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The shot glass shivered in Terry's hands as he brought it to his lips. The cheap gin burned down his throat, nothing compared to the pain he knew would come tonight. The pitbull knew he bet too high in that last fight. In his defense, Becca's track record should have been enough to etch out a victory. But she'd been sloppy. Sloppy and distracted. He should have seen it earlier. His daughter had a habit of letting her drama get in the way of the important things. But by the time he found out, it was too late. The fight was only a few days away, and Becca had been training like normal.

He raised his glass for another shot. The barkeep, some old ram with a beard too long for bartending, poured him another. Terry should have made her train more. Back in his day, he trained all morning and slept early. Sure, Becca went on morning runs, but she spent too goddamn long at that stupid coffee shop. He grimaced at the thought of her latte's. She dared lecture him on financial decisions when she wasted so much money to just flirt? He took another swig, letting the burn of the alcohol fuel his frustration with the youth of today. Too much money down the drain, all because of some vermin with a bad haircut.

The pitbull sighed. He'd hoped that moving to Michigan would have helped him get Becca away from dumb distractions, among other things he had to avoid. Though he found himself missing the crowded pubs in NYC. At least there he might have a chance to spend the night at some lovely lady's apartment, instead of his only company being a barkeep and two big dogs playing Pool behind him.

"Another," he asked, not bothering to face the barkeep. After this, he'd need an Uber or something to get back home, another expense to waste. He'd dug himself too deep, and it would only be a matter of time before Ronnie found him. Maybe it'd be better if he cut his losses and they moved again. Exactly how he wasn't sure, but he could think on that when he was sober.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," a familiar voice echoed as the gin hit the glass, "Old habits sure do die hard, don't they, Terry?"

Terry's heart froze as he looked forward, coming face to face with the cold blue eye of a squirrel he knew far too well. Two pairs of hands grabbed him from behind and pressed him down to the bar counter before he could run, all the while the squirrel took Terry's drink in one swig, "Surprised you didn't tell me you were moving. You know I have the muscle to help move a couch or two."

"R-Ronnie," he shuddered through a half-hearted laugh, "What a surprise. I was just about to-" he screamed as one of the dogs elbowed him in the back. The squirrel chuckled, "Bring him to the van. There's no need to make this sloppy."

Panic set in, but the alcohol made it hard to put up much of a fight, "W-wait, you don't want to do this!"

The squirrel sighed as he pulled out a switchblade and brought it against Terry's Adam's apple, the cold steel keeping Terry nice and quiet as Ronnie spoke, "No, Terry. I don't want to do this. But you're deep in the red and I've officially lost my patience. If you stayed in NYC, I probably could have hired you as muscle. Put those skills of yours to the test since we made it clear what would happen if you stepped into the ring again. But no, you had to prove just how disloyal you'd be by running off without warning. I only learned you were here from a buddy I have in Lansing."

The blade slowly cut into Terry's neck, "Please," he screamed, "I'll get you the money. I just need-"

"Time. Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Trouble is, those people begging for more time rarely do well with it. You're a bad liability, Terry. But I know a few people that would pay top dollar for your organs, outside of your liver anyway."

Eyes tearing, his struggles failed to break away from the grip of the two thugs the squirrel brought. He knew Ronnie had connections, but surely the bookie didn't have those kinds of connections. One look into the squirrel's good eye was enough to tell Terry that if he didn't come up with something better, and fast, he'd be going under the knife, then another six feet.

Ronnie drew back the knife, "Get him to the van. The doc will be waiting for us."

"My daughter!"

Ronnie muttered a swear under his breath as the goons dragged Terry off, "Last I checked, Becca's old enough to survive without you. So don't play the sympathy card with me."

"Take my daughter! She'll earn more than me!"

The thugs stopped at the raise of Ronnie's hand, "What?" he said, walking out from the bar counter.

Legs weak and throat tight, Terry explained his only salvation, "B-Becca's a good fighter. Better than me. You could-"

"I got enough fighters. Too many and people get suspicious."

"T-then take her on the street! She's got the stamina, just teach her basics and she'll-'"

Ronnie slammed his fist into the pitbull's gut. "I know you're a piece of shit, Terry," Ronnie said as he pulled the dog's hair back, "But you're giving up your own daughter to save your skin? I should just gut you right here. And what makes you think a prostitute is gonna make back your debt?"

"Cause you've had an eye for her," he sputtered out, "Think I didn't notice?"

"The fuck did you say?"

Terry smiled. Being so close to death's door, he might as well call the squirrel out, "Come on, Ronnie. I may be a bad better, but I can read a room. You always took a bit too long to look at my daughter. Frankly, I don't care what you do with her, but I figure you'd like her around."

"And why can't I just do that after I gut you?"

"Cause it's more profitable to just take her. I imagine your doc's silence ain't cheap."

Ronnie's furrowed brow did little to raise Terry's hopes, but at least the squirrel was thinking about it. Terry knew he was scum. He'd been like that since before he met his wife, the one woman who believed he had something worthwhile. He used to believe it with her, but after she died for Becca, he stopped seeing it. Good things didn't happen for people like him unless he took them. If that involved giving up his daughter for a third chance, he'd do it. He could live with it.

"Make sure your gym is closed for business tomorrow," Ronnie instructed, sifting through Terry's coat pockets until he found his keys, "And tell your daughter to be busy practicing there. I'm sure she'll have healed up enough by then."

"Becca's already on opening duty," he smiled, "So, if you'll just let me go."

"So you can run away? No. We're gonna hold onto ya until we have her. Plus, I need you to tell me what's valuable in the gym, since we need to make this look like a smash and grab."

"Then why take my keys?"

"To get in through the back. Dumbass."

***

The sound of taped fists, shaking chains, and short breaths echoed throughout the Brawling Boxer's gymnasium. Few lights were on, just enough to let Becca see in her personal training space. Her dad said the gym needed to be closed today, he never said why and she wasn't in the best of moods to ask. All she wanted to do was beat out her frustrations on the punching bag before her.

She messed up. Not just in the ring, though that cost them money that wouldn't be saved from just a few lights switched off. Rebecca just had to fall for someone. The chains rattled as her fists struck harder. Becca hated Rebecca, that frustrating horror movie fan that doubled as a hopeless romantic. And by god, she was hopeless. Every girl, boy, or fucking dite she'd tried to date always had a problem that made Becca's life miserable. They're scared of Becca, or they're scared of her dad or dating someone else.

The bag swung backward, falling back into a growl roundhouse kick from the pitbull. Rebecca certainly knew how to pick em. How could she have known that the vole dated someone twice her age? Why did it have to be that bitch though? Why couldn't Rebecca get a win once and a while? Why did she have to pretend that Becca and Rebecca were two different people?

She stopped throwing punches. Her reflection in the wall mirrors stared back into her, tears strained down the pitbull's face. "Stop it," she said, feet digging into the floor padding as she marched closer and closer to the dog in the mirror, "Don't you dare cry about," she sniffed, "about this. You're supposed to be the stronger one. She's the weakling, the pacifist who can't grow up. I'm the adult! I'm better than this." Her reflection didn't stop, mirroring the pathetic tears and sniffles she felt running down her face.

"It's not fair," she muttered, resting a tapped paw against the mirror as she looked away, "Why...why can't it ever just work out?" Fist clenched, the blue-furred pitbull stared back at her with rage in her brown eyes. She screamed, cracking her reflection as she drove her fist into it. Sobs escaped her lips as she fell to her knees, cradling herself like the child she knew she was. The rejection was supposed to hurt, but it wasn't why she cried. Her tears were because she couldn't move on from being the hopeless romantic. No matter how much she put on the mask of the fighter.

A voice echoed from the dimly lit corridors, coated in a thick Brooklyn accent, "You're gonna cut yerself, doing that."

Becca turned to see a large and imposing figure, a ski mask covering his snout, a black hoodie covering his chest, and tight jeans. Mud from the rain outside trailed along with his shoes over the floor mats.

She had her hands up in a defensive stance before he took another step, teeth bared with a growl. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Glass shattered in the front before he could answer. Peering over to the front door, the pitbull saw another masked fur entering in, his heavy boots crushing glass in each step. Becca knew the silent alarm had to be blaring by this point, but two opponents were too many for her to deal with.

Closing the distance in the distraction, she drove her leg into the first invader's crotch. She didn't stay to listen to him squeal, instead, Becca opted to head down the hallway where the locker rooms were to get out through the emergency exit.

She pushed over a trash can behind her, anything to impede them as she ran into the darkness of the hallway. The terrier hit a wall of flesh and fleece, emerging from the darkness as two arms wrapped around her. A soft chuckle escaped the owner's lips, "You're the fight-"

Becca silenced it with a strike to the groin. His arms dropped and with hers free, she slammed her tapped fists into his face as he fell in pain. Like the others, the third assailant was bigger than her. But she'd been in enough fights to know how to fight someone bigger. She spun for a roundhouse kick, aiming for his masked head to knock him out for good.

One of the goons tackled her before it could land, slamming her against the floor under his bodyweight. He wrapped one hand around her neck, and the other around his waist while locking her arms in. Only her legs were free as he pulled her back up, and she kicked ferociously into the open air for some kind of foothold.

"Stop struggling you stupid bitch!" the man growled, but she wouldn't listen. The hallway goon got to his feet and caught her legs, locking them in his arms and turning her struggles to mere wiggling.

"Help!" she screamed, more to scare them off than signal anyone to save her. Her father closed down the gym today for her to practice without distraction, and he told her he had business with the bank. No one was here but her. Well, no one else was supposed to be here.

Carried back to the open floor, Becca's mouth became tapped shut with boxing tape. She still screamed and struggled, unwilling to submit to these bastards. Two of them laughed, "She's a feisty bitch, ain't she?" said one.

The third, or rather the first one she saw, didn't laugh. Instead, he drove his fist into her gut, "That hurt!" he shouted, hitting her gut again and again until she stopped squirming or until one of the other two had to pull him back. Either way, by the time he stopped, Becca's core ached like no tomorrow. If she wasn't still healing from her match, she'd have kicked away once one goon let go to stop his friend. But her wounds made her weak, letting the legs fall and be bound by tape now that she finally stopped struggling.

Arms bound behind her, they laid Becca out against a wall while trashing the place. They didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, just making a mess and ruining equipment her father had yet to pay off. If they wanted money, why didn't they just hit her father's office? That's where he kept the safe.

"Ok, I think this is good enough," said one of the goons before pointing to Becca, "Grab her and let's go."

"Now hold up," another goon said, pointing to his watch, "He's not expecting us for another hour, and no one else is coming here today right?"

"Yeah, the boss said that." the third said, eyeing the bound boxer, "You thinking about testing the merchandise?"

Becca instinctively closed her legs, not that it did much good as one of the thugs came closer. She tried to crawl away in her tied-up state, but all that got her was some laughs and the smell of gym mats as they flipped her onto her stomach and dragged her closer. Her tail nub stood tall in terror as her shorts and panties were pulled down. The terrier whimpered into her gag, receiving a muddy boot to her scalp as the good pressed her face into the mat.

"Just don't take too long. I'd like a go."

"Don't worry, he can't even last thirty seconds."

"Shut up!" one squealed to the other's laughs. Becca's eyes widened as she heard him take off his pants.

No. This can't be happening. Please...someone.

Something warm touched up to her pussy. Tears streamed down her eyes.

Anyone, for the love of God can someone please wake me up?!

Someone new shouted from the darkness. A tough voice that Becca had never thought she'd be relieved to hear as the warm prick pushed away from her. With resistance, she peered over to the direction of the voice, seeing a stocky pig woman in a leather jacket, tight jeans, and an open phone in one hand.

"Cops are on their way," Helga shouted, "You best get going unless you want to be in cuffs this evening."

***

Helga hated the rain. Not because she had any issues with getting wet but because it made driving her cycle all the more dangerous. And since Amethyst demanded to check up on Rebecca, Helga had to take out her car.

She didn't hate driving her car. It was cheap, easy to repair, and durable enough that all occupants had good chances of not getting hurt if she got into a wreck. But it also gave Amethyst the freedom to keep checking her phone from the passenger seat. Constantly looking for responses back from the terrier girl who she now understood had a crush on her.

"I can't even tell if she read the messages," she whined. The porcine woman rolled her eyes and took her sub's phone, shoving it into the cupholder between them.

"Stop it," she insisted, "We're going to be talking to her in a few minutes anyway."

"Yeah but...what if she doesn't want to talk?" Amethyst wore her nerves on the sleeves of her leather jacket, "I mean, I was too stupid to know she was flirting with me."

"You're not stupid," Helga said, playfully teasing the vole's ear piercings to calm her down, "You're just not observant. She's a tough girl, I'm sure she can handle it if you both act like adults about it."

Amethyst looked out the side window, staring into her faded reflection, "I don't know. You don't know her like I do."

Helga had heard that line too many times before from too many people. Usually as some poor justification for someone else's actions. It's true, Helga didn't know Rebecca as Amethyst did. She knew her as a gym brat who talked shit and could take a hit if she didn't dodge. Her vole probably pictured her as some nervous girl with a penchant for lattes and horror films. It only made Helga dislike the pitbull more. It's one thing to just be annoying, but another thing entirely to pretend to be someone else.

Helga sighed. She was getting angry over a dumb kid having a crush on her sub and just finding excuses to stay mad. That wasn't what she needed to be right now. No, she needed to be there for Amethyst when the girl explained to the terrier that she just wasn't interested.

"God, this is just like Jewel."

"Who?"

"My old roommate? You know, the reason I moved in with you?"

Helga pondered for a moment, vaguely recalling a rainbow hair dyed badger bothering her about her relationship with Amethyst, "Oh yeah, Rainbow. This ain't anything like that."

"How? It's another girl who had a crush on me that I didn't know until it was too late."

She shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe Rainbow just let it build up over the years. You've known Rebecca for like what, a month? I'm sure she'll move on ok."

"Why do you keep calling her Rainbow?"

"Because she had too many colors in her hair," Helga said as they pulled on into the parking lot of Brawling Boxer's. Strangely, Helga saw only one other car in the parking lot. A white van with tinted windows that she knew wasn't street legal. As she parked, Helga noticed that the glass doors in the front were shattered.

"Should we-"

Helga grabbed Amethyst's phone and shoved it into her hands, "Call the police," she said while unbuckling, "Hide under the dash."

"What are you doing?" she asked as Helga opened the car door. She grabbed the pig, "You're not going in there alone."

Helga let out a heavy snort as she grabbed her vole's hand and pulled her closer, "Stay. In. The. Car. That's an order."

"Not if you're going to hurt yourself." She protested, "Wait here with me."

Helga smiled, giving a soft kiss to her slave, "Trust me, Amy. I know what I'm doing. Now call the cops and hide, like a good girl."

"But what if-" Helga closed the door before Amethyst finished. The rain pittered against her leather jacket as she crossed the parking lot and stepped over the shattered glass with her heavy boots. Few lights were on indoors, but enough were lit to show that her intuition was right. A few guests had arrived, and with how Rebecca struggled, the terrier didn't invite them.

Edging closer, Helga held back her rage. She'd been in a lot of fights, but she wasn't a stupid kid anymore, rushing in without a plan. In bar fights there was usually enough chaos that people didn't gang up on you, in her experience anyway. The pig had no belief that she could take on three men alone and walk out just fine. Thankfully, she had Amethyst already calling the cops. She just needed to buy time.

Rebecca's gagged whimpers told her she didn't have time.

She pulled out her phone and shouted, "Cops are on their way," while walking up to them, both hands up with one holding the phone midway through calling someone else, "You best get going unless you want to be in cuffs this evening."

The assailants froze, one with his pants down and haunched over the terrier. Rebecca dug her face into the floor, and Helga couldn't blame her. She wanted to hold the brat close and tell her it'd be alright. Though she wasn't sure if she'd get that opportunity. Even if the threat of cops scared them, she doubted she could stop the three from taking her with them.

The three look at each other, "Boss didn't say anything about this."

"How long will it take for the cops to get here?"

"Small town, so they probably don't get many calls," the third said as he pulled his pants up, "I don't wanna take any chances. Grab the girl and let's jet."

"You're not taking her," Helga balled her fists. If the kidnappers had any weapons, they would have pulled them by now, "You try, and I'll make sure at least one of you is stuck here for the cops." her glare shook the three assailants. She could tell that neither wanted to risk getting caught. Her time on the other side of the law taught her that if you knew cops were coming, best to bail ASAP. The pig hoped these three were smart. Well, smart enough.

They all looked at each other again, then ran down the back hallway. Helga rushed over to the pitbull as soon as she saw the opening, pulling her pants back up before undoing her bindings, "It's gonna be ok." she said, hoping to ease the tension, "The police are on their way. Everything is going to be fine.

The terrier wrapped her arms around Helga. Pulling herself into the pig and burying her face into Helga's chest, muffling her cries. She held the girl softly, running and hand through her hair and telling her it'd be ok all the way until the police arrived.