Chapter 34 #3
I look back at the ring. The kid is weaving, dodging another wild swing, but he’s slowing. The brute presses his advantage, driving the kid back against the fence, the metal groaning under the force.
“He’s got heart, though,” Jax says, his voice tightening. “That’s a hell of a thing to see on a fresh face these days. Usually, they piss themselves before the first bell. Kid’s got grit. Bet he’s been eating his own teeth for breakfast since he was ten.”
“I didn’t realize you were into this kind of thing,” I say, noticing how focused he is.
“I’m not,” he says, not looking away from the fight. “But Matt won’t fucking shut up about it. I know all the local blood and guts by now.”
The brute lands a solid punch to the kid’s stomach, and the kid doubles over, gasping for air.
I turn my face and close my eyes. The crowd roars, sensing the end.
The big man is about to charge again when his boot skids like he caught a slick patch. He stumbles enough for the kid to come at him and hit him in the chin, following up with a short, brutal uppercut that catches the bigger man by surprise.
Beside me, Jax doesn’t cheer. He’s a statue of indifference. I let out a breath in relief. The crowd falls silent then erupts, louder than before.
The kid straightens up, his chest heaving. He’s really fighting back. He lands a hit. Then another. A quick, brutal combination that sends the bigger man reeling. The crowd goes feral.
It’s in that exact moment of chaos, when the brute is off-balance and exposed, that the swinging bare bulb above the ring flickers.
A tiny, almost imperceptible stutter. But it’s enough.
The brute’s eyes dart up, and the kid uses that split second of distraction, to land the final, fight-ending blow.
The brute crumples to the floor like a sack of wet cement.
The warehouse explodes. I turn to Jax. His face is a mask of calm, but I saw it. I know I did.
“Did you just help him?” I whisper.
He turns to me slowly, a picture of innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Lola. Kid just got lucky.”
I step closer, getting in his face, my finger jabbing into his chest. “Don’t give me that. The light. It flickered. Right when he needed it. You did something.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “And what if I did?” he murmurs. “I am, after all, Tar City’s vigilante tonight. Can’t let the bad guys win. Ruins my brand.”
“This isn’t a game, Jax.”
“Isn’t it?” He leans in, his eyes dark and intense. “Pretty sure the stakes were twenty minutes of your ass. And it looks like I’m winning.”
I push him back, harder this time. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”
A slow grin spreads across his face.
“Question of the day,” I push, cutting off whatever smart-ass remark he was about to make.
He lifts a brow.
“How often do you use your magic to help people?”
His reaction is immediate, a subtle tensing of his shoulders. He turns away from me and reaches for another ashbrew off a passing tray, he downs half in a single pull.
“I try not to,” he tells me. “But then sometimes I wonder,” he continues, “the tar takes so much. Maybe, maybe I should give a little back to this shithole.”
That’s when I see in his eyes, the weight.
The burden. A penance. He’s not just helping people; he’s trying to balance a scale that’s been tipped his whole adult life, a scale that the city, the tar, has been actively weighing down.
Maybe the whole vigilante thing is a little more than just a role he’s playing.
Jax studies me for a long moment, then he sets his empty glass on a crate and rolls his shoulders like he’s shaking off the weight of what he just admitted.
“Looks like Lola lost,” he says, voice rough but teasing again. “I want my reward.”
I glance back toward the fight pit. The crowd’s still loud, bloodthirsty.
“We never really established rewards.”
“Yes we did,” he says, stepping closer. ”I win, I get your ass for twenty fucking minutes, not one less.”
“And what if I win?” I ask, challenging him.
“You already lost.”
“Then raise the bet.”
He lifts a brow, intrigued. “I get your pussy. Then your ass. Twenty minutes each. In this exact order.”
A breathless sound comes out of my mouth, part shock, part excitement. “Fine. But if I win…” I pause. “I want you to get a piercing.”
He laughs, a low, arrogant rumble. “Think I’m scared of an earring? In case you haven’t noticed. I got a few already.”
I pull back to meet his eyes, my own voice turning into a deadpan whisper. “That dick of yours is boringly intact.”
His laughter dies in his throat. He stares at me, and I think I’ve gone too far, that I’ve finally broken through the swagger.
“Shit… fine.”
“Six of them,” I push my advantage. “I want a full ladder. On top, just to please me.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a delighted, goddamn terrifying sound. “Fucking savage rabbit… you really know how to raise the stakes, don’t you?” He looks at me. “Anything else, or are we done negotiating the terms of my surrender?”
“Let’s play.”