Page 150 of Jensen

Leland shakes his head, seething blood and spit out from between his teeth. He’s like a bull going for a red flag, charging at Jensen and reeling as he sidesteps, flipping sides of the pit. Dust rises under their feet. Sweat gleams down their skin, glittering in their soaked hair. Jensen is on defense again, going in, going back, never letting Leland make contact.

The crowd is livid.

They’re screaming, rattling the edges of the pit like animals.

There’s a brief moment when they both pull back. Then, Leland surges, raining down punches like it’s his last stand. Jensen’s eyes widen, flashing in the firelight. He sidesteps, catching a hit to the shoulder. It’s a graze, barely throwing him off balance.

Bolstered, Leland swings wide.

Jensen ducks and—

Bam.

Jensen goes in so fast, I can barely follow his punches. But I think he hits Leland in the chest, in the throat, in the right side of his ribcage. Leland stumbles, body jerking as he takes the blows. Jensen drives forward without missing a beat. This is the Jensen I saw in the ring in Montana—brutal, relentless, beating his opponent without mercy.

The last hit spins Leland halfway sideways. Lightning fast, Jensen hits him in the back of the head, turning him the rest of the way around, and takes out his left knee with his boot.

Crunch.

Leland’s upright for a moment, suspended in time. I see Jensen’s eyes flare, and he spits. Then, he swings hard.

Boom.

Leland goes down like a building collapsing. One second, he’s upright, and then, he’s in the dirt. It happens so fast, and it’s so neat, like folding up a lawn chair.

Jensen turns his back on him for a half step. Then, he reels around, drops to his knees straddling Leland, and starts beating the shit out of him. The crowd takes a unanimous breath. The only sound is a meaty crunch over and over. Then, they start screaming and rattling the fence and overhead cage.

They’re losing money, but they don’t care. This is the blood they were promised.

My stomach roils.

I saw Jensen take out those men with an AK, but I’ve never seen him like this. One boot braced, one knee cocked. Arm going down like a machine, just pounding. Blood spatters, beading in the dust. He’s red from hand to elbow.

My shaking hands are over my mouth.

Oh my God, he’s going to kill him.

Everyone seems to realize at the same time I do that Jensen is not letting Leland walk away from the pit tonight. They get quiet and start murmuring. Then, there’s a commotion in the crowd. Men in dark shirts with rifles strapped to their backs start pushing through. They kick down the gate, breaking the lock, and stream into the ring before anyone can react.

Brothers runs in from his corner, hands up, shouting, but the Caudill soldiers get there first.

Two of them grip Jensen’s upper arms and haul him back. Another pulls Leland to his feet. He’s conscious but bleeding badly. Jensen starts fighting as they force him down to his knees.

No, no, please, don’t hurt him.

I dash down the steps and enter the crowd. I’m at the edge of the pit when the bodyguards catch me in an iron grip. I’m no match for their brawn. It takes only one of them to pin my arms behind my back.

“Jensen,” I scream.

His gaze flickers up, locking with mine.

I’ve never seen his eyes so dark.

Brothers breaks into the center of the ring, reaching for Jensen, but he’s too late. Two more of Leland’s soldiers haul him away, pinning his arms behind his back. I’ve never seen Brothers like this before. He reminds me of the Pentecostal preacher in the church down the road from Mama’s. Eyes of fire and brimstone. Righteous anger burning so bright.

Leland wipes the blood from his face and turns to face Brothers.

“Get him out of here,” he says. “Get everyone out of the clearing.”