ They were just too busy worrying about Angel and Sara to even realize anything was going to happen until it did. Absolutely perfect.”

Lance nodded. “Well, I did tell everyone that tonight would be a defining moment in wrestling history. If only they’d let me continue, eh? I bet they don’t feel so smart now.”

“I bet,” Rob grinned, casting his gaze over Angel’s sleeping form. “She’s not gonna die, is she?”

“No.” Lance shook his head. “The tablets will keep her out for a good eight hours. In fact, while we’re on the topic, we all should be getting to sleep.”

“Yeah, you’re right, man,” Rob agreed. “That match tonight almost killed me.”

Mike grumbled but went to collect his suitcases. “I guess I’m shacking with you tonight, RVD.”

“Nah,” Rob replied. “I saw Justin before I came in here. He got you a cot so you can sleep on that.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me!” Mike cried. “I’m six foot six!”

“That or the floor, buddy,” Rob grinned, blotting his joint out in the ashtray. “I’ll keep that for later. Night, Lancey. Be good, okay? That’s a hot little tamale we’ve got ourselves there and I guess you’re the lucky man.”

“Goodnight, Rob,” Lance said. “Goodnight, Mike.”

“Fuck you, Lance,” Mike replied. “You lucky bastard.” He followed Rob from the room, leaving Lance with Angel, who slept on.

Lance sank down onto his bed, watching Angel carefully. Her face was peaceful, right up to the serene little smile. Just then he noticed something. Her wound, the cut above her eyebrow, was weeping slightly. It had been bleeding again. Frowning, he dug quickly through his things, pulling out the small First Aid kit he always carried. He picked up a cotton swab and a bottle of antiseptic and began cleaning her wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding. When he was done, he covered it with a large Band-Aid, hoping he wouldn’t require anything larger – like an elastic bandage. Angel moved a little beneath his touch, grunting quietly in her sleep, but she didn’t really wake up – the drugs made her eyelids too heavy to open.

Lance watched as she settled down again. “Sleep well, little diva. Come tomorrow, just like Stone Cold, you will be changing sides.”

He checked his watch. Only a little after eleven. Surely he had time…and Angel wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Nodding to himself, he scooped up Angel’s clothes into their bag and headed off to the laundry.