Page 148 of Jensen

My God, this man has a death wish.

The referee steps back to the gate, puts two fingers in his mouth, and whistles. The crowd roars, moving in a wave to the edge of the cage. I’ve never felt anything like this before. My heart is in my mouth, off beat. Everything tastes like metal. I think I’m biting my tongue. The energy is thicker than smoke, and it’s making me sick to my stomach.

I can’t pass out, not while Jensen is in the pit, fighting for our lives.

I can’t go and faint on him.

Desperate, I lean back to the bodyguard. “You got any whiskey on you?”

His jaw twitches, but to my surprise, he pulls a flask out of his pocket and hands it over. Grateful, I drain the little left and pass it back.

Leland starts moving in. Jensen goes sideways, a slow evasion. Why is he doing that? He didn’t fight like that back in Montana. Is it because Leland has the advantage? Or is there something I don’t see?

Leland comes a few yards in. Jensen starts heading his way, halfway between his corner and the gate. From the corner of my eye, I see Brothers standing by the platform, arms crossed. He looks like he just did a line of coke with his eyes blown out like that, wider than an owl.

Leland puts his fists up. Jensen mirrors him.

They circle for a half a beat. Then, Leland swings, and Jensen side steps. I don’t know a lot about fighting, but it seems to me, Leland is leaving too much of his body open. His defense is looser than Jensen’s, just from having watched him fight twice before.

Bam.

The crowd roars as Jensen catches Leland in the ribs, darting back before he can retaliate. His strategy is starting to make more sense now. He’s got the advantage of being quicker, and he’s leaning into it.

Leland surges, and Jensen parries him back using his palms. He’s light, swift, but more importantly, he’s in control of his emotions, and it’s working. He swings, hitting the same spot on Leland’s ribs. The rage, the tension, from Leland is palpable, and it scares me.

The referee holds up the chalk scorecard.

Two to zero.

Leland doesn’t like that, and he pulls back, circling. His eyes meet mine across the pit, and the look he gives me chills me to my core.

Just brutal rage.

I shrink back until I can’t go any further. The bodyguards are an iron wall behind me. There’s no way out of this but forward.

Leland circles back, and Jensen mirrors him again. It’s impossible to tell if he’s playing with Leland or fighting in earnest. This time, they get close, but neither of them give up the defensive position. They just circle, feigning a few times, then back up. Nothing happens for a couple of agonizing minutes. Then, it all happens at once.

Leland comes in with a right hook. Jensen ducks, but not far enough. It catches him in the forehead, sending him stumbling.

No, God, please.

The crowd gasps then roars. They’re screaming, beating on the spiked fence. More money pours into Leland’s bucket on the betting table.

Jensen recovers fast. He’s not bleeding, but there’s a mark above his left brow. He shakes his head once, and they circle again until the pressure gets too intense and they have to move in. Every step they take, the crowd screams. It makes me sick, the way they’re eating this up, not knowing how much is on the line.

My vision goes hazy. I blink hard, trying to clear the tears.

Jensen moves in to meet Leland, but this time, Jensen swerves to the other side. Leland’s right side is open for a fleeting second, and Jensen takes it, swinging and hitting with a crunch that echoes over the clearing. Leland reels, but Jensen keeps going, raining down blows until my husband falls to his back with a thud, throwing up dust.

Jensen turns around, spitting into the dirt.

The crowd goes silent.

The referee starts counting with big, exaggerated gestures. Leland scrambles to a crouch, eyes dark and narrowed. Then, he’s up and coming at Jensen fast. Jensen stumbles, backing up, moving to the side to avoid being hit head on. Leland’s fist catches him in the same place as before, but this time, the skin splits. He lurches back, jaw rippling as he clenches his teeth.

Crimson trickles down his face and neck.

The crowd goes wild.