HIGH RISK

KING OF THE RING, JUNE 24TH, 2001

Ring ring. Ring ring.

Vince stared at the cell phone, feeling something that was very, very strange to him. True fear. This was his personal phone. So few people had this number and no one from WWFE. It could only be one person. Linda’s lawyer. It wouldn’t be Linda; she’d never have the courtesy to call him herself, and only Linda would have the gall to let her lawyers call so early on a Sunday. Pay Per View Sunday at that. He suddenly realized he better answer it. Five hundred million dollars might depend on it.

"Hello?" he asked nervously.

"Hello, Vince," replied a cool female voice.

"Who is this?" Vince demanded, not recognizing the accent.

"It’s Angel Torres. You know. The new World Wrestling Federation hardcore champion."

"Angel Torres?" he screamed. "Where are you? How did you get this number?"

"Ah, so many questions. I can only answer one at a time, you know."

She sounded so calm. Calm and cocky. That pissed Vince off so much he almost hung up on her, then and there. But something stopped him. Angel Torres may not have been his largest problem, but she was by no means the smallest.

"Where are you?" he demanded.

"Around," she replied vaguely.

Vince scowled. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"Your old friend gave it to me. You know, I think you once called her ‘daddy’s little toy’. That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Vince. Not nice at all."

"Trish," he spat.

"Very good," Angel mocked. "But you know what, Vince? This phone call is costing me money and, unlike you, I don’t have seemingly infinite stores of it. So, let’s get to business."

Vince sighed. "Go on."

"Well, I have something you want. The hardcore title. And you have something I want. A contract. Now, I’m quite prepared to sit down and discuss our little dilemma with you, but first I need a couple of guarantees."

Vince frowned. "And they would be…?"

"If I’m going to show up at King of the Ring tonight, which I fully intend doing, I need the 24/7 rule suspended."

"That’s awfully bold of you," Vince told her. "Considering that if it wasn’t for that rule, you wouldn’t even have the title."

"I know," Angel gloated. "Ironic, isn’t it? But, like I said, I need you to suspend the rule, until tomorrow. No one can touch me. Is that clear?"

Vince sighed. "What else do you want?"

"Well, now that you mention it. I need two more things. I need assurance that Trish won’t be punished for this. It was my idea; she just helped. Also, I need security to stay away from my friend Shane Helms. I know he’s from a rival company, but tonight, he’s my guest and I expect him to be welcome backstage."

"You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Angel Torres?"

"Actually, yes. Yes I do. So, do I get what I want?"

Vince paused. "Okay. You have a deal."

"Great!" Angel cried cheerfully. "So, I guess I’ll see you tonight to talk about my contract."

"Hold it, Angel. Now that I think about it, I may be late tonight. I have some business to take care of first. So, why don’t you tell me what you want now?"

"A contract. I already told you that."

"Well, that is interesting. Who do you think you are, Angel Torres?"

"I am the World Wrestling Federation hardcore champion."

"Yes, I know that. And I am Vince McMahon. And I do not give contracts out to every little bitch who tries to manipulate me. Now, is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Angel replied. "But I was only doing you a favor. You know, letting you get first dibs on me before I sit down to talk business with your son tomorrow."

"With Shane?" Vince cried, aghast. "Are you threatening me?"

"No," Angel said, matter-of-factly. "I’m simply stating facts. If you don’t want me, Shane does. And I’m sure he’ll be interested in the WWF hardcore title. Real interested."

"I’ll bet he will, good for nothing ingrate," Vince muttered, thinking aloud. "He thinks he can take Jericho and Benoit with the heavyweight title, well, I’ll tell you what. He’s not taking you too. Angel Torres, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to put you in the ring tonight, so I can see if you’re good enough to become a WWF superstar."

"I’ve already had two matches for you!" Angel argued.

"I know that, but I think you’ll agree that they both ended rather unfortunately for you. I need to see if you can actually win a match. I can’t have a superstar on my books if they can’t get a three count."

"Okay, okay, I’ll trial for you. Tonight, you said? At King of the Ring?"

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of Sunday Night Heat," Vince told her.

"Hmm," Angel mused. "You know what? I really wanted to be on the pay per view. What’s that?" He heard muffled voices before she came back on line. "Sorry, Vince. This isn’t my phone so I think I’m going to have to finish up."

"Wait!" Vince cried. He knew she was trying to blackmail him, but what could he do? He couldn’t afford to have one of his titles in WCW hands. Even if it meant giving the useless girl what she wanted. "Okay, Angel Torres? You want your match to be on King of the Ring? You’ve got it."

"See? I knew you’d agree," she told him. "So, who will my opponent be?"

"I don’t know that yet. I’ll have to find someone who’s prepared to meet the challenge you have to offer."

"Well, I hear the Big Show’s available," Angel announced, her tone ironic.

"No," Vince replied. "Whoever I choose, it will be a woman. If you’re to be a part of the women’s division I’ll have to see if you can win a match against one of my other divas."

"I’m not a…" Angel started, before cutting off. "A woman, huh? That’s fine with me. When will I be able to find out who I’m facing?"

"Report to Commissioner Regal when you get to the arena. I’ll be sure to keep him informed."

"Okay. Well, thanks for this, Vince. You won’t be disappointed, I promise."

"Angel, I know that I won’t. Have a good match and I’ll be sure to watch. Goodbye." He clicked off the phone and broke into a slow, evil smile. So, Angel Torres thought she could make a fool out of Vince McMahon? She had a lot to learn. And tonight, it looked as though school was in.

He hunted in his briefcase for the phone number of the hotel where most of the superstars were staying, and pushed it into the phone.

"Yes, hello," he said when someone answered. "I’m looking to contact one of your guests, if you could put me through to her room? Thank you."

* * * *

"Well, I guess Vince is true to his word," Angel mused as she, Trish and Shane walked uninterrupted in the backstage area of the Continental Airlines Arena. They’d made it through the security check on Trish’s employee pass, Angel’s special VIP card and Shane’s guest pass, which was funny, considering Shane had decided to tempt fate by wearing his WCW T-shirt again. No one had bothered them, though. Not in the slightest.

"Okay, let’s go find out who I’m facing," Angel suggested as they reached William Regal’s office and stepped inside.

"Well," Regal mused. "If it isn’t the three bloody musketeers."

"Musketeers!" Tajiri cried excitedly, bouncing around until he was silenced by a glare from Regal.

"Hi Real, hi Tajiri," Angel grinned. "Have you met my friend Sugar Shane?"

"Charmed," Regal spat, refusing to extend his hand. "Well, my boy. Now we’re all acquainted, if you wouldn’t mind leaving my office before I have you thrown out."

"Hey!" Angel argued. "Be nice to him. He’s my friend."

"Yes, I’m sure he is, but he and I have nothing to discuss. You and I, on the other hand…" He trailed off, staring at her expectantly.

"What?" Angel prompted.

"I can’t say anything to you while that young man is in the room. He works for a rival company and, while I am sure that…"

"Hey, forget it," Shane cut in. "I’m leaving. You coming, Trish?"

"No, Miss Stratus," Regal mused. "By all means, stay, and perhaps you can regale us with many a sordid tale of nights gone by."

Trish pouted. "Okay, I don’t know what you just said, but I’m sure it had something to do with you being sexually frustrated, so I’m just going to leave." She shrugged her shoulders dramatically and followed Shane out the door.

Angel glared at Regal. "You happy now?"

"Delighted as always, Miss Torres."

"Great. I’m glad. I like you to be happy. So, maybe you can tell me what you need to about my match."

"Okay," Regal nodded calmly. "Your match will be a stipulation match..."

"What?" Angel screamed. "Vince said nothing about…"

"Miss Torres, if you’d let me finish," Regal chided. "And his name is Mr. McMahon and don’t you forget it. Now, as I was saying, your match will be a stipulation match. If you win, you will get your contract. If you lose, you will not. Is that clear?"

Angel nodded. She’d expected something like that. And actually, it worked out perfectly. If she was facing a woman she’d almost certainly win. That contract was as good as hers.

"Furthermore," Regal went on. "If you do lose, you will return that title belt and leave the WWF at once. The title will be declared vacant and we will hold a tournament for it tomorrow night. You will be able to return to the backstage areas as you will, but only as an official guest of a contracted superstar. Now, is that clear?"

"You mean I have to give up my title?" Angel frowned.

"Only if you lose. Now, I know you well enough to know you won’t let that happen."

Angel nodded. That was true. Her opponent was a woman. She was going to win, no problem.

"That’s not to say," Regal went on. "That your opponent will be easy to defeat. She has been advised by Mr. McMahon not to go easy on you. If she is judged not to be performing at the utmost of her ability, she will be fired. She knows that very, very well and I’m sure that kind of desperation will make her quite a formidable opponent."

"I don’t doubt it," Angel nodded thoughtfully. "So, who is she? Chyna? I mean, she’s the only one bigger than me, the only one who even has a shot at beating me."

"Miss Torres, you must know that size is not always important."

Angel looked him up and down. "I’m sure you’d know more about that than I would. No, seriously, Willie. Who is it? It’s Chyna, isn’t it?"

"No," Regal replied quietly, looking her straight in the eye. "Your opponent is Lita."

"What?" Angel shrieked.

"That’s right, Miss Torres. Your opponent is Lita. Now, if you’ll just sign the release and make this official." He picked up a pen and used it to point at the release on his desk.

"No," Angel blurted.

"Excuse me?" Regal frowned.

"I said no. I’m not going to sign that."

"After we went to all this trouble to arrange an official trial for you, which may lead to a contract and you’re refusing?"

Angel stared at him insistently. "I’m not going to kick my cousin’s ass."

"Perhaps you won’t," Regal smirked. "Perhaps, as you so colorfully put it, she will kick your arse."

"Screw this," Angel scowled. "You know, I thought we could make a deal like real adults. I guess I was wrong. I’ll catch you later, Regal. I’m out of here." She shouldered her title belt furiously and turned to leave.

"Hold it right there, Miss Torres. If you step outside this office without signing this release, I have enlisted the help of two individuals who are only too willing to relieve you of your hardcore title. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Acolyte Protection Agency?"

Angel stopped and turned back, shaking her head. "No. Vince gave me immunity. No one can touch me."

"The second you walk out of here, any verbal agreement you had with Mr. McMahon is null and void. Those agreements were conditional upon you signing this release."

Angel took a deep breath. "I don’t care. I won’t do it. I’m not going to hurt Lita."

"Miss Torres, have you ever been in a handicap match with the APA? Because, if you leave this room, that is what you’ll be facing. Now, tell me, is that really what you want?"

Angel glared at him. If the APA were waiting outside, she was dead. Absolutely. Regal might be bluffing, but he had history on his side. The Acolytes would attack anyone for the right price, even Angel. Angel felt her face begin to crumple and she lunged for the release.

"Give me that damn paper." She read it carefully. It was a standard release, no different to the three she’d signed previously. In fact…

"Hey, Regal?" she asked testily. "Why’d you bother going to all this trouble? Why not just force me to fight using the release I signed on Thursday?"

"Because, Miss Torres, once I was forced to cancel your match I destroyed that release. You seem surprised," he went on, staring at her curiously. "We’re not savages, Miss Torres. We’re simply trying to run a business. Now, you have a choice. You can sign this paper, giving you a fifty-fifty chance of becoming a WWF superstar, or you can walk out right now to a hundred percent chance of needing a ride in an ambulance. Now, it’s up to you, Miss Torres. What’s it to be?"

Angel was almost in tears as she snatched the pen from him and signed the release. "There, asshole. The match is on." With that, she stormed furiously out of the room.

Regal smirked at the release on his desk. "Miss Torres, as always, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

* * * *

Angel walked glumly away from the commissioner’s office, head down. So she had to fight Lita tonight. That sucked, that absolutely sucked.

"Hey honey, you’re looking mighty fine today."

She finally raised her head. Sure enough, Bradshaw and Faarooq were sitting at a table, playing poker.

"Hi guys," she replied, giving them a little smile.

"Hey, sit down awhile, honey," Bradshaw called. "Play a couple of rounds."

"Thanks anyway, guys, but I think I’ll pass."

"Okay," Bradshaw shrugged. "But remember, darlin’, if you change your mind, there’s a beer with your name on it."

Angel sucked in her lips and gave a little nod. So, that piece of crap Regal had called her bluff. The Acolytes weren’t trying to kick the crap out of her. They were just doing what they were always doing. Playing cards and drinking beer. She’d been sucked in, in a big way. And Lita was going to be the one to pay.

"Dammit!" Angel cried, walking on furiously.

And suddenly, there he was. Both the first and last person she wanted to see. Funny that he could be both at once. His eyes locked on hers and her legs almost crumbled under their power. And then he spoke.

"Hello, princess." His voice was cool and emotionless. Just like always.

"Hey," she replied simply.

They walked on in silence, but for Angel it was all slow motion. She wanted him to grab her, wanted him to throw her up against the wall, wanted him to…well, hell, she just wanted him. But they’d passed each other now and that was that. Before she could stop herself, she called over her shoulder.

"Good luck in your match tonight."

He stopped and turned back, stepping slowly towards her.

"Luck?" he repeated incredulously. "I don’t need luck. Tonight, I am finally going to become the WWF champion. And this time," he went on, looking her straight in the eye as he still approached. "This time, no one will take it away from me. Do you hear me? No one!"

She was trapped in his eyes – so dark, so intense, so close to hers.

"I know," she whispered, and it was true. If he and Jericho could stay on the same page long enough to dispose of Austin, Benoit definitely had the upper hand. He had never lost to Jericho in a one on one match, except that one ladder match at the Royal Rumble. Tonight there would be no ladders. And that meant the title was so close, Benoit could probably smell it. Just like Angel could smell him. She breathed him in deeply as their bodies moved, never touching, holding their own conversation, oblivious to any of the words coming out of their mouths. She wanted to press her body tightly against his, to kiss him, to taste him. It had been too long. Almost two weeks. She wanted him so badly, just as badly as ever.

"And tonight," he said quietly, his warm breath hitting her face. "You will finally get your contract."

Angel drew back sharply. "How did you find out about that?"

His face was impassive. "Booking sheet."

"Oh," Angel muttered. That made sense. "I guess it’d be too much to ask for you to wish me luck."

"Luck," he repeated again, as if tasting the word. "You don’t need luck either. You’re better than her. It’s simple as that."

Angel frowned. "No, it’s not as simple as that. I’ve never fought Lita. I don’t know if I’m better than her."

"It doesn’t matter," Benoit shrugged. "She’s easy. She has very limited mat skills. Ground her and beat her with submission. You can’t lose."

"Well, thanks for the advice, coach," Angel replied sarcastically. "But I still think you’re not giving Lita enough credit."

"Lita," Benoit repeated. "I hope you destroy her. I never liked that smart ass little bitch."

"Hey!" Angel cried. "You can’t say that about her!"

"Princess," Benoit told her, breaking into a smirk that sent shivers of delight up and down her spine. "I can do whatever the hell I want."

"Hey, Angel. How…" Shane cut off, stopping still. "Chris Benoit! I don’t know if you remember me, since I was just starting out when you left. I’m Sugar Shane Helms and I’m…well, you’re one of my heroes. My role models."

Benoit cocked his head slightly, tilting it to look into the eyes of Shane, who, at six foot, stood slightly taller than he did.

"A fan," he replied coldly. "How nice. Would you like my autograph?"

Angel scowled and clenched her fists. Why did he always have to be such an asshole?

"No, that’s okay," Shane shrugged. "I just wanted to let you know, and to tell you that I’ll be rooting for you in your match tonight."

"Lucky me," Benoit muttered and Angel’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t just said that, had he? She lunged forward, eyes flashing, and grabbed fistfuls of his muscle top, shoving him against the wall.

"We need to talk," she scowled, glaring right into his dark blue eyes.

He stared at her expectantly but, just as she was about to give him a piece of her mind, it suddenly struck her where she was. She was leaning in on him so closely their foreheads were practically touching and her fists were balled against his hard body. She couldn’t help it as her palms flattened against his chest and began moving.

"I heard a rumor," she said softly. "That if you win the title tonight you’re jumping ship to WCW. Is that true?"

"If I win?" he asked, neither moving away from her touch nor shoving her off him.

She just raised her eyebrows. "Is that true?"

He gave a shrug. "Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. What’s it to you?"

She sighed, her hands still moving against his chest. "I thought you hated it there. That they screwed you over and over until you couldn’t take it anymore."

He shrugged again, staring deep into her eyes, staring right through her. "It’s changed. At least, your friend seems to like it."

"My…" She was breathing heavily, having trouble thinking, her entire being consumed by the need to kiss him, the need to feel his hands on her. "My friend?"

He gave a low chuckle and suddenly, violently, grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms to her sides. "Your friend. Shane Helms."

"Oh." She blinked heavily as her hands moved restlessly. She didn’t know what to do with them and finally she put them on her hips, hooking her fingers through her belt loops.

"Just promise me one thing," she said at last, her own expression as unreadable as his. "If you do go to WCW, promise me it won’t be because of me."

His eyebrows shot up. "Princess. If I go. Trust me, you’ll be the last thing on my mind." He broke into his smirk. "Say hello to your cousin for me."

Angel scowled and stepped away from him. It was hopeless. She didn’t know why she’d bothered trying to talk to him like a rational human being. It was an impossibility. She sighed and stepped back over to Trish and Shane, shrugging her shoulders heavily and hoping her feelings weren’t too obvious on her face.

"Princess?"

There was his voice again. Deep, sexy and cold as ice. She turned to him. She had to.

"Remember one thing. High risk is only worth it if you know it’s going to give you what you want."

She gave a nod. Now there was some good advice.

He returned her nod, announced, "Shane, Trish," then walked away, cool as always.

Angel let out a deep breath. That had been bad. She hadn’t thought at all about his marital status for that whole conversation and it wasn’t as though he’d even encouraged her. In fact, he’d peeled her hands off his body and thrown them down. She’d been the only one acting like a horny little slut.

"Because that’s what I am," she muttered, raising her head and suddenly realizing that Trish and Shane were staring at her. "What, guys?"

"What did Regal say about your match?" Trish prompted. Apparently it wasn’t ‘let’s give Angel shit for throwing herself on Benoit’ day after all.

"Oh. If I win I get a contract. If I lose I have to give this back." She lifted her title belt slightly. "No big deal."

"No big deal?" Trish echoed incredulously. "Who’s your opponent? Is it Chyna like we thought?"

"No." Angel shook her head coolly. "It’s Lita."

"Lita?" cried Trish and Shane in unison and Angel suddenly remembered exactly why she was so pissed off about that.

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. "It’s bullshit."

"What are you going to do?" Trish asked worriedly.

"What I have to do, Trish," Angel replied quietly. "Beat up my cousin."

* * * *

"The following match is scheduled for one fall. Making her way to the ring, being accompanied by Trish Stratus and the WCW cruiserweight champion, Shane Helms, the World Wrestling Federation hardcore champion, Angel Torres!"

Angel shrugged her shoulder. Mixed reaction. There were probably two reasons for that. Firstly, Shane was with her, and the crowd didn’t seem to really know how they felt about WCW. The other reason was her opponent. Few people were as popular as Lita, who had crowds chanting her name at matches she wasn’t even involved in. Oh well. Right now popularity didn’t matter. First Angel would get her contract, then she could concentrate on getting herself over with the fans. Right now she decided to start by posing on the turnbuckles and holding her title belt up for the crowd, just as the Rock and Matt and Jeff did.

Suddenly, some music played. Angel dropped to the canvas and glared up at the ramp. Regal. What the hell did he want?

"Security! I want security out here at once. Now, seize that young man. That’s it, go!"

"What?" Angel cried, signaling frantically for the microphone. "Regal! Stop! What are you doing?"

Regal glared at her coolly. "That boy has no place in a World Wrestling Federation ring."

"Because he’s from WCW?" Angel asked. "He’s my guest, and today he’s my valet, as is Trish."

"No, he most certainly is not!" Regal snapped. "As a guest, he is welcome in the locker rooms. He is not to set foot anywhere near the ring."

"Is this your way of telling me he’s banned from ringside?" Angel asked.

"Well, now that you put it like that…"

Angel nodded coolly. "Okay. No Sugar Shane. How about Trish? Do you have a problem with Trish?"

As Angel mentioned her name, Trish strutted around the ring, posing for the crowd and receiving quite a big pop.

Regal scowled. "No. Miss Stratus may stay."

Angel shrugged dramatically and turned to Shane. "Sorry, Sugar. Looks like Regal doesn’t love you."

Shane smiled at her. "I know when I’m not wanted. Good luck, okay?" He gave her a hug and joined the security guys, who escorted him up the ramp.

"Now!" cried Regal. "On with the match!"

‘It Just Feels Right’ hit and Lita appeared on the stage with Matt by her side. He gave Regal a dirty look and shook his head as they made their way towards the ring.

"And, being accompanied by the World Wrestling Federation European Champion, Matt Hardy, Lita!"

Angel fixed her gaze on her cousin as she rolled into the ring and, along with Matt, posed on the turnbuckles. If only there was some way of getting out of this. But there wasn’t. She’d signed the released, so if she left now, it’d mean disqualification. And she needed this win, so much it couldn’t even be described.

"Hey, Ange," Lita smiled.

"Li," Angel nodded, pulling her in for a hug. The crowd cheered wildly, drowning out what Angel said next. "Look after your arm and neck, because I will be working them."

Lita pulled away, giving her cousin an ironic grin. "Yeah. Whatever you say, Ange."

"Hey," Angel shrugged. "Just warning you."

She turned to hand her title belt to Trish, only to be grabbed by the wrist and sent for the Irish whip. Apparently, Lita was jumping her early. She tried to run though Angel with the clothesline, but Angel leapfrogged her, then stopped as her cousin had to turn around, catching her with a hard armdrag on the return. Angel stood over Lita and, at the next sign of movement, armdragged her again. She scooped her up for the easy overhead powerbomb, but Lita twisted and reversed into a hurracanrana takedown. She quickly made the cover, but only got one as Angel kicked out emphatically.

Lita didn’t let up, grabbing Angel’s arm and wrenching her to her feet before twisting it around in the armwringer. Angel grimaced in pain and tried to run out of it, but Lita kept it going, twisting harder and harder until Angel just couldn’t take it anymore, rolling against the pain, using her legs, using her body, twisting, moving. Lita’s stomach hit the canvas and Angel was on top of her, locking on a modified leg scissors and leaning back into the Fujiwara armbar. Armwringers were nothing and far too easy to break. This one hurt like a bastard. Angel leaned back hard, wrenching Lita’s arm, hyperextending the elbow. If only Lita would tap, end this one early before she really got hurt. She didn’t know what Angel was capable of. No one did. No one except Chris Benoit. She gritted her teeth, leaning back and back and back as she heard her cousin’s groans of pain ringing in her ears. Then she heard something else. Matt’s voice.

"Come on, Lita. You got the rope right there!"

Lita moaned and felt with her feet. Sure enough, she had the rope.

"One…two…three…" counted the ref. Angel released before he even got to four. No sense holding it in too long. She bounced to her feet and waited. She was going to give Lita a chance to lock up again. She smiled and held out her hand as her cousin clambered up, holding her elbow.

Lita gave a wry smile and slapped Angel’s hand, then backed off, ready for the lockup. They circled each other, arms extended, but, what Lita didn’t know was that Angel was calling her bluff. Rule number one. Never go for the expected. The second they were close enough to lock up, Angel dropped her hands, grabbed Lita’s pants and snap suplexed her instead. Then she grabbed the left arm – the one she’d worked on with the armbar, and yanked Lita to her feet, continuing her momentum, running, dragging Lita along with her. She hit the ropes and bounced off, tumbling over in the Asai moonsault. Lita hurtled after her with an agonized scream and landed flat on her back. Angel was on her in a flash. Leg scissors on, submission hold applied. Cross armbreaker, the exact reverse of the Fujimora from before. Lita gasped and tried to struggle free, but this time she couldn’t find the ropes. And still Angel was wrenching the arm, hyperextending the elbow. Lita's whole arm was in absolute agony from the moonsault, but right now it was her elbow, God, it was her elbow. Still Angel wrenched back, and back, and back.

"Lita," she hissed. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll tap."

That sounded like a great idea to Lita, but she couldn’t. This match had been all Angel. There was no way Mr. McMahon would agree that Lita had given it her all. She had to win it. She bunched her right fist, lifted it and punched Angel in the back of the head, forcing her to release the hold and leap to her feet in surprise. Lita let out a little cry, hit the desperation spear and clambered up, shaking out her arm to get the blood flowing again. She ran right through Angel with the clothesline, buying her another couple of seconds before she grabbed for Angel’s head and screamed "Arrrgh!", signaling the Twist of Fate. Bam. Angel was flat on her face. Lita rolled her over quickly and made the cover.

"One! Two!"

But suddenly Lita hurled through the air in another snap suplex. Her shoulders hit the canvas…and stayed there. Angel must have formed the bridge.

"One! Two!"

She frantically got her shoulder up. Damn, that had been close. Angel was picking her up by that left arm again and she felt the familiar pain roar through her, before she was whipped into the corner. Angel ran in after her, but Lita grabbed the rope and leaped in the tip off, only to be grabbed by the legs and slammed down in the powerbomb. She wasn’t even aware that she was being pinned until she heard the count.

"One! Two!"

In desperation, she balled her fist and punched out. That was enough. He shoulder was up. She could hear the crowd chanting her name. "Lita! Lita! Lita!" But her shoulders, neck and head just hurt so much…

And then she was being picked up again and, before she knew it, she was sitting on the top turnbuckle. Angel was going to superplex her. But, just as she expected to be forced to her feet, Angel grabbed her arm again and bam! Her back hit the canvas.

"Shit!" she screamed as a searing agony roared through her arm and neck. Top rope armdrag? What the hell was that?

But Angel wasn’t interested in the cover. Not just yet. She had to truly end Lita’s pain, once and for all. So, she spun around and bam! Bottom rope moonsault. Bam! Second rope moonsault. She leaped up and spun around for the senton bomb. She flew, but at that moment, Lita managed to roll out the way. Angel’s back hit the canvas with a sickening thud. Lita crawled and crawled and made the single arm cover.

"One!" cried the ref. "Two!" But before he reached three, Angel again kicked out, forcing Lita’s arm off her. They were both down, so the ref began his standing ten count.

"One! Two! Three!"

Outside the ring, Trish made her way to Matt Hardy, both of them watching the action worriedly.

"Matt!" she cried. "They’re gonna kill each other!"

"I know," Matt muttered. "I know they are."

"Four! Five!"

A very dazed Angel managed to clamber to her feet. She glanced at the facedown Lita and gave a sigh, before scooping her up and forming the waistlock. Surely, this was it. This was all it would take. Bam! One German. Bam! Two Germans. Bam! Three Germans into a bridge.

The ref dropped to the canvas. "One! Two!"

But, somehow Lita kicked out. Unbelievable. Angel was almost in tears. Why couldn’t Lita just let her win? Didn’t she realize how important this was? Frustrated, she trapped Lita’s arm and again locked on the cross armbreaker. This time, Lita was going to tap. If she didn’t, Angel was going to break her damn arm. This time…

"She’s got the rope. One! Two! Three! Four!"

Angel threw Lita down in frustration, tore her hand away from the rope and locked on again.

"Angel! She’s on the rope! Break the hold! One! Two! Three! Four!"

"This is bullshit!" Angel screamed, leaping to her feet. Before she could stop herself, she began kicking Lita’s elbow, fast, furiously. Lita cried out and gripped the ropes for dear life, almost tangling her entire body in them and still Angel kicked her.

"Get off her, Angel. Get off her! She’s on the ropes! Get off her!"

The ref was pushing her out the way and the crowd was booing, but she didn’t care. She had to win this match. She just had to.

As soon as Lita released the ropes, Angel grabbed her and picked her up again, forcing her into the corner and onto the top turnbuckle.

"No, not again!" Lita’s brain screamed and as soon as she felt Angel’s hands on her, she kicked out in desperation, connected with her cousin’s gut and sent her crashing to the mat. Lita took a deep breath and twisted around on the ropes, before pulling off her top. The crowd roared as she looked over her shoulder for Angel, then took off in the Litasault. She connected and hooked Angel’s leg as the ref started the count.

"One! Two!"

But Angel rolled her up into the inside cradle.

"One! Two!’

Lita kicked out frantically. Why couldn’t Angel stay down? Didn’t she know how important this was?

Obviously not, as she grabbed Lita’s arm for yet another armdrag, then caught her with a harsh armwringer. Lita tried to get out of it into some kind of rollup, but Angel hit the standing dropkick, right to the elbow. Lita screamed and dropped to the mat, grabbing her arm desperately.

Angel stayed on her feet, staring down at her cousin in dismay. Lita was in so much pain, but she simply refused to let Angel take the win. Angel couldn’t stand seeing her like that. She had to end it. And so she spread her arms and went up top once more. She was going for the flying headbutt and would be aiming for that arm, which was now draped across Lita’s body. Lita wouldn’t kick out from that. No way. Angel only hoped that, once she hit, the elbow wouldn’t be broken. If she inflicted debilitating injury on her cousin, she’d never forgive herself. She spread her arms and prepared for her descent.

Suddenly, she was shoved from behind and fell to the canvas with a thud. Her face bounced off the deck and her neck snapped back, causing her to roar in pain. But it wasn’t over yet. Her left arm was in the vice-like grip of the leg scissors, hands were pushed into her face and her neck snapped back even further. Crossface! She was in crossface? How the hell did Lita know crossface? But even as that feeble thought entered her mind, she knew the truth. Lita didn’t have her. Rough hands were on her face, powerful legs wrenched her arm practically out of its socket and she knew that if she didn’t tap now, she’d be the one who’d be debilitated. So she tapped. He didn’t release her. She tapped again. He still didn’t release her. She tapped and tapped and tapped. Pain shot through her arm, her face, her neck, but he held on, pulling harder, wrenching tighter until finally he released her and she rolled to her side to see him being escorted up the ramp by several referees. He stopped and turned back, eyeing the scene clinically and breaking into his trademark smirk and she closed her eyes as she heard voices around her.

"Angel? Are you okay?"

She said nothing. All she wanted was for the pain to go away. But it wouldn’t. It was on her, it had her in its grasp and it refused to let go. Just like Benoit.

* * * *

Angel gave a little grunt as the trainer reset her spine in its correct alignment. One damn match and she was practically crippled. Well, they did call Benoit ‘the Crippler’. She was physically and mentally drained and hadn’t spoken a word since the end of the match. Benoit had caused Lita’s disqualification. Angel had won. She had her contract. But she felt no sense of victory. Benoit had brutally attacked her, with the intensity he usually reserved for his most hated enemies. It was over; once and for all it was over.

"Okay, Angel," the trained said. "Now, sit up."

Angel did as she was told. In her direct field of vision sat Lita, her arm heavily bandaged. She met Angel’s gaze and gave a wry smile.

"I’m so sorry, Lita," Angel said quietly.

Lita shrugged. "Hey, you warned me, right? I don’t think it’s broken, anyway. Once you’re done we’ll have to get it X-rayed, just to make sure." She turned to the trainer. "Is Angel gonna need X-rays, too?"

"I don’t think so," he replied. "She’ll just have to be careful for a few days. I’d suggest no wrestling tomorrow night, but I know I can’t stop you people." He punctuated his words by twisting Angel’s head around until it clicked and she winced in pain. "That’s got it. What’d you do, anyway?"

"Crossface," Angel replied simply. "Plus, I missed the senton."

"Be careful of those," the trainer warned. "Too many of those and you won’t be able to walk. That’s what I keep telling Jeff Hardy, but do you think he listens?"

"He doesn’t need to," Lita smiled. "Because we know you’re always here to put us back together again. Right, Ange?"

Angel frowned. "I guess. I can’t believe I may have broken your arm."

"Hey, don’t worry about it," Lita shrugged. "What I don’t get it why you went so hard. You were kind of psycho, Ange."

"I had to win," Angel replied quietly. "If I didn’t win, they were going to strip me of my belt and refuse to give me a contract."

"Are you serious?" Lita cried.

"Yeah, of course I am."

"Well, that’s not what they told me. They told me that all you had to do was get a few shots in and they’d employ you for sure. They said that if I let you pin me, or I had to tap out, I’d be fired. That’s the only reason I agreed to the match. I had to."

"Oh my God," Angel blurted. "Those sons of bitches. They told me that I had to win, that you only had to get a few shots in."

"I don’t believe this," Lita announced. "I mean, why would they do this to us?"

"They were pissed at me," Angel told her. "No doubt about it, Li. They couldn’t stand the fact that I took the hardcore belt. Well, now I’m staying. They better get used to it."

"That’s right," Lita nodded. "Thanks to Benoit, you won. I don’t know what his problem is."

Angel shrugged. "Who the hell knows? I’ve never been able to understand him."

"It was probably just revenge for you leaving him at that cage match the other week," Lita suggested.

"Maybe," Angel shrugged again.

"Hey," the trainer warned. "Cut that out. I’m trying to fix your neck here."

"Sorry," Angel muttered, and just then she heard a voice.

"Hey. I need some heat cream. I have a title match tonight."

She turned quickly, ignoring the protests of the trainer. What the hell was Chris Benoit doing in the trainer’s room? He avoided it like the plague and as for heat cream? He was extremely skeptical about whether or not it even worked.

He met her gaze and tilted his head back slightly, staring at her carefully. "How’s your neck?"

Angel was too stunned to speak. He was checking on her – the heat cream was just an excuse.

"She’ll be fine, no thanks to you," Lita snapped like the redhead that she was. "Why do you even care, Benoit? What are you doing here? Haven’t you already done enough?"

And Angel suddenly realized, he had done enough. Enough to get Lita disqualified. Enough to make sure Angel won the match, despite the fact that Lita refused to tap. Enough to make it so no one would suspect a thing, they’d all think what Lita did – that it was revenge for Angel walking out on his match against Kurt. He’d done enough, all right. He’d done it all.

He simply looked Lita up and down, let out an evil chuckle, grabbed the tube of heat cream from the second trainer, and turned to leave.

"Hey, Chris!" Angel called out.

He stopped and turned back, staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on.

"Thank you," she said at last.

Benoit gave her a little nod and slowly, slowly broke into the first real smile she’d ever seen from him. It was slight, but it was there, just the same

"You’re welcome, princess," he replied quietly. And then he was gone.

Angel felt herself smiling. Benoit may not have loved her, he may not have even liked her, but he respected her enough to make sure she got what she wanted. And, at least for now, that was enough.

"Oh my God," Lita was saying. "Oh my God."

Angel frowned and turned to look at her. "What? What’s wrong, Li?"

"You two slept together, didn’t you?"

"Excuse me?" Angel frowned.

"You slept with Chris Benoit. Oh my God."

"Lita," Angel replied carefully. "It’s Chris Benoit. Give me some credit."

Lita’s eyebrows shot up as she eyed her cousin skeptically. "Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Ange."

Angel gave a crisp nod as the trainer caught her neck and twisted it around again, but, now that she wasn’t looking at Lita, she couldn’t help forming a smile.