Trench recovers fast. He wipes blood from his mouth, laughs, and then comes back swinging with all his weight behind it. His fist catches Jax across the side of the head with a sickening crack.
I gasp.
Jax goes down to one knee.
My stomach twists in agony.
Get up. Get up. Use it.
Trench doesn’t wait. He grabs Jax by the shoulder and drives a knee into his ribs. I see Jax fold, hear air tear out of his lungs.
This was my idea.My chest tightens, overwhelming and nauseating. I push up from my seat without thinking, but Vic’s hand snaps around my wrist and yanks me back down hard.
“Easy,” he murmurs, smile still in place for the crowd. “You don’t wanna spook the odds.”
“I need—” I swallow it down. “He’s fine.”
Vic studies my face. “You don’t look like you believe that.”
I force a smile, lift my glass, and take a sip I don’t want. “He’s got this,” I say to both of us.
In the ring, Trench slams Jax into the concrete. Jax rolls, slow this time. Blood streaks his mouth. One of his eyes is already swelling shut. It hits me then, the awful truth: Jax will use his magic to save strangers, to protect boneheads, to stop things from getting worse for everyone else. But he won’t use it for himself—not if it costs him something, not if it turns him into what he hates.
My nails dig into my palm as I sit there, trapped, smiling, pretending.
Please be selfish, just this once.
Trench stands tall over him now—shoulders heaving, arms raised, as if it's done and the crowd is already his.
Jax doesn’t move.
I squeeze my eyes shut.To the Pit,I think, not knowing where the thought comes from or where to direct it.For fuck’s sake, you need him well. You need him angry. You need him whole. So do something.
A deafening bang echoes through the warehouse. Somewhere overhead, a loose sheet of metal tears free and slams against the ground.
The crowd gasps and I open my eyes.
Trench flinches. He misses the swing. He misses everything.
Jax is already up. Already behind him. I don’t even see the strike, only the aftermath—the way Trench’s body locks, buckles, drops like stone.
The crowd erupts. Vic claps beside me, eyes gleaming. “Well, well,” he says. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I force a smile, pretend my heart isn’t tearing itself apart in my chest, and I lift the glass like a toast, though my hand shakes.
“There’s more where this came from,” Vic says, handing me a wad of cash.
“Tuesday at the dock?” I ask, my voice even.
He grins. “Ten sharp.”
He calls me back. “And Lola,” he says, his voice roughens, all the false warmth gone. “If I find out you bargained with The Pit for that win…” He drags his eyes from me to Jax, then back again. “I’ll take both your heads, before The Pit can claim either of you.” He jerks his chin toward the wall.
I look up.
FIGHT CLEAN OR DIE DIRTY.
No bargains. No tar. No cowards.
