Whitney didn't resist. She didn't fight back. She let them pull her up from her seat.
She let them walk her down the center aisle toward the ring. 600 faces turned to
watch every step.
Phones came up everywhere across the bleachers. She made eye contact with no
one. She kept her arms loose. She kept her breathing steady. Four counts in, four
counts out. The way she had been trained in the Marines.
They walked her up the four steps onto the elevated ring. The stage lights hit her
face. The bass dropped into a low growl. The crowd cheered louder than before.
Tyler met her at center mat. He looked her up and down slowly like he was
inspecting used furniture. What's your name, sweetheart? Speak up.
Whitney said nothing. Ah, she's shy. Folks, give her a round of applause. She's
nervous. The crowd clapped on cue.
Tyler turned back to her. The smile dropped off his face like a mask. I asked your
name, woman. I don't want to be here.