I strut down the ramp trying to look fierce and bad ass and not fall on my face at the same time. The boots are super hot and but painfully tall. At this moment I feel like strangling the sadistic bastard who invented stiletto heels, strangling him with my bare hands.

The crowd looks deathly bored and I can't really blame them. Not only is this an undercard match but it's a diva's match and they've never even heard of me. Hell, I wouldn't stay to watch me. I'd be hunting for the beer kiosk and maybe a certain John Cena so we could rise above the hate together. But, I digress. At this point the only way I'm going to get the crowd's attention is if I flounce down the ramp naked.

I'm coming out first because as a newbie I'm expected to be easy pickings for the more experienced divas. Ha, not that I've ever been easy pickings for anyone. Not only did Hunter teach me basic wrestling when I was a teenager, I went through a phase after high school where I was convinced I was going to be the first female MMA star. Hunter hooked me up with the best trainers available and I worked my ass off at it. Slowly, after about three years, it sank in that there was no interest in women's MMA and I was never going to get anywhere with it.

The audience pretty much ignores me as I walk down to the ring except for the few perverts who take the time to leer at me in my skin tight leather. I see one guy in front with a beer in his hand wiggling his tongue at me and laughing with his buddies. I feel my face turn red. This is humiliating. I'm about one step above wrestling in a jello pit wearing a string bikini.

I climb into the ring as the next Diva is announced, an underdressed hag named Aksana. She gets a small pop, partly because she is dressed waaay sluttier than me. She's wearing what looks like a mesh body suit over teeny tiny bra and panties and the drunk, horny, male demographic of the audience heartily voice their approval.

Hunter had given me the general idea of how these battle royales worked. It's a basic elimination match. Get your ass thrown out of the ring and you're out. Easy peasy. Technically, I'm supposed to wait until all the Divas are in the ring for the match to start. But hell, I'm here to make an impression and I was never one for following the rules anyway.

The second both of Aksana's feet are in the ring, I hit her with a superkick to the face that almost takes her head off and flings her back against the ropes. Thank you Shawn Michaels, not only for teaching me that move but for letting me watch you do kicks in tight pants for an entire afternoon! I grab her leg, heave her over the ropes and out she goes, squealing like a pig as she falls to the floor.

The crowd seems as stunned as Aksana. It took me all of 5 seconds to throw her out of the ring. Yeah, I cheated, but so what? I intend to win this match and I've got 7 more of these bitches to dump over the ropes. I'll only get the advantage of surprise the first time. I back up a little to the center of the ring, shifting my weight on my aching toes and waiting for the next Diva.

The next one up is Kelly Kelly. She comes out looking like Porn Star Barbie. Why do these chicks think treating their faces like a coloring book is a good look? Just as I thought, she'd seen me knock Aksana out of the ring and was approaching more cautiously, like I'm a dog that's going to bite her if she'd not careful.

I let her get in the ring and she does a quarter circle around me before trying to lock up with me. I feint, drop to the mat and sweep her feet out from under her. She lands on her ass and I drop kick her in the back of the head. I use my feet to roll her out of the ring as she's writhing around on the mat, holding her head.

I hear a yell from behind me and turn in time to see Eve flipping across the ring doing some kind of ridiculous cartwheel, back spring move.

Really? Does she think I'm going to just stand here and let her do whatever she's thinking she's going to do to me? She must have run down the ramp, trying to get the jump on me while I was busy with Kelly Kelly.

I simply sidestep and she goes flying past me. I plant a boot in the small of the back sending her slamming into the turn buckle.

The crowd is starting to take notice. I can hear Jerry Lawyer going crazy at the announce table, yelping like an old woman who's accidently wandered into a male strip club. Over the sound system I hear Beth Phoenix's music and know I only have a few seconds at best to put Eve away.

I jump on the middle rope, grab two handfuls of Eve's extensions and start slamming her face first into the turn buckle over and over. The crowd loves it! They count 1! 2! 3! 4! 5!

I let go and Eve reels backward. I dropkick her and she goes tumbling through the ropes just in time for me to get thrown down by Beth Phoenix.

Beth Phoenix, wow chick has some arms on her. I am way impressed, even if she's dressed like some hybrid Wonder Woman/Xena Warrior Princess. I know my advantage is completely gone now. She is my best competition so far. No way am I going to just bop her out of the ring before the rest of the Divas show up.

She blind sides me and I can't do a damn thing about it as she hits me with a double leg take down that slams me down on my back. She doesn't waste any time getting on top of me and hitting me repeatedly in the head. And I'm not talking about your usual diva bitch slaps. She is punching me like I stole from her grandma. All I can do is cover up and try to avoid getting hit in the face. Eventually, she gets tired of hitting me and gets up to stomp me for a while before scooping me up and slamming me back down to the mat. Did I mention girl has some arms on her?

Getting my ass kicked is so not part of my battle plan but that's exactly what's happening. I need a second to regroup but she doesn't let up. She pulls me up to my feet by the head and starts smacking me. Damn it, this is not happening! I blindly block one of her blows and smack her back. This really pisses her off and she shoves me hard. I hit the ropes and bounce back.

Then she makes a mistake. She bends over, totally telegraphing a backdrop. Beth must be so used to fighting divas who can't counter for shit that she's gotten sloppy and that one second of sloppiness is all I need. I grab hold of the top rope to keep from flying right into her clutches and kick her square in the head. She staggers.

I jump on her back.

I slap a rear naked choke on her ass and it's done. It takes about 10 seconds for her to pass out like Lindsay Lohan at an open bar.

I push Beth's limp body out of the ring, panting slightly. I'm getting winded. I've gotta bump up my cardio. My head hurts and my damn feet are killing me. I'd lose the boots if I had the time. I look up toward the entrance, wondering where the rest of the pack of Divas are. They should have all entered the match by now.

The Titantron is silent but soon I see someone emerging from the entrance. It's not another Diva. It's a pudgy, balding man with the horseshoe of hair he's got left scraped into a thin little ponytail. Who the hell is this?

He struts down the ramp to the ring, arms swinging, a look of self righteous indignation on his piggy face. He steps into the ring and walks around me, looking me up and down and applauding mockingly.

"Very, very impressive," he says in this totally bullshit voice. He sure doesn't sound very impressed.

"Who the hell are you?" I ask rudely.

"WHO AM I?" He suddenly yells in my face, showering me with spit and breath putrid enough to gag a maggot. I have to grab my own leg to keep from popping this twat in the face.

"WHO AM I? I am Paul Heyman! I am the man who revolutionized this business. I represent the biggest name in the WWE. But the real question is who are you? Who are YOU and what are you doing here?"

I wipe my face, and take a step back so I can get some fresh air. "My name is Raven Skyye," I tell him evenly. "And I'm here to..."

"Raven Skyye," he sneers, "Don't you mean Raven Skyye Helmsley?"

I stare at him, OK, yes, I am. So what? What's his point?

"Why are you so interested in who I am?" I ask.

"I think that it's only fair that all these fans know the truth." He says pointing out at the audience, "The only reason you are here is because of your last name. I think it's only fair that they realize you are just another in a long line of parasites riding on the coat tails of your cousin. Triple H has always been a lowlife schemer, a bottom feeder just waiting to leech off of anyone he could. He's a third rate wrestler who pulled his ass up by marrying Vince's skanky daughter and has used his back stage politics to surround himself with a bevy of ass kissers.

You're just another white trash relative Triple H has dragged out of the trailer park. You're nobody! You've come out of nowhere and landed a cushy WWE contract while my client has been treated like garbage by the so called COO. Triple H will never be a third of the man Brock is. Brock is the real deal. He is the biggest star this company has ever had and Triple H is just a jealous, conniving, overrated corporate rat who-"

OK, I've heard enough. My fist shoots out and nails him in the mouth. He yowls in pain and I tackle him, putting his tubby ass into the mat. Hunter may annoy me from time to time, but I'm not going to stand here and let this bald little twerp spew off about him like this. I straddle him like a bar stool, grab his wrist and twist it behind him, putting him in a kimura.

"Anything else you'd like to say about my family, asshole?" I hiss in his ear.

Heyman is screaming and thrashing like I'm ripping his arm off. Can we say drama queen? I'm not exactly breaking his arm, even though I could if I really tried. What do I do with him now?

Then, from the entrance, coming like he's been shot out of a cannon, charges a huge muscle bound beast built like a fucking tank. There are plenty of big men in the WWE, but this guy is in a class by himself. He's about 300 pounds of solid muscle, as broad as he is tall and looks like he could bench press a tractor.

My mouth literally drops open. Holy shit! What the hell is that? He looks vaguely familiar but I don't have time to think where I have seen him before as I drop Heyman and try to scramble to my feet. I trip over the damn boots. I turn my ankle and land hard on my ass.

Owwww! My ankle!

Owwww! My tailbone!

I use the ring ropes to haul myself up to my feet as this angry ox hits the ring. I feel the entire canvas bounce as he jumps in with both feet. It's like being at the epicenter of a damn earthquake.

I'm not one of these stupid bitches who think they can stand and bang with a guy more than twice their size, especially one that looks like a hairless albino gorilla on steroids. I know my limits and there's no chance I'm going to last even one second with this animal.

He walks up to me, his pale eyes pinning me to the spot. Heyman is back on his feet and he's yelling incoherently, pointing at me. I back off slowly, limping badly on my gimpy ankle until my back is against the corner post. I've got to get out of here but I never have the chance. Before I can even think about moving, he lunges, scoops me up like a five year old and drapes me facedown over his broad shoulders, holding me tight by the crotch and the back of the neck. He is wicked fast for such a lummox. I have no idea what he's going to do to me but I'm guessing it's not going to be good.

Shit. I close my eyes. Goodbye world. I guess I'll never live to see my dream of becoming the middle in a Shawn Michaels/John Cena sandwich...

From far away I hear the crowd suddenly go apeshit and then Hunter's in the ring. He hits the gorilla in the gut with a steel chair. He staggers a little but doesn't drop me. Hunter hits him again, square in the head. The chair makes a satisfying 'whack!' against his skull and the gorilla drops me to the mat. I roll out of the way so I don't get stomped to death by their feet as Hunter and the ox go at it, punching each other furiously like rock 'em sock 'em robots.

Hunter is still wearing his jacket and tie, as if he'd sprinted out from his office in the back the moment he saw this shit go down. The gorilla pushes him up against the corner post and drives his huge shoulder into Hunter's ribs over and over again. I see the steel chair lying in the ring, pick it up and bash the ox over the back. It barely fazes him but provides enough of a distraction for Hunter to squeeze out of the corner and kick the ox in the mid section. I hear someone yelling right in my ear. A hand grabs my arm.

It's Heyman. I almost forgot about him. He's hopping around like a grasshopper on a hot sidewalk, his limp little ponytail flying with each jump. I get the sudden urge to hit him in the face repeatedly. I bring the steel chair back and whack him in the forehead. He drops like a brained pig and I land on him punching his head until my knuckles start bleeding.

He's still yelling and squealing trying to turtle up to protect his head. Ugh, he's so annoying! Why won't he shut the fuck up? I wrap my arm around his neck, tuck his head under and put him into a guillotine choke. Finally, he stops yelling. He stops moving. Hell, if I keep this on him long enough, he'll stop breathing, stop living!

Hunter clotheslines the big beast out of the ring and he falls out right in front of me. I hear his head thunk on the ring apron. He staggers around a bit, shaking his head, then seems to realize what is happening to Heyman and reaches in, snags his foot and pulls him out of the ring. I hold on for a second and get dragged along with Heyman across the mat but I decide I don't want to end up on the same side of the ropes as that monster and let go.

Hunter has thrown off his jacket and ripped off his shirt. He's still built like a brick shithouse. His face is red with fury as he stomps around the ring cussing up a storm and demanding the ox get back in the ring so they can settle this RIGHT NOW!

I stare at him in awe. I haven't seen this side of him in a long time. With his hair pulled loose from the prissy ponytail he usually wears it in he looks like Thor, God of Thunder, about to lay motherfucking waste to his foes.

He's not Hunter anymore. He's Triple H.

Heyman has come to and is staggering up the ramp shrilly screaming curses at us, threatening to get his lawyer or some shit like that. The gorilla bristles, looks like he wants to jump back in and brawl some more but Heyman says something to him and the two of them back up the ramp and disappear backstage.

Hunter glares after them for a moment before dropping to his knees next to me.

"Rave, are you OK?" he asks.

I nod, "Yes, but I think I sprained my ankle."

"Can you walk?" He helps me to my feet and I try my weight on my left ankle. I grimace.

"Yes." I lie.

Hunter sees the look on my face. "No, you can't. I'll carry you." He starts to pick me up.

I dig my fingers into his shoulder, hard, "Don't you dare," I hiss. I am not going to be carried off on my first night on Raw.

"I can walk. Just...help me make it back stage." I whisper, "Please"

Thank god he doesn't argue for once. He slings my arm over his shoulder, practically carrying me anyway, but at least it looks like I'm walking back on mostly my own power. The crowd is going insane. He looks around and says to me under his breath "Shit, this might actually work out for you. The fans love it!"

I give him a look and we pause at the top of the ramp to turn and face the crowd. He holds my hand up and the crowd cheers even louder. I don't know if it's for me or for him but I'll take it.

As soon as we're out of sight backstage, Hunter picks me up and carries me toward his office. This time I don't protest. My ankle hurts so much I'm afraid it might be broken.

Hunter barks orders at a couple of security crew as they walk by "I want Lesnar and Heyman off of the premises! Find them and make sure they're gone!"

Lesnar, I suddenly put the name together with the beast.

"Lesnar? That was Brock Lesnar? Holy shit." I raise my head and look Hunter in the face, "Why the hell is Brock Lesnar coming after me?"

"It's my fault," Hunter says grimly, "I should have warned you but I never thought they'd go after you. Lesnar and I...are not getting along. That arrogant punk thinks he can just walk in here and own the place. He jumped me and broke my arm a couple of months ago. He couldn't cut it in the UFC and he's not gonna cut it here either."

"Well, fuck. Hunter," I say, "I nearly shit myself when he came busting out of the back. I still don't understand why, if he's got a beef with you, he's coming after me?"

Hunter looks sheepish, "I've been trying to antagonize him to get into the ring with me." he admits. "I kinda punched Heyman in the face a few weeks back." He pauses.

"Twice,"he adds then pauses again,

"And then Steph beat the shit out of Heyman a couple of weeks ago. He's trying to get back at me through you."

Greeaatt. This is just what I need.

"You know," Hunter says, "that was a pretty ironic, you putting Heyman in that kimura. That's what Lesnar did to me when he broke my arm."

"I should have twisted if off like a drumstick. Did you see how fast Heyman went limp when I put the guillotine on him?" I giggle.

Hunter actually cracks a smile.

We're at his office. He kicks the door open and lays me down on the leather couch. "What hurts?' he asks.

I try to flex my foot. "My ankle hurts and I think I broke my ass."

Hunter helps me pull my boot off and gently feels my rapidly swelling ankle. "It doesn't look good. I'd better get a trainer to take a look at it."

"And some ice" I call as he disappears out the door. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I'm suddenly exhausted and achy all over.

Someone drops a cold icepack on my ankle.

"Ohh, thank you," I say. Damn, did Hunter move fast or what?

"Not bad for your first night," a deep, sexy voice says. My eyes pop open. That is not Hunter. It's John Cena and oh my god he's standing less than a foot away from me, looking at me with those dreamy blue eyes. His incredible abs are right in my face. I want to rub them and make a wish.

My heart does flip flop gymnastics in my chest.

"Thanks," I manage to say.

"You looked good out there," he continues. Does he mean the match or my skin tight leather outfit? Does it matter?

"Uh, thanks," I say again. Oh, why do I have to be such a mumbling fool around this man?

"You have some sweet moves. And the way you laid out Heyman with that choke," he shakes his head, laughing, "I really think the Diva's division could use some new blood like you."

"I've only got a five show contract," There! I managed to say more than five coherent words to him. It's a start. "I kind of pissed Vince off when I met him. I don't think he likes me."

Cena shrugs his massive shoulders. I'm transfixed by the way his muscles ripple beneath his smooth skin,"Get over like that every night, and Vince won't care. Let me tell you a secret, as long as you make him money, Vince could care less whether he likes you or you like him."

He gives me smile and a wink, "Well, I've got a match but I'll be seeing you around Raven Skyye."

"Bye," I say breathlessly as he walks out the door.

And suddenly my bruised tailbone doesn't matter anymore. My sprained, possibly broken ankle? I could give a flying shit. Cena watched my match and he liked what he saw!

I flop back on the couch.

"Wheeeeeeee!" I squeal, kicking my feet in the air with glee.

"What are you so happy for?" Hunter asks suspiciously as he walks back into the office. He's brought a trainer who kneels to look at my ankle.

I open my mouth to gush about Cena but then remember how Hunter's reacted toward every other guy I've liked in my entire life. I can just picture him cornering Cena and threatening to rip his balls off. How would that go over? Maybe I should keep my big mouth shut for a while.

"Nothing," I say giving him my most innocent look.

This only makes him more suspicious. He knows me well enough to know that when I'm looking innocent, I'm anything but.

I love Hunter, but how am I going to convince him I'm all grown up now?