I could only watch—helpless, furious—as Cena and Rock cornered Cody like wolves toying with a wounded deer. He was trying to fight back, swinging wild fists, but the numbers game caught up fast. Cena caught him with a low blow the ref conveniently “missed,” and Rock followed up with a steel chair straight across Cody’s back.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening, sharp as a whip crack, and Cody dropped to one knee with a groan. “Get up, American Nightmare,” Rock mocked, stalking around him like a lion circling its prey. “Show us that famous resilience, huh?”
Cody tried to rise, but Cena was already on him, grabbing a fistful of his blonde hair. “Say goodnight, pretty boy,” he sneered. Together, they heaved Cody up—one on each side—and slammed him back-first across the announce table. The crowd let out a collective oooh as the table didn’t break. It just shuddered beneath him, leaving Cody writhing in a twisted arch of pain, his hands instinctively going to his lower back.
“C’mon, Cody,” I breathed, fists clenched on the apron, pacing like a caged animal. “Get up…”
Rock wasn’t done. He dragged Cody to the ring post, ignoring the referee’s protests. “You still think this is your story?” he said, then slammed Cody’s face into the steel.
“No!”
Cody dropped like a sack of bricks, crimson running from his forehead. The crowd gasped, and a loud, disapproving BOOOO echoed around us. I moved to slide in, but that’s when Rock turned toward me, smirking, casual as ever. He wiped Cody’s blood from his chest and smeared it across his pecs like war paint. Then he blew me a kiss.
I saw red. “Go to hell, you arrogant son of a—!”
I launched out of the ring, fury burning through my veins. My boots hit the mat like thunder as I sprinted full force and nailed Rock in the chest with a missile dropkick. He went tumbling back into the corner, stunned. Cena barely had time to react before I spun into him with a heel kick, catching him right across the jaw. He hit the canvas hard, rolling out of the way with a groan. But I wasn’t done.
I ducked under the apron, and yanked out a kendo stick. The second I gripped it, the crowd came unhinged. I climbed back in and faced Rock—who was trying to get back to his feet.
“Try blowing a kiss now, jackass.”
CRACK.
The kendo stick slammed across his back. He cried out, staggering. I swung again.
CRACK. Across his ribs.
CRACK. Across his legs.
CRACK. On his shoulder. He dropped to his knees. “Angel! That’s enough!” Cena barked, trying to get back in the ring.
I turned. “You want some too?”
And then I unleashed hell.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
I hit both of them again and again—swinging until the kendo stick splintered in my hands and snapped in half. The pieces fell to the mat beside them. I stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched, body trembling with adrenaline and rage. The crowd was on their feet now. Chanting.
“Let’s go, Angel! Let’s go, Angel!”
But then—
Rock surged up from behind and BOOM, Rock Bottom outta nowhere. I hit the mat like a meteor strike, air blasted from my lungs. He crawled into the pin. “Count it!” he barked.
ONE—TWO—
I kicked out. Barely. The arena exploded. Rock stared at me in disbelief, sweat and blood on his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered.
I grinned through the pain. “Still not scared of you.”
Then Cena struck. He yanked me into the STF, wrenching back with all his weight. Pain shot through my spine, my ribs, my neck—I bit down on a scream. He leaned close to my ear. “Tap out, little Angel. You’re done.”
I clenched my teeth. “Screw you.”
Every part of me screamed to give in. I couldn’t even see straight. But I didn’t tap. I wouldn’t tap. “CODY!!” I shouted, voice ragged.
Then I heard it. The clang of steel on canvas. The roar of the crowd. Cody—bloody, battered, limping—had slid into the ring, chair in hand.
CRACK!
Cena let go instantly, rolling away clutching his back. Cody turned, swung again, and blasted The Rock off the apron before he could interfere. He tossed the chair aside and dropped to one knee beside me. “You okay?” he panted.
I nodded, barely. “Nice timing.”
“Yeah, well…” He helped me sit up. “Couldn’t let you steal all the fun.”
We leaned on each other, surrounded by a storm of cheers and chaos. And somehow, in all of it, I still smiled. Because we weren’t done yet.
The ring was a warzone. Blood stained the canvas, sweat dripped from every body, and every breath I took burned like fire in my lungs. Cody and I stood back-to-back, surrounded by chaos, swinging like our lives depended on it—because they did. Cena lunged at Cody with a haymaker, but Cody ducked and grabbed him in one smooth, desperate motion. “Night-night, Cena,” he grunted—and then dropped him with Cross Rhodes, the crowd erupting in cheers as Cena crumpled to the mat. At the same moment, Rock turned toward me, blood smeared across his chest like twisted war paint. I launched off the second rope, twisting midair. “Try to mock me now,” I hissed.
My legs came crashing down across his chest with the Moonsault Leg Drop, and his breath whooshed out as he hit the mat, limbs splayed. I didn’t hesitate. “Cody!” I called.
We both dove, side by side—me pinning Rock, Cody pinning Cena.
“One!”
“Two!”
They kicked out. Both of them. Both. Of. Them. I rolled off Rock with a groan, wiping blood from my forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I gasped, barely able to sit up.
“Almost,” Cody wheezed beside me, barely more coherent than I was. We struggled to our feet. All four of us were bleeding now—brow, lip, nose, somewhere—but it didn’t matter. Nothing did but finishing this. Rock staggered toward me, but I saw it coming. I grabbed him by the wrist, yanked him forward—and sent him spine-first down onto a steel chair someone had thrown into the ring earlier.
“Say hi to karma,” I muttered as he let out a howl of pain and rolled out of the ring, clutching his back. I barely had time to react before Cena slammed into me, a brutal spear that drove me into the corner post with a thud that rattled my teeth.
“Gonna take more than that!” I spat, but it was all bravado.
Cena lifted me up, step by step, climbing the ropes. “Let’s take a little flight, Angel,” he grinned wickedly.
“No, no—” I struggled, kicking, but he was stronger. The crowd was screaming. I saw Cody trying to rise again, but he was too far. Cena hoisted me up for a Super AA from the second rope. My stomach flipped. My heart pounded like a war drum. And then—
GONG.
That bell. The lights flickered violently. The air shifted. Cold. Cena froze like a statue, eyes wide. “What the hell—?”
The lights went out—just for two seconds—but it was all I needed. I tightened my thighs around his neck, twisted my body, and shouted, “Welcome to hell, jackass.”
I Hurricanrana’d him off the top rope. We both came crashing down. The impact jarred every bone in my body, and I lay there, heaving, unable to tell which way was up. “Angel!!” Cody’s voice broke through the noise. He was crawling back into the ring—with something in his hand. A boot. Dustin’s boot. Old, worn leather. I realized it instantly. He passed it off when the lights flickered. Poetic justice.
Cody looked Rock right in the eye and said, “This is for every damn time you tried to break me.”
CRACK.
The boot collided with Rock’s face. He collapsed like a tree being felled, out cold. Cody covered him. I turned, dragging myself over Cena’s body, hooking the leg. The crowd counted with us:
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”
The bell rang, and “Awake and Alive” hit the speakers like a thunderclap. The world exploded. I collapsed onto my back beside Cody, bloodied, bruised, broken—but grinning. He was the same. His head lolled toward mine, and he managed a tired, crooked smile. “We did it,” he rasped.
“We did,” I echoed, voice raw. “Holy hell… we actually did.”
Brandi was the first one in, practically flying into the ring with Liberty in her arms. Mama Rhodes followed, tears streaking her cheeks. Dustin climbed the barricade like a man possessed and pulled Cody into a fierce, tearful hug. Cody sagged into his family, wrapping his arms around all of them, holding on like he might never get another chance. “I’m okay,” he promised them, voice cracking. “We’re okay.”
I stood slowly, wobbling on shaky legs, every limb screaming in protest. I turned to the section of the crowd where I’d seen him earlier. My father. Empty. The chair was vacant. Not even a program left behind. Just… gone. I let out a shaky breath. Not fear. Not even disappointment. Closure.
That was all it was now. And as I turned back to Cody’s family—the people who had welcomed me without hesitation—I saw them looking at me, arms still around each other. Cody, still kneeling, reached out. “Get over here,” he said softly.
My throat tightened. I dropped beside him, and he pulled me into the hug. “You’re part of this too,” Brandi whispered, pressing a hand to my back.
My eyes burned. “I never thought I’d have this,” I murmured.
Cody leaned his forehead against mine. “You’ve earned this.”
The pyro went off, painting the sky in crimson and gold, lighting the ring in sparks and flame. And as the show went off the air, Cody and I stood—bloodied, battered, but undeniably victorious. Champions, in more ways than one.
ns216.73.217.22da2
and then Add to home screen.