Josey didn't recognize it, but she was a woman of the world. She had fought at rodeos, in bars, in sold out arenas, on farms, in fields, everywhere. It seemed as if any classification building had seen at least one sort of fight from Josey, but this was a new one. A garage. Josey didn't have a car back in Texas because her horses, both the ones she bought and the ones she stole, got her around just fine. The Outlaw walked up to the building without a flicker of doubt in her heart. It didn't matter where it was: a fight was still a fight and Josey counted herself as one of the best fighters in the world.This one was going to be a good one, she could feel it. At least in the ring, there was some space between the white canvas and whatever was underneath. Here, if she got cracked, it would be nothing but the unforgiving concrete underneath here. It didn't matter to Josey one bit. The cowgirl was tougher than nails and half as clever. Her red boots scraped across the concrete floor and she looked around.There were a few cars, and tons of tools. Josey was adept in all sorts of ways of bashing her opponents over the head, and this place was rife with opportunities. Hell, Josey could soak her opponent in oil if she really wanted to. The Outlaw didn't consider for a second that all of these things could happen to her. That wasn't her style, not one bit. She looked up to see a bunch of cameras. Surely they had zoom features for all of the assholes sitting on their couches at home. Josey flipped them off.She rested her firm backside against one of the cars. It had been a while since Josey had been in her last match and she was ready to go. The wounds Cecilia had gave her were all healed up and Josey was yearning for a fight. She felt like a racehorse braying against the stalls, ready for action. There would be no fanfare, no audience, no nothing. Just violence, and heaps of it. She folded her arms against her chest. The black cowboy hat that she loved so much was still resting on her head, and the black cape that kept her warm against the harsh wind still adorned her shoulders. Her wrestling outfit was tight and white, and gave her all the mobility she needed.the hardheaded woman thought.