**Author's Note: The plot of this story was a story challenge idea by QueenofQueens and I just want to say thank you very much because I've really enjoyed writing this story. I hope you enjoy it and reviews are welcome! :) **

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Chapter 1

She would maim him.

Drake Wuertz sat in his car contemplating what to do, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in thought. Everything was set. All he had to do was get out of the car and march his happy backside over to the blue postal mailbox to drop the small package off. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but Drake knew what was best for his sister. She worked harder than most wrestlers he'd seen in the Independent circuit and deserved the opportunity to make it to the best wrestling organization on the planet. The WWE. It was where all Indy wrestlers wanted to be, but only a select few made it. Unfortunately, he wasn't one of them.

He wrestled under the name Drake Younger, which was famous all over the Independent circuit. His sister was simply known as Milla, which was also her birth name. They were brother and sister through marriage. Drake's father, Billy, divorced his mother, Daisy, and met Milla's mother, Megan Brown, when they were small children. They were too young to understand that their parents didn't love each other anymore or the concept of divorce. Megan treated Drake like one of her own, calling him her son whenever she spoke of him to others. Billy was the same way with Milla, referring to her as his daughter and he was honestly the best father she ever had. Her biological father –Milla called him sperm donor whenever she spoke of him- had taken off just after Milla was born and Megan had taken care of her by herself for 5 long years. When she met Billy, it was like fate had finally given Megan a break and they were married 6 months later in a small wedding.

Milla was a beautiful, intelligent woman that stood at 5'9 and had a perfect hour glass figure. She wasn't too skinny to where her bones stuck out of her skin and was nicely toned in a feminine way. She had long honey blonde hair that hugged her waist perfectly and light brown eyes that reminded people of toffee candy. She'd been in the Independents for quite a few years and Drake had personally trained her, teaching her everything he knew. He was one of the best and it was a shame the WWE couldn't see the amount of raw talent he had. That didn't bother him though because Drake enjoyed the Independents and knew he would retire with them, having one hell of a career overall.

No matter how great the Independents were though, the downfall was the rotten pay the wrestlers received. There wasn't enough money and Drake was tired of watching his sister struggle to pay her bills. There were times she had to borrow money from him for gas just to get to the next venue to wrestle and Drake would always lend it to her. He knew this was her passion, what she was born to do and she was lethal in the ring. If the WWE didn't scoop her up, they were blind as bats. He had to do this for her. There was no way around it. Milla could kick the hell out of him all she wanted, but she deserved the shot he never got.

The package was a simple videotape compiled with all of Milla's best matches and moments thus far in the Independents. Drake had to call in a few favors from friends that he knew in order to pull this off and, thankfully, nobody gave him grief for it. If anything, they were proud of Drake for taking care of his family the only way he knew how. By getting her the hell out of the Independents so she could make a real living and not struggle financially anymore. Deep in his gut, Drake knew Milla would make it in the WWE and be the top Diva in the company, but they had to give her the chance first. He owed a lot of people for making this video and hopefully it would pay off by gaining Milla a WWE contract.

"Fuck it, no turning back now." He muttered, stepping out of his car and headed across the street where the postal mailbox was.

Without a second thought, Drake pushed open the mailbox flap and dropped the videotape through it, closing his eyes. He could only hope he was doing the right thing for his sister. Rubbing his hands together, Drake turned and headed back to his car, driving away from the postal mailbox moments later. Even if he had a sudden change of heart, there was no way he could get the videotape out of that box without committing a felony. By this time tomorrow, it would be headed straight to Stamford, Connecticut, where WWE headquarters was located.

~!~

"Again!"

Milla rolled her eyes while she was perched on the top turnbuckle, working on her moonsault. Most female wrestlers added it to their arsenal, but Milla didn't want to be like everyone else. She wanted to be different, unique. Her finishing move was called the Moison – a move that went from a fireman's carry into dropping her opponent so their face smashed into her knee. Milla had taken the word poison and spelled it with an M instead of a P to name her finishing move. It was simple and classic, nothing too over the top since Milla was a simple woman. Her wrestling attire was a one piece that was burnt orange with black hemming throughout it. The attire was sleeveless, had a halter top style and stopped just below her breasts. Then the design changed to a crisscross that showed her belly button, which was pierced and it connected to shorts, everything molding to her body perfectly. The back was also a crisscross design that matched the front, showing off some of her back, so she couldn't wear a bra whenever she wrestled. She had 5 of them made specially and all were different colors, but the burnt orange was her favorite since she enjoyed the color orange most.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Drake demanded, standing in the far corner with his arms folded in front of his chest, eyeballing his sister. "Scared?"

"Fuck you, Drake." Milla growled and flipped herself back in the air, landing on the mat seconds later.

Drake smirked, loving to get under his sister's skin, especially when the practiced. "Better, much better." He commended, clapping his hands together a few times and pointed to the top turnbuckle again. "Another."

"No." She stood up and turned to face him, planting her hands on her hips. "I want to work on something else. If I do another moonsault, my brain is going to fly out of my skull." Milla had been working on it for 3 straight hours and couldn't handle flipping backwards anymore for the moment. "Let's spar."

Raising a brow, Drake always had reservations sparring with his sister because he didn't want to hurt her. Granted, she was a tough customer, but he was bigger than her and sometimes couldn't reign in his own strength. Still, Drake couldn't deny Milla anything, especially when she flashed those big light brown eyes at him pleadingly. Drake already had his hands taped up and his wrestling gear on, so there was no excuse he could come up with not to spar with her. Why did he always have to be ready to go?

"Alright, but nothing too brutal." Drake stated, rubbing his hands together and locked eyes with Milla, watching her nod.

They started slowly circling each other and locked up with Milla instantly putting him in a headlock. Drake smirked, tossing her away to bounce of the ropes and blinked when his back hit the mat from a shoulder tackle. Milla knew how to lay it in as Drake rolled over while she bounced off the ropes, doing a leapfrog over her head and then pulled her into a headlock of his own, flipping her over on her back. Milla twisted her body to get on her knees managing to get her to feet, using all of her strength to hurl Drake against the ropes and this time it was her hitting the mat, staring up at the lights. This went on for another hour before they called it quits for the day, promising to meet up later for dinner. Milla hit the showers, washing away the day's practice down the drain and then turned the sprays on cold to cool down her overworked muscles. An hour later, she finally stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, pulling her clothes out to get dressed when her cell phone went off.

"Great, what does he want now?" She muttered, sitting on the bench and frowned when her caller ID said UNKNOWN CALLER. Normally, Milla wouldn't answer her cell phone if she didn't know the number, but something told her to do it this time around. "Hello?" She said somewhat hesitantly, putting the speaker phone on so she could get dressed.

"Hello, is this Milla Brown?" An unfamiliar male voice asked, his tone completely professional.

Milla swallowed hard, wondering what this regarded. "Yes it is." She answered, pulling her white cotton panties on and pulled the towel away to clip her bra on. "Who is this?"

The man sighed with relief over the line. "Miss Brown, my name is Timothy Banks and I work for the World Wrestling Entertainment in Talent Relations." He explained, the sound of shuffling paper following. "I'm calling because we've received your tape and were impressed with your work."

Milla's jaw dropped and covered her mouth with her hand, standing there in her bra and panties, trying to remember if she ever sent a tape out to the WWE. That company was as high as a professional wrestler could go. If a wrestler, male or female, made it in the WWE, they achieved success, no matter how short of a time period they were in the company. This was huge and Milla had no idea how to respond, swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat, taking a deep breath.

"Miss Brown, are you there?"

"Y-Yes, yes I am." She cursed mentally for the stammer and stared down at her shaking hands. "Sorry, I'm just…I'm in a little bit of shock right now. Forgive me."

Timothy chuckled, nodding in understanding. "It's alright, just take a deep breath and calm down. I know this is a lot to take in, believe me. But I would like to discuss with you the possibility of flying out to one of our upcoming live events to do a dark match. Before we can sign you to a contract, you have to show us what you can do in the ring in person and then we take it from there. Call it a try-out match, if you want."

Was the WWE actually offering her the opportunity to wrestle in a dark match?! Milla couldn't believe it, feeling her heart pounding vigorously against her chest and was sure it would fly out at any given moment. There was no way she could tell them she hadn't sent the tape. That would be completely stupid on her part, not to mention committing career suicide. Milla felt her knees go weak and had to sit back down on the bench, grabbing the phone with shaking hands so she had something to occupy them with.

"When would you be available to come do a try-out match for us?" Timothy asked, jotting down notes and waited patiently for her to answer.

"I will leave that up to you because I'm free to come whenever is convenient." Milla congratulated herself for keeping her voice steady, trying not to show any nerves.

"There are no shows around your area anytime soon, but if you could fly out to where Monday Night Raw is this coming week, that would be great." The WWE never paid for a wrestler to come for a try-out, fully believing if they had the passion and drive, they would find a way to get to the venue. "Would that work for you, Miss Brown?"

"Absolutely." There was no way Milla could pass this opportunity up. It was once in a lifetime. "Where is Monday Night Raw located? I will purchase my plane ticket as soon as we end this phone call."

Timothy chuckled softly, liking her enthusiasm. "Des Moines, Iowa. We will send you a backstage pass along with some other information overnight so you are prepared. Please arrive at least 2 hours early to the arena so you can warm-up and do what needs to be done before your try-out match. We look forward to meeting you, Miss Brown."

The call ended and Milla sat there for 10 minutes straight staring down at it, trying to wrap her mind around what just happened. She had a dark match before Raw went live that was a try-out and it sounded like, if everything went well, she would end up leaving with a WWE contract. How the hell did WWE receive a tape of her? Finally feeling like she could stand without collapsing, Milla slipped blue skinny jeans on with a hot pink tank top, slipping into her white sandals. Grabbing her purse and gear bag, Milla headed out to go meet her brother for dinner as planned.

"What's wrong?" Drake asked a little while later, sitting across from his sister at the small diner they went to once a week. "You're barely eating your food."

How could Milla eat after the phone call she received earlier? Her stomach was in knots and she had no idea how Drake was going to react once she told him. "Sorry." She muttered, pushing the salad around on her plate and set her fork down, burying her head in her hands.

Drake was concerned now and reached across the table, taking her hand. "Talk to me, sissy. What's going on?" If anyone messed with her when he left the arena, he would kick the hell out of whoever it was.

Blinking, Milla felt the tears slide down her cheeks and squeezed her brother's hand, taking a deep shaky breath. "I got the most unbelievable phone call today and…I'm still trying to process it. I'm still hoping it's not a dream because, if it is, I never want to wake up again." She wiped her tears away with her free hand and Drake could feel her shaking.

"Who called you?"

Milla swallowed hard and let more tears fall, finally looking up at him from her plate. "Please don't be mad. It was WWE." She watched as his eyes went wide and then the biggest grin crossed his face, eyebrows furrowing. "What did you do, Drake?"

Drake turned sheepish, lowering his eyes from Milla and felt her hand pull out of his, knowing he had to come clean. "I sent a video to them of some things you've done so far and apparently they were impressed. Please don't be mad at me. I did it because I don't want you stuck in the Indies for the rest of your life like I am. I want you to make it big, Mills."

Milla stood up and walked over to stare down at him hardening, acting like she'd give him a tongue lashing. "Thank you." She then tossed her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and cried harder, feeling Drake hold her close to him cradling the back of her head with his hand.

"You're welcome, sissy. Now make me proud."