Page 84 of Hot Irish Halloween

“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. Lovewas 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 poweredhim. 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 sotouching,” 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 SmokersShine 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 Roqueleaned 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’sweaknesses, 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.

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