29. TELL THEM AGAIN
29
TELL THEM AGAIN
JACK
A ll at once, it was fight night at the FitzGerald estate. Jack gripped Penny’s hand as they entered the castle. Jade, Charlie, Bran, Meghan, and two other members of his corner team strode through the doors with them. That weird sense of déjà vu, of time and events overlapping, washed over him. The night he and Penny had married each other in the sight of the universe, what they’d done to each other when they’d let go and fallen into the Hunt. It bumped up against the last time he’d set foot in the cage nearly five and a half years ago, unaware that it would end in him leaving the sport he loved. Combined, the memories were almost overpowering.
Gripping Penny’s hand tighter, he kissed the back of hers, and she tried to smile. Her luscious lips spread wide in a grin he could tell was made with effort. She’d been upfront. She was scared. Despite that, she was here because she believed in him and wanted to support him. He’d never take that for granted again. But if he was going to stand a chance, he needed to stay focused, not on fear but on the fight.
The entryway was full of people, some of whom he recognized from the fundraising events and parties and the Halloween ball. Others were faces he’d seen on television and in films, and for the rest, he had no clue. They were either insanely rich or fawning to be close to power. He had no doubt the wagers on this were going to be astronomical. FitzGerald had told him he and La Roque would each get a share of the proceeds, no matter who won; he’d hinted at something close to €15 million each with a bonus for the winner.
“Think of all the punching bags you can buy with that,” Simon had joked over the phone with a sleazy chuckle. “You’d never get a deal like this from the league, at any rate.”
They gave their coats to an attendant, who handed them tickets and disappeared in a smooth rush. Jack paused to appreciate his wife’s figure in her dress, an electric blue that hugged her curves. Penny hadn’t been showing much, but overnight, it seemed her bump had popped out. Her new shape was incredibly sexy. He’d spent the night kissing that bump and every bit of her juicy body. All the while, he’d tried not to wonder if it would be the last time.
Entering the Great Hall, the others looked up and around with awe. The center of the room where the gold dais and the bed had been was completely transformed. The cage was set up smack in the middle, exactly as Jack had specified, set on a raised stage with a short set of stairs. A regulation-sized cage wouldn’t have fit in here, so he’d asked for a smaller one typically used in the underground scene.
Floodlights illuminated the octagon with a soft golden glow. The exterior of the cage was lined with rows of chairs, with a place of honor for Simon. His chair was an old-fashioned French piece of fluff designed to look like it belonged to Louis the Whatever. Maybe it was the real deal. Who knew? FitzGerald's money seemed to go a long way.
Far on the other side of the Great Hall, there was also a team of men and women dressed in soft white with an array of equipment in bags on the floor. A medical team. Good. La Roque was going to need them.
People buzzed back and forth, barely seeming to notice him. But he did see La Roque and Quinn standing with their corner team on the other side of the cage. La Roque’s stare was flat, spacey, as though he were already in the zone. Good. Motherfucker had better get ready for what was coming to him.
Jade whistled. “Look at all this opulence,” she said dryly. “It kinda beats the King and Queen for the day experience at one of those tourist-trap castles.”
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, I thought you were coddin’ me when you said it was a castle,” Charlie said with a whistle, looking around at the ceilings and the sculptures. “What kind of a place is this for a fight? What are ya, like, some bleedin’ tiger about to do tricks in a circus?”
“It feels that way,” Bran muttered, wearing a frown.
“Jack!”
Jack turned to watch as Simon gladhanded his way through the crowd, looking pleased as fucking punch. He wore a sharp, dark suit. Clarissa was nowhere in sight.
“Great to see you. Welcome back to my humble abode…and to the cage.” Those bright, almost eerily blue eyes scanned the guests, all talking with drinks in their hands and plates of hors d’oeuvres. Probably something expensive and nasty as fuck. “I trust that everything looks in order? I spared no expense. I got the best in the business to make sure everything was assembled precisely to your instructions.”
“Looks good,” Jack affirmed with a nod.
That said, Simon zeroed in on Penny, who stared back at him cooly. “Hello, Penelope. You’re looking lovely tonight. I’m glad to see you recovered from that unfortunate little spill in that video.” Simon leaned in close to her as Jack glared at him. “But I do confess, I’m not sorry it’s given us a chance to see each other again.”
“I can’t say the same,” Penny said flatly. “And it’s Mrs. Valentine.”
Simon only raised his eyebrows and grinned, clearly amused by her insult rather than offended.
“Very well, Mrs. Valentine.” He bowed to her, still smirking when he straightened. “Anyway, after the fight, you might want to go upstairs and visit Clarissa. She’s having a little gathering of her own. She won’t be joining us down here. She hates the sight of blood if she’s not the one spilling it. Over there…” Simon pointed to the right side of the square formation of seats. “Front row seats for Mrs. Valentine and any guests you’ve brought. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Diarmuid.”
Simon signaled to their old server, who walked over attentively. Jack could have wrung the man’s thin neck, remembering how he’d put his hands on Penny the last time they’d seen him. Fuck “just following orders.”
“Please show Mr. Valentine and his team the dressing area.”
“This way, please.” Diarmuid held out his hand, indicating they should follow.
From the corner of his eye, Jack saw La Roque being escorted out of the Great Hall as well. He was staring at Penny with a look Jack hadn’t seen before. Not his typical arsehole grin, like he was about to deliver a taunt. His expression was serious. Jack would gladly have walked over and cracked his skull in for even looking at her, but these self-important arseholes had come to see a fight between professionals. He was going to give them the show they wanted, ending with that bastard being carried out on a stretcher.
In the private room, the atmosphere was a little somber. The others were trading jokes softly when he came out of the ensuite bathroom dressed in his black silk trunks with white stripes down the side. Penny gave him an appreciative look; it was the first time she’d seen him dressed for battle. Charlie got his hands wrapped and helped him pull his gloves on, securing the Velcro tightly at the wrists. Jack flexed his fingers; the gloves fit perfectly.
Anticipation, excitement, and dread all bubbled in his stomach. In Vegas, he’d had no inkling it would be the last time he fought professionally. This night was different. Going in knowing it would be the final fight was bittersweet. The last “wild chapter” of his life was closing for good.
Someone was arguing outside the door. Jack nodded at Bran, who went to see who it was. To Jack’s surprise, his cousin James walked in. He cast a severe glance at the guard who was apparently securing the room but beamed a big smile at Jack. Same old James. Still with the slicked-back blonde hair, full dark blonde beard, and twinkling blue-gray eyes behind his glasses. The gray tweed suit made him look more like a stuffy professor than one of London’s most vicious mobsters. What a fucking sight for sore eyes.
“Made it, mate. Wha’ gwan?” James greeted him.
Grinning, Jack went to give him a short, hard hug. “Glad you could come. Is Summer out there?”
Summer was James’s wife of three years. His smile faltered for a quick second. “No. But I’d love to meet your bride. There she is. You must be Penny.” James turned that thousand-watt smile on her, and Jack could swear he saw those pretty brown cheeks grow a bit warmer. If it was anybody else but James…
“Hi, James. Nice to finally meet you,” she said and came over to give him a small hug.
“Likewise, love.” Pleasant, he went to shake hands with Jade, who blushed and went mute. Turning back to Jack, he grinned again. “Do you need a pep talk, mate, or should I just say go fucking kill the bastard?”
“Kill the bastard is good,” Jack said with a nod. “Talk for a minute?” He inclined his head toward a quiet corner. Penny graciously nodded. She and Jade returned to Meghan, who was giving James dirty looks from her seat like she always did. Cousin rivalry. She didn’t like the Carr’s having any claim on Jack’s familial affections.
“You didn’t tell me Penny was pregnant.” James’s eyes turned serious with his back to the others. “You know, there’d be no shame in hopping in me truck with your woman and heading to Manny for a bit till things calm down. Let these cunts get off on something other than watching you get your skull smashed in.”
“It’s not about them or for them. It’s me.” Jack was resolute. Sighing hard, James nodded curtly. “But if anything should happen…I told Bran to get her out of here if things don’t look like they’re going well for me. But now that you’re here, I’d rather it was you. Get her to America, to her family. Will you do that for me? Look out for her and my child. Promise me.” Momentarily overcome by the emotion clogging his throat and his whole chest, Jack had to stop talking.
“I will,” James said quietly. The glint of overhead lighting on his glasses hid whatever he might be feeling. “But I won’t need to. You take care of them yourself. Kill that bastard.”
They hugged, clapping each other on the back. James stepped away as Charlie announced, “Alright, alright, enough gum-flappin’. Anybody who ain’t carrying cotton swabs or a spit bucket needs to go.”
Meghan and Bran came over to wish him luck. After they’d left the room, and Charlie turned away to stare at the wall, Penny walked over to Jack as he shifted from foot to foot to begin warming up. He had that déjà vu again, this time of seeing her on the sidewalk in front of Mollie Malone. How incredible she’d looked the following afternoon, wrapped in that damned temptation of a dress opening the door with that big, white smile, ruining his plan to take it nice and slow. He remembered her passing the black and white photo of their tiny miracle across the kitchen island and that shy grin.
Slowly, she reached out and gripped his biceps gently as if touching something precious. She had to know she was the precious one. Jack was overcome again. All he could do was lean his forehead against hers, breathing in her air, soaking up her heat and her deep, abiding goodness. He knew what he was asking her to do, to witness, was a sacrifice for her. He vowed to himself that he was going to spend the rest of their lives making it up to her.
“Penny. Did I ever tell you you’re the bravest person I know?” he murmured.
“No, but I’ll take the compliment. Did I ever tell you I am so proud of you?”
Jack grinned breathlessly. “You don’t have to. I can see it whenever you look at me.” He lifted his head to look into the dark depths of her eyes. He saw the trust in them, her faith in them. Jack was seconds away from telling her they’d walk out, get in James’s car, and drive away. Instead, he said, “Don’t forget, you owe me a private performance. I want you to sing for me.”
“I will. I love you, Jack.”
That love was written all over her face, in every line, in the lean of her body toward his as if tethered by an invisible string. Love was all over her, inside her. The fact that it was for him was still almost unbelievable.
“I love you, too, angel.” Choked up, he said it again. “Love you so much.” And kissed her so deeply, so sweetly.
It was hard, but he forced himself to stop. Penny’s eyes were wet, but she held onto that smile for his sake. Maybe for hers as well. She wiped his mouth with her finger, probably taking off her cherry lipstick, then reluctantly stepped back. A slight tremor at the corner of her mouth almost undid him completely, but somehow, he held himself together.
“Okay. I think you’re ready. I’m gonna go find my seat. I’ll see you out there.” Penny walked to the door, but as she grasped the handle, she turned and said, “Do me a favor, baby?”
“Anything,” Jack said immediately.
“Beat the shit out of that guy. Then you come home to us.” Then she smiled, this time with confidence and that inner light that was as powerful as the sun itself. It powered him . Made him feel like he could do anything, even fly. Then she left the room.
Charlie turned around. At first, Jack thought he was joking when he wiped his eyes and blew his nose hard on a tissue, but there were real tears on Charlie’s face.
“It was all so touching ,” Charlie moaned. When Jack laughed out loud, Charlie scowled. “Enough of that, ya feckin’ eejit. Come on. Get them limbs warm, get ‘em movin’…”
They lapsed into the old rhythm, seemingly old as time itself, as Jack threw shadow jabs and elbows, warming up his arms and legs while Charlie talked him up. Jack fell deeper into the flow, seeking and finding that state where everything outside himself dimmed. When someone knocked on the door, he barely registered it.
It was time. The music he’d chosen burst into the air through the hallways and the Great Hall as he walked in with Charlie and his team. The thunderous beats of Pusha T’s “Let the Smokers Shine the Coupes” were on full blast; it had to be loud to penetrate the fortress he was building around himself.
The place was packed. Faces beamed and leered at him as he walked along the passage between the crowd. Some were cheering, and some were shouting with reddened faces. He was suddenly a kid again, with grown men screaming for him to destroy another lad just like him.
After all these years, after all he’d accomplished, he was back in The Meatgrinder. Jack answered their bloodthirsty call with a stone face, stone body, and a heart made of brick wrapped in barbed wire.
Still, he both desired and dreaded seeing Penny’s face in the midst of that madness, but he looked for her anyway. She was in the front row on the right, sitting between Jade and James. Surprisingly, Serena Gardner was on Jade’s other side, chatting it up with Meg. Bran wasn’t speaking to anyone, his face tense as it always was at Jack’s fights. And Jack had understood, as always, that although Deirdre couldn’t be there, she was cheering him on.
Climbing up the stairs and into the cage, Jack didn’t follow the old protocol of bowing to the crowd on all sides. He only bowed to Penny, to his family, with his fingertips pressed together. She clapped for him, beaming a smile his way. Charlie helped him pull his shirt off, and he stood flexing and warming his muscles as the crowd clapped and whistled. Then, his music faded out to be replaced with La Roque’s song. He recognized it. It was “Carnival,” by ￥$ and Kanye.
Fitting. This did feel like a circus, and they were the wild beasts on display.
La Roque appeared, strutting along the same path Jack had taken. But at the last minute, he stopped at the steps, and instead of climbing them, he veered off and headed for Penny. James immediately stood up and blocked him, but La Roque leaned around him anyway, saying something Jack couldn’t hear. His heart hammering in his throat, Jack watched as James and La Roque exchanged a few more words. Then, to Jack’s shock, James moved aside, hands balled into fists, while La Roque leaned down and spoke to Penny quickly. She looked dazed by the time he straightened. She nodded. Then La Roque finally came up the stairs, and James sat down.
What the fuck had he said to her?
Penny gave Jack another nod and a smile of reassurance as if to let him know whatever it was, it hadn’t been another insult or a threat, at least.
In the cage, La Roque didn’t bow to anyone. Not only did he not bow, he threw up two middle fingers, and the crowd yelled at him, booing, hissing, and laughing. Apparently, he hated these people and gave no fucks about showing it. It was a sentiment Jack shared.
While Charlie placed the mouth guard in his mouth, the emcee stepped into the center of the octagon. It was Alberto Bautista. Simon really had spared no expense to fly him in from his vacation in his parents’ native Philippines. With all the usual fanfare, Bautista announced their names, giving a rundown of their stats, although they didn’t matter. The crowd, their crazed screams, and their lust, none of it mattered.
Everything narrowed down to Jack and the other man, staring into each other’s eyes, gauging each other’s souls, the rest fading away as the music was turned down, then off. What he saw in La Roque’s eyes went beyond focus, past the desire for fame or money. It was old hate. But tinged with something else. Not fear, exactly. Jack couldn’t figure out what that look meant.
And Jack didn’t fucking care. He focused on his two objectives, as drilled in by Charlie. Number one: dodge blows to the head or the jaw if at all possible. Number two: exploit La Roque’s weaknesses, which they’d studied in his fight videos. There were a few.
Then, Bautista urged them to have a good fight and left the cage. No refs. No judges. No scoring. There would be the standard five-minute rounds with one-minute breaks, but no five-round max like there would be for a championship fight under normal circumstances. This was going to end either with a tap-out or a knockout.
They began to move, taking short, shuffling steps forward, then back, getting a feel for each other’s energy and movement. Jack extended a fist in a light punch, not expecting to make contact. La Roque accepted the unspoken invitation, coming in closer to throw a low kick to the outside of Jack’s knee. This went on for a minute or so until La Roque suddenly powered up and came in with a straight blast aiming for the head.
Dodged. The next punch, dodged. The third punch, dodged, while Jack countered right away, clipping La Roque on the chin. The buzz of making the first connection was short-lived when La Roque pulled his head down in a Muay Thai clinch and drove his knee hard into Jack’s solar plexus.
That fucking hurt.
Energy zipped through his body at the pain, dumping a big dose of adrenaline into his bloodstream while he retreated. He watched the other man’s shoulders. La Roque telegraphed his punches; he needed the reminder.
A snap kick to La Roque’s knee landed and hard. He stumbled back, his face showing shock. Then dark anger washed over his ruddy face. He charged in with a volley of fast punches to Jack’s face and his chest. Some got through. Stung like a bitch. Seconds after, Jack’s left eye blurred with wetness. Pretty sure it was blood mixed in with sweat.
This went on, back and forth, until the first round was ended by the buzzer.
They went to their corners. Jack smiled with satisfaction to see La Roque had broken a sweat. Good. Jack was going to make the arsehole work for it, unlike all the others who’d fallen after the first minute.
“How’m I doing?” he asked Charlie once his mouthguard was out. His breath was already fast and heavy. Five minutes anywhere else in the world was five years in the cage.
“You’re doing good, lad. This is a walk in the park, Jackie. A walk in the park. But you need to end this before you get tired like we talked about, yeah?” Charlie squirted water in his mouth while one of the corner team swabbed his cuts. “You’re not twenty anymore.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Jack said, panting.
Charlie shoved the mouthguard back in with a scowl as if to shut him up. The next round began. Jack got up and walked to the middle of the octagon.
He got his second wind. He felt good. In fact, he felt like a fucking Titan.
La Roque’s eyes narrowed into a cruel line, and he grinned. Jack wiped that smile off his face with a sidekick that went right at La Roque’s body. Maybe hurt his liver. He stumbled back, face dazed with pain.
He didn’t go down. Instead, he came back at Jack, seemingly in slow motion. His shoulder twitched, but Jack couldn’t move out the way fast enough. La Roque’s left glove sailed and crashed into his jaw, followed up by a sledgehammer of a hook into Jack’s right side.
Down. Jack came to on the mat as the crowd roared, a sound of mixed shock, wild glee, and outrage. Stars were twirling in a loop around his head, like that goddamned cat in the old cartoons when the mouse takes a mallet to his skull.
What brought him out of it were the series of heavy thudding kicks to his already-bruised ribs. He spit the sudden flow of liquid from his mouth. It was crimson.
Internal bleeding. Fucking grand.
So this was it. His first loss. Damaged again, maybe beyond repair.
Should’ve trained harder. Or maybe not come here at all.
Rest was calling him while the screams around him echoed in his head. But his glance happened to fall on the right side of the cage when La Roque dropped on top of him. Trapped him with his thighs and began pounding on his head and his face.
Penny. Staring at him with frozen eyes, her hand on her heaving chest.
James was pulling on her arm, speaking sternly, but she wasn’t listening. She wouldn’t fucking go .
“Get her out of here!” Jack tried to say, but he couldn’t.
The lights above La Roque’s head were so bright — that damned chandelier.
He thought suddenly of the same chandelier casting a prism of rainbows on Penny as she ran away. Stirring him. Getting his blood up for the chase. Predator hunting prey.
She couldn’t get away from him then.
And he wasn’t leaving her now.
Not now.
Not ever.
He remembered the plan. Summoned all his strength and pulled his arm out to snake it around La Roque’s neck, pulling him all the way in. The surprise move stopped the punching long enough for Jack to tighten his grip and roll them over. He suffocated the other man with his full body weight and fed him a few heavy elbows to the face, leaving La Roque just stunned enough.
Jack’s head was already spacey and fucked up. Might as well top things off with a full head butt. He smashed his forehead into his opponent’s nose. Reveled in the wet, crunching noise and the geyser of blood.
Vaguely, he heard the wild uproar surrounding the cage.
La Roque could still recover. No chance, motherfucker.
The tough guy, the big mouth who’d talked so much shit, tried to roll over and crawl away, but Jack caught him and slipped his arm around his neck. Created a lock with his other arm. Pulled La Roque’s back against his chest, securing his body with locked legs. And then he pulled that arm against La Roque’s throat and squeezed.
Bleedin’ bastard wouldn’t tap out. So Jack squeezed.
And squeezed.
And squeezed…until his enemy went limp. Became dead weight.
Jack kept squeezing, rage replacing adrenaline. Every insult, every slur aimed at Penny replayed in his head. In his mind’s eye, he saw her fall and felt the helplessness of watching it happen. Felt the anxiety of not knowing if his unborn child would be okay. Because of this man.
He kept squeezing, as everyone in the fucking place went silent.
The crowd’s energy was feral, grasping and greedy. Blood wasn’t enough.
They wanted death. A final sacrifice. They were salivating for it.
And he was going to give them what they wanted. What he’d kept locked inside him all his life, that darkness that raged to be fully unleashed.
The Hunter, finally going for the kill.
He would have given into it, would have given them what they wanted, if he hadn’t happened to see Penny’s face again. Imploring him with her eyes. Shaking her head, “No.”
The Hunter backed down in the face of her silent plea. He would do anything she asked.
Anything for Penny.
Meg suddenly shouted, “Finish him!” And Jack couldn’t help it. He pushed La Roque away from him and laughed. Lay there on the bloody floor and laughed at the sweetness of it .
It , that old familiar ecstasy of absolute and total victory, rushing through every cell in his body.
Realizing that he actually had felt this since he’d quit the fight five years ago, he laughed until he cried. This is how he felt holding Penny and making her smile. What a fucking tribulation he’d put himself through, only to see now that he’d had access to this glorious sensation all along.
Charlie and the team scrambled over and helped him up to standing. La Roque’s team was kneeling over him with a tiny vial of smelling salts, Quinn staring down at him with disgust. Jack ignored them. Ignored Bautista’s announcement of his victory, Simon and the crowd, Clarissa, who appeared and tried to grab his arm. He blocked out everything and everyone that wasn’t Penny.
She was clapping with tears streaming down her cheeks when he reached her.
“I’m disgusting,” he panted ruefully, looking down at his sweat-streaked, blood-smeared chest and gloves. “I’m gonna ruin your dress.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Penny said with a watery laugh. She cupped and kissed his face, all his cuts and welts. She was medicine, she was all the healing balm he needed.
“Alright, alright.” Charlie broke into the kissing to help him put his shirt on.
Then Penny put her shoulder under his arm and wrapped her own around his waist as they walked out of the Great Hall with their crew.
In the changing room, they firmly shut the door in the face of anyone who tried to get in. James was already busy popping a bottle of champagne that had been waiting for them in a silver bucket of ice. Jack lowered himself onto a bench, some frilly velvet affair, suddenly lightheaded.
“Baby, are you okay?” Penny asked, concern streaking across her face. “Maybe we should skip the champagne…”
Her words seemed to shrink and fade away as he coughed and coughed until he was breathless, until his mouth filled thick with the taste of metal.
He felt himself slump over. Heard her frantically crying his name as he went down.
Warmth.
Pain.
Movement.
Shadows and light danced across his closed eyes.
Then, through all that softness and pain, a voice. Singing so sweetly, with such purity, that it compelled him to awaken. The singing drew closer and closer still. And as warm lips brushed across his, he inhaled and was overtaken with scent. Peaches. Roses.
Jack opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed, his body thrumming with pain in so many places.
But Penny was there. Humming to him, her gaze running over his features with so much love, he found it hard to breathe again. But this time, for a good reason. The best reason.
She touched his face with gentle fingertips and ran them across his jaw. “Look who’s awake,” she said with a teasing hint of a grin. “You need a shave, silver fox Zaddy.”
Jack smiled. “Hi, angel.”