Kinda

Susan's boots dangled a foot off the ground as the Voraxian's grip tightened, his tusked face splitting into a grin that smelled like fermented meat. The crowd's roar dulled to a distant buzz in her ears. She tapped his wrist twice—the universal pit signal for concession. His piggish eyes narrowed. "Little human surrenders?" he growled, shaking her like a ragdoll. Susan wheezed out a laugh, blood trickling from her split lip. "Nah. Just choosing... alternate payment."

The Voraxian's grip loosened just enough for her to suck in a ragged breath. He sniffed her neck, his wet snuffling sending hot, rancid air down her collar. "Weak flesh," he mused, dragging a claw down her stomach until her shirt split like wet paper. The crowd's murmurs sharpened into eager whistles. Adam's voice cut through the noise—"Susan, you don't have to—" She shot him a look over the Voraxian's shoulder, her grin all teeth. "Watch me."