Chapter Twenty-Six #2
"She's probably tougher than she looks," Jax agreed, pleasing me with his assessment. “She’s dating this one, after all.” He gestured to me.
Pride surged through me at their approval. Of course my angel was perfect—I’d known it from the moment I saw her.
But having Connor and Jax see it too, having them accept her without question into our fucked-up family, meant more than I cared to admit.
"She's going public with us after the fight," I said, unable to keep the brag from my voice. "Posting about me on her social media."
Jax raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Bold move. Her followers are mostly the flowers-and-sunshine type, aren't they? You'll give them collective heart attacks."
I grinned, the image bringing me a surge of satisfaction. "That's half the fun. Plus, her fucker ex follows her from burner accounts. He'll see it."
Connor's expression darkened at the mention of Isla's ex. "The one you started messing with?”
"The very same," I confirmed, my own mood shifting at the thought of Noah's continued existence in Isla's orbit.
"Don't worry. I'm handling it. Systematically."
The knife in my pocket seemed to warm at the promise of future use.
The landing was smooth, the jet touching down on a private airstrip on the outskirts of Tampa.
Through the window, I could see the convoy of black SUVs waiting to transport us to the arena. Mara was already on her phone, coordinating with the ground team.
"Ready to watch me win?” I asked Isla, squeezing her hand as the jet taxied to a stop.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "You sound pretty confident for someone who hasn't fought yet."
"It's not confidence if it's a sure thing," I winked, bringing her hand to my lips. "And with you watching? No way I lose."
As we disembarked, the familiar heat hit like a wall. Isla's hand remained firmly in mine as we descended the stairs, Kim and Trina flanking us, their eyes constantly scanning the perimeter .
The convoy was impressive, four identical black SUVs with tinted windows, a security detail of six additional personnel spread between them.
Jax had spared no expense after the incident, hiring an entire private security firm to supplement Mara's team.
"This seems... excessive," Isla mumbled as we approached the vehicles.
I pulled her closer, pressing my lips to her ear. "Nothing is excessive when it comes to keeping you safe, angel. Nothing."
"The VIP box at the arena has been secured since yesterday," Mara informed me as she slid into the front passenger seat.
"Two entry points, both guarded. Bulletproof glass facing the arena."
I nodded, mentally adding these details to my own security assessment. Nothing would happen to the girls on my watch. "And during the fight?"
"I'll be outside the door with Kim and Trina. Mr. Graves and Easton will join them while you are in the ring."
Mara's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, her expression professionally neutral, but her message clear: they were taking no chances.
Isla's hand tightened in mine, and I glanced down to find her watching me with a mixture of concern and determination.
"It's going to be fine," she said softly. "I'll be perfectly safe with Connor and Jax alone. You just focus on winning."
I pulled her tighter against me. “I always win, angel. Especially now that I've got an angel worth fighting for."
The drive to the arena took us through downtown Tampa, the streets already filling with fight fans and media.
Billboards featuring my face and my opponent's loomed above traffic, promoting the match.
As our convoy approached the arena's private entrance, I felt the familiar pre-fight energy beginning to build .
That electric mix of anticipation and focused aggression that had carried me through countless other matches.
But this time, there was something new mixed in: a fierce protectiveness that centered entirely on the woman beside me.
I gave Isla one last lingering kiss before helping her from the vehicle.
As we entered the arena, security personnel formed a tight perimeter around us.
Tonight I would fight. Tonight I would win. And tonight, Isla will watch it all from behind bulletproof glass, surrounded by every protection I could provide.
Because she was mine. And I protected what was mine.
Our group was escorted through the arena's back corridors, my body practically shielding Isla from every shadow, every stranger, every fucking breath of air that might touch her.
The bulletproof VIP box waited at the end of the stairs—our fortress against whatever threats lurked outside.
My hand remained firmly at the small of Isla's back, fingers splayed possessively against her blue dress.
"You good?" I asked, bending to whisper against her ear, unable to resist nuzzling briefly against her neck.
Her vanilla scent grounded me, kept me from slipping into the dark place where I'd happily dismember anyone who looked at her wrong.
"I'm fine," she assured me, though her eyes darted nervously around the corridor. "Just... new to all this."
I grinned, deliberately lightening my tone. "What, you mean the armed escorts? The bulletproof glass? The paranoid boyfriend? Welcome to the glamorous world of boxing, angel."
Her laugh, though soft, eased some of the tension in my shoulders. Fuck, I loved that sound.
The VIP box door opened with a heavy metallic thunk as Mara scanned her credentials.
Inside was luxury personified, with plush leather seating, a private bar, and panoramic bulletproof glass offering a perfect view of the ring where I'd soon be fighting.
I guided Isla to the center of the couch and gently pushed her down onto the leather seat. "This is your throne for the evening, angel. Best view in the house."
Sierra settled beside her, with Estelle completing their trio. The sight of them together, safe and protected high above the arena floor, eased something wild in my chest.
Connor and Jax positioned themselves strategically, Connor by the main door, Jax near the glass, both with clear lines of sight to every approach.
I knelt in front of Isla, my hands framing her face. "Remember what I told you?"
She nodded, her ocean eyes serious. "Stay in the box. Don't leave for any reason. Trust only our people.”
"And if something feels wrong?" I pressed, needing to hear her say it.
"Tell the guys or Mara immediately," she recited dutifully.
"Perfect," I murmured, rewarding her with a gentle kiss. “My good angel.”
"I'll be watching the whole time," she promised, her small hand covering mine where it rested against her cheek. "I'll see you win."
The absolute certainty in her voice made my heart do stupid flips in my chest.
“Catalyst!” Coach Miller's voice shattered our bubble. He stood in the doorway, face heavy with impatience.
"Hands off your girl and get your ass to warm-up! We've got three hours till showtime!"
I didn't bother turning around, keeping my eyes fixed on Isla's face as I memorized every detail.
"Five minutes," I called back, not taking my eyes off Isla.
Coach groaned, mumbling to himself. “My fighters want to forfeit the title before they even fight for it...”
Connor snorted from his position by the door. "Better go, Catalyst. Before he has an aneurysm."
I sighed dramatically, making Isla smile. "The sacrifices I make for my career."
Before standing, I pressed my forehead against hers.
“Go win this so I can post it,” She whispered with a smile against my skin.
With one final, lingering kiss, I forced myself to stand. Every step away from her felt wrong, like tearing off a limb.
As I followed Coach down the corridor toward the locker room, my mind was already split—part focused on the upcoming fight, part monitoring the security feeds I'd hacked to keep eyes on the VIP box.
My opponent didn't stand a chance. Not with Isla watching.