Page 70 of Fighting Jacob

Doubt flourishes in my gut when Jacob accuses Curtis of cheating. For a man with no morals, Curtis doesn't like being accused of unsportsmanlike conduct. He's up in Jacob's face in an instant. If Isaac didn't place himself between them, the spectators would get double their money tonight.

“Let it go, Jacob,” Isaac warns Jacob before shifting his focus to Curtis. He doesn’t say anything to him. He doesn’t need to. His stern gaze is enough to have Curtis stepping back.

Although he’s backing away, Curtis doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. “Do you always let others fight your battles?”

It takes more than a glare for Isaac to hold Jacob back. It takes three men. “Name the time and the place, and I’ll be more than happy to kick your ass,” Jacob shouts over the men he’s flinging off as if they’re weightless.

“And lower myself to your standards? I’m the heavyweight champion in our region, yet you expect me to fight you in a second-rate match just so I can teach your dumbass a few more lessons?”

I can't hear what Jacob shouts next, but I'm reasonably sure he's seconds from murdering the men keeping him away from Curtis—even more so when Curtis's focus shifts to me. His gaze is highly demoralizing when he scans my frame. He takes in my fringed shorts and fitted shirt as if I'm standing before him naked before returning his eyes to my face. “Until next time.”

He finalizes his cocky statement with a wink before galloping down the stairs. Even being held back by men his size, Jacob manages to grab the scruff of his shirt on his way by. “The only reason you won’t agree to fight me is because you know as well as everyone else in this room that I’ll beat you this time around, even if you cheat.”

The drumming of the crowd’s feet on the stadium floors shows they agree with Jacob’s statement. If Curtis leaves now, he’ll forever be seen as a coward.

Never one to back away from a fight, Curtis yanks himself out of Jacob’s grasp before shifting on his feet to face Isaac. “I’ll be in contact.”

The crowd roars in victory as they do every time Jacob wins, but not an eye in the house leaves Curtis until he disappears through the tinted arena doors—not even mine.

“As much as I’d love for this to happen, you can’t fight him, Jacob. You’re banned from professional fighting, and he’s contracted to only fight for them.”

Jacob sidesteps Isaac’s concern as quickly as he does his body. His focus is on one thing and one thing only: me. After his eyes scan every inch of my body and face, he raises my throbbing hand for a more thorough inspection. It’s the one I used to punch Curtis.

“Your knuckles are swollen. We need to ice them.”

Before I can agree or disagree, he curls his hand around my non-injured one before galloping down the stadium stairs. His strides are so clunky, I nearly miss what he murmurs to Isaac on the way past, “If you organize it, I’ll fight exclusively for you for another twelve months.”

When we enter the locker rooms at the back of the arena, Jacob lifts me to sit on the counter near the sink, then ambles to the other side of the room. He snags a handful of ice cubes out of a large chest before wrapping them in a blue dishcloth. He's so gentle when he places it on my swollen knuckles, if I hadn't felt the coolness of the ice, I wouldn't have realized he was touching me.

“It doesn’t hurt... much.”

Jacob doesn’t take my comment playfully, like I did when he said it the night we met. The groove between his brows deepens as the vein in his neck works overtime.

I’m about to ask what has him all worked up when Hank’s entry into the locker room steals the opportunity. “You did good, pretty lady.”

“Thanks. I was taught by the best, but maybe next time mention how hitting hurts just as much as being hit. My hand is throbbing like a bitch.”

Hank’s hearty chuckle barrels around the room. He’s the only one amused. Jacob’s deep exhalation fans my already overheated cheeks with more warmth as his throat works hard to swallow. I’ve never seen him so high-strung.

“Let me take a look.” After barging Jacob out of the way, Hank assesses my bruised knuckles as he does Jacob’s at the end of every fight. “They’ll be sore for a few days, but there’s nothing to worry about. Everything is where it should be.” He places the ice pack back onto my hand before raising his eyes to mine. “Might need to tape your hands at the beginning of every fight too.”

Jacob’s sigh isn’t quiet this time around. “It’s not funny, Hank. She could have gotten hurt.”

A flare of agreement passes through Hank’s eyes, but he plays it cool. “She’s tougher than you give her credit for. She had him, and if she didn’t, we would have.”

His statement confirms what I’ve always suspected. Hank sees himself as the third wheel in whatever the hell Jacob and I have going on. I don’t mind. I like Hank... his fighter isn’t too bad either—when he isn’t looking at me with sympathetic eyes.

While Hank packs away the mess they made earlier, Jacob devotes his attention back to me. I expect our conversation to center around my hand, so you can imagine my surprise when he asks, “How do you know The Constrictor?”

“Who?”

Hank jumps back into the conversation. “The guy you punched in the nose.”

“Just now?”

Jacob gives me a look as if to ask, how many guys have you punched in the nose?

I give him a frisky wink before nudging my head to my pendant. “Not as many as I should have.”

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