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ground and cradled Cat’s bloody head on his lap. “Hang on kid,” he whispered as he listened to her steady, if rasping breaths. “You’re gonna be ok.”

Dylan padded quickly, softly, along the blacktop parking lot, keeping to the pooling shadows as she headed toward the sound she’d heard. The source of

the sound soon became readily apparent as Hodge’s desecrated truck came into full view. Dylan’s fists clenched; the muscles in her jaw bunched and

jumped in anger.

Cat’s old and much-beloved truck had been reduced to a forlorn and hulking wreck of metal sitting on four macerated tires. Shattered glass lay like

glittering diamonds strewn across the lot, winking under the sputtering lamp illuminating the horrific scene. Spray painted in jagged neon letters across the

passenger’s side, and shot through with gaping holes from a tire iron, were the slogans “GOD HATES QUEERS!!” and “KILL ALL DYKES!!”

Her blood boiling with rage, Dylan carefully stepped over the remains of the truck’s headlights as she circled the vehicle. Other slurs were painted and

scored into the metal.

“Motherfucker,” Dylan growled, shaking her head as she continued to circle the truck. “Stupid fucking bastards!” Her fist came down on the truck’s tailgate.

A shrieking of metal, and the ruined bumper finally gave up the ghost, clattering to the ground, barely missing Dylan’s feet. “Fuck!!”

Spinning quickly, she nearly flattened the face of an overweight security guard lumbering belatedly toward the scene. Dropping her arm slightly, she

grabbed the collar of his shirt instead, and dragged him forward and up until their faces were less than inches apart. “How’d this happen, Tommy? Where

the fuck were you, huh? Sleeping? Jerking off? What?!?”

“T—takin’ a leak!” the security guard gasped against the choking hold.

“Awfully fortuitous time for you to be emptying your bladder, maggot,” Dylan snarled, baring her teeth at him and giving him a shake that rattled his bones.

“It’s the truth! I swear!”

Dylan looked hard into his rheumy eyes and saw only terror staring back at her. After a moment, she released her hold on his shirt and shoved him away.

“Call the police.”

“But…”

“Now!”

Mumbling under his breath, the guard finally walked back toward his office. Dylan considered giving him a kick to the ass to aid him on his way, quickly

discarded the thought as she ran back to Cat and Mac.

Dropping to her knees, she took hold of Hodge and pushed Mac out of the way. “Go inside and tell Kelly not to close up shop. She’s got a customer.”

Mac stood slowly, looking down at Dylan, concerned. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t I call an ambulance?”

“Just do as I say, Mac,” Dylan replied, distracted as she gathered Cat close and slipped an arm under her knees. “G’wan. I’ll be right there.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Mac nodded. “She’ll be okay.”

“She better be, Mac. She’d just better be.”

As Mac walked away, Dylan gathered her strength and lifted Cat up in her arms. Her powerful legs surged and burned with the burden. Catherine carried

more weight than her lithe and compact frame would indicate. The thick muscle overlaying her bones was dense and heavy. Dylan gritted her teeth and

began her walk back to the arena.

Kelly Norton, MD, had two very important things going for her as the chief physician of the Birmingham Badgers. The first was that she was a former

Olympian who sported a gold medal as part of the USA women’s basketball team. The second, undeniably more important, was that she was regarded as

one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in the nation. She had a huge and thriving practice that she left, willingly, to her partners for four months out of the

year while she followed the Badgers from state to state, tending to their injuries and attempting to prevent more.

The Johnson Arena’s medical facilities were first rate, combining a mini urgent care center, minor surgery suite and several pieces of expensive X-ray and

diagnostic equipment, along with a full physical therapy department. Staffed by Norton, her Nurse Practitioner, two Registered Nurses, and one Physical

Therapist, it was truly state-of-the-art.

Norton, short, spry, and pushing fifty, was just putting the finishing touches on her day when the doors burst open to admit a panting Mac. Straightening

quickly, she walked to the other side of the examination table and laid a concerned hand on Mac’s thick wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“Cat….” Mac paused to take a deep breath. “Catherine Hodges. She was badly beaten. Dylan is bringing her in now.”

“Beaten how?” Norton asked, springing into action and flipping on the overhead lights. “By whom?”

“Assholes,” Dylan snarled, entering with Cat in her arms and placing her tenderly on the table. “They beat the shit out of her.”

“Okay, okay, let me take a look at her. Move away, Dylan, you’re blocking my light.”

As Dylan stepped back, Mac touched her arm. “I’ll call the police,” he said in a voice heavy with guilt.

“They’re already on their way. I had Tommy call them.”

Mac lowered his gaze to the floor. “Dylan, I….”