“Who’s he up against?” I ask.
Tex gives a tight shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“Because no one beats Jace in the Cage.”
Noah nods. “He doesn’t go in often. But when he does…”
“It’s always good,” Luca finishes, watching the pit with a hungry gaze. Like he’s ready to devour the violence Jace is about to bring.
Jace steps into the ring and the noise changes.
It doesn’t spike, it drops. Like the crowd knows better than to scream at a loaded gun.
His opponent is already in the ring, broad, heavily inked, cocky in thatI think I’m the main characterkind of way. He grins when he sees Jace and rolls his neck like this is going to be fun.
It isn’t. The second the match starts, Jace doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t waste energy. Doesn’t circle or bait.
He strikes.
Fast. Precise. No flair. No drama.
Every movement is exact. Controlled. Like he’s mapped the entire fight in his head before he stepped into the ring.
His opponent goes for a haymaker. Jace slips it like smoke and buries an elbow into his ribs so hard the man stumbles a few steps before recovering. But Jace doesn’t let him. He’s already there, a knee to the gut, a palm to the throat, a sweep that drops him like a puppet whose strings have just snapped.
The guy tries to get up. Big mistake.
Jace steps in again, heel slamming down an inch from the guy’s head. Not a hit, a threat. A warning.
Stay down.
The crowd is dead silent. Luca’s eyes shine with mirth. The match is called. And Jace just… steps back.
Like he wasn’t one second away from shattering someone’s spine.
He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, breath steady, jaw clenched. No gloating. No emotion. Just that calm, unreadable mask.
Heat rushes through my body. Maybe I’m more messed up than I thought. Because his violence is exciting.
He leaves the ring and his eyes lock with mine.
I don’t move. Because suddenly, I understand something I didn’t before.
Tex fights because he’s burning. Jace fights because he can.
Because power isn’t the tool, it’s the baseline. And he only shows it when he chooses to.
He stops in front of me. Still breathing a little hard. Still glistening with sweat.
“You should be careful staring like that…”
“Like what?” My voice is breathier than I would like.
“Like you like what you see.” His muscles flex, every vein popping in his arms. “I might take it as a challenge.”
31 FIGHTER
