Chapter 31 Fighter
Itear my eyes from Jace, shaking out the heated fog clouding my thoughts, when the words leave my mouth.
“I want to fight.”
Noah turns to me so fast it’s almost comical. “You what?”
“I want in,” I say, louder this time. “I want to fight.”
Luca blinks. “You mean like… metaphorically?”
Tex’s brow furrows. “Isobel—”
“No.” I straighten my shoulders. “I don’t want to sit on the sidelines. Not tonight. Not after today. I want to bleed it out, same as you.”
A beat of silence.
Jace is the only one who doesn’t look shocked. He’s watching me like he already expected this.
Noah steps in front of me, expression soft but protective. “I’m not saying you can’t… I’m just saying maybe we think this through. The Cage doesn’t go easy.”
“I don’t want easy,” I snap.
Luca lifts both hands, palms out. “I mean, personally I think it’s kinda hot, but—”
Jace cuts him off. “She’s in.”
Everyone turns.
“What?” Noah says.
Jace doesn’t blink. “She wants in. She’s in.”
“You’re serious?” Tex asks.
“Completely.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not just saying yes to prove a point?”
He meets my gaze evenly. “I’m saying yes because I know what this night means. And because you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t take the shot.”
Something twists in my chest.
Jace glances toward the edge of the ring where the matchmaker, a heavily tattooed man in his thirties with an iPad and a headset, is scrolling through the night’s lineup.
“I’ll get you in.” He disappears into the crowd, moving with that same quiet command he carries everywhere. The other boys hover around me like an informal security detail, all three tense.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” Noah says.
“I’m not.”
“You’ve already made your point,” Tex mutters.
“Exactly. And now I’m going to make it with my fists.”
Luca whistles. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Jace returns a minute later. “You’re up next.”
I take a slow breath.
Then pull my jacket off and toss it to Noah.
He catches it without comment.
I tug my sheer top over my head, leaving just the lace bralette underneath. The air hits my skin and makes everything feel sharper.
I tie my hair into a high ponytail and flex my fingers.
Jace leans against the railing, arms crossed.
“You better not have given me someone easy,” I say, cracking my neck.
He scoffs. “Please. You think I’d let anyone go easy on you.”
Jace and I move downstairs. We move to the entrance under the guys; they won’t be able to see us from this side. The concrete feels colder near the edge of the ring.
The lights overhead flicker against steel beams, casting long shadows across the walls. The current match is still going, two older Guild guys circling each other like wolves, both bleeding, both refusing to give an inch. The crowd’s eating it up.
I stand just outside the gate, heart steady, breath even.
My fingers twitch, not from nerves. From anticipation.
Jace stands beside me. He hasn’t said much since we left the others.
His presence is solid. Heavy without pressing.
He watches the ring, calm. He’s probably already calculated the outcome.
The roar of the crowd swells as one fighter slams the other into the floor. Dust kicks up. Someone yells for blood.
“Is this your way of getting rid of me for good? Letting someone beat me to death in a fight?”
Jace’s eyebrow arches, then he scoffs, shaking his head.
“Why’d you say yes?”
He looks at me again, waiting for me to elaborate.
“To the fight,” I add. “You didn’t even hesitate. The others did. But not you.”
He studies me for a moment, eyes unreadable.
“You need this. Not to prove anything to us. Not to be strong. But you need to feel that you’re not a victim. Not tonight.”
The crowd screams again. A whistle blows. The match ends. Blood and sweat stain the floor. My name is called over the speaker. Jace turns fully to face me.
“You go in there,” he says, “and you fight for yourself. Not for anyone else. Not for what he did. For you.”
A beat.
“Just don’t break anything you can’t bandage. Lucian might actually kill me if you do.”
I smile.
“I make no promises.”
The gate swings open. The world narrows. I step into the ring.
The noise fades behind me, a distant echo of voices, boots on concrete, the metallic slam of the gate locking behind me. The lights overhead burn white-hot, casting long, stretched shadows across the floor. It smells like copper and dust and old sweat.
Across from me, my opponent steps in. She’s tall, wiry, with muscle and coiled tension. Her eyes flick over me once and she smirks like she’s already decided how this is going to go.
Good. Let her.
She’s older. Her knuckles are taped and bloodied; this isn’t her first fight. But that doesn’t scare me.
It focuses me.
The ref steps into the center. No introductions. No rules. Just a hand lifted, then dropped.
Begin.
She comes at me fast, a straight punch aimed at my jaw, sharp and sudden.
I duck under it, the motion instinctive, clean.
She follows it with a knee — fast — but I twist, catching it on my hip instead of my ribs. It still hurts, but pain’s never been a thing that’s stopped me.
I snap back with an elbow to her side, then pivot and drive my boot into her shin. She stumbles, just a bit, and I close the distance, slamming my shoulder into her chest.
We hit the ground hard.
The breath punches out of me, but I recover first, twisting on top of her.
She snarls, grabbing my ponytail, yanking back hard, but I let her. Use the momentum to swing my body around, wrench her arm across her chest and jam my knee into her sternum.
A satisfying crack.
She grits her teeth and bucks up, knocking me off. We roll across the concrete. My shoulder scrapes raw against the floor, friction-burn and blood.
We both come up fast. This time, she hesitates. I spit blood. Smile. And that’s when it shifts. She comes in reckless, annoyed now. Sloppy.
Big mistake.
I block the first hit, then jab once, quick into her gut. Not enough to drop her. Enough to wind her. Then I spin low, hook her ankle, and drop her flat on her back.
Her skull thuds against the floor.
The crowd howls. But I barely hear them.
She’s dazed, still moving, but slower now. Her limbs are heavy. I close the distance, plant my boot beside her ribs, and crouch.
“Don’t underestimate me,” I say, breathing hard.
She snarls something. I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears. Doesn’t matter.
She reaches up for one last grab, but I catch her wrist midair, twist it behind her back, and press my forearm to her throat.
“Yield,” I grit out.
She fights it. For two long, ugly seconds, she fights it.
Then taps twice on the floor.
The ref shouts. The whistle blows.
It’s done.
My heart’s pounding in my ears, breath coming in hard, shallow pulls, but I don’t feel weak. I feel alive. My skin hums. My fists still clench and unclench at my sides like they haven’t caught up to the win yet.
I step back. Stagger. The pain’s sinking in now, my ribs ache, and I’m bleeding from somewhere near my elbow. Doesn’t matter.
I won. I fucking won.
Every nerve in my body is buzzing. Electricity is alive under my skin.
The gate swings open again, and the first thing I see is Jace. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t cheer. He just offers his hand.
I take it.
He pulls me out of the ring, steady and sure.
“Better?” he asks under his breath, he looks down at our hands then drops it.
I blink. “That was…”
His gaze drags over my body and I feel it.
The noise of the Cage fades until it’s just us, the air between us pulled taut.
Humming with adrenaline. I should step back.
Back away from this man who’s been nothing but an asshole to me.
But tonight, he understood what I needed.
I’m caught in his orbit, aware of every inch of space between us.
His jaw tightens, something dark flickering in his eyes, but it’s not anger. It looks like restraint.
I grab his shirt and pull him to me, our lips crashing together. For a moment, he’s stiff, but then his arms wrap around me, one hand cupping the back of my head to hold me to him.
He pulls away, panting, eyes searching mine.
“I’m not fragile,” I pant, gaze steady. “Neither are you.”
Something snaps.
Jace lifts me, and my legs wrap around him. He walks up to the far wall, hidden in the shadows. As soon as my back hits cold concrete, his lips are back on mine.
“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he growls into the kiss, nipping at my bottom lip.
His lips move across my jaw, trailing down to my throat. I gasp and his hands are hot against my skin, every touch another zap of electricity. My hands tangle in his hair as a soft moan escapes me.
“Jace…” I breathe.
“Mine.” He bites the base of my neck.
My eyes fly open and my hands push against his chest. “Excuse me?”
Jace’s eyes are wild, a storm raging behind them.
“You’re mine.” He breathes. “I gave them all a chance. They swung, they missed. But you? You’re looking at me, not them. You feel this. And you know exactly who you belong to.”
I blink, the electricity fading fast. I unwrap my legs and slide down his body. I fight back the groan that the friction creates.
“Say it. You’re mine.”
“You don’t get to demand that I’m yours, Ravencourt. That was just heat of the moment, nothing more.”
I step aside but Jace mirrors me. “Try to run, Isobel. I’ll catch you. Every time. And you’ll thank me when I do.”
I push him aside and head toward the stairs, making my way back to the others.
Noah waits with a towel already in hand, Tex nodding, and Luca grinning like he won the lottery.
Luca whistles. “Remind me never to bet against you.”
Noah hands me the towel. “You good?”
I grin, patting the towel over my face and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m really fucking good.”
The crowd is still murmuring as we make our way up the next stairwell, but it’s different now. I hear it.
“That was Ashthorne’s kid.”
“Did you see that finish?”