Page 121 of Fighting Jacob

“She’s here with me, though she can’t talk right now.”

When he sniffs after laughing, it dawns on me who it is. “Callum.” Hank’s fretful eyes snap to mine. “If you fuckin’ touch her, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t touch a hair on her head if you do as instructed.”

He’s lying. I don’t know how I know that. I just do.

“How can we trust Lola is with you? You could have just stolen her phone.”

A ruffling sound is closely followed by my phone receiving a picture message. When I click on the image, my heart drops into my stomach. Lola has a gag in her mouth. Her eyes are open wide but woozy. That might have something to do with the large bump on her forehead.

Anger floods my veins, turning my blood potent. I will kill him this time.

I nearly throw up when Hank points to something in the corner of the picture. There’s a gun pointed at Lola’s head.

Fuck!

With words eluding me, Hank takes over the negotiations. “What do you want?”

“Jacob needs to throw the fight. Not in the first round. It has to look legitimate.”

“And then?”

“Then I walk away and leave her as is.” I wait, knowing there’s more. I’m right. “But... if he fails to impress the crowd, I’ll blow her brains out.”

“I’ll do it.” My voice is stricken with fear. “Let her go; I’ll keep my word, I promise, but you need to let her go.”

“No can do. She won’t leave my sight until the fight is over. Once it’s done—right—I’ll text you her location.”

When he disconnects our call, I run a shaky hand over my head. I want to kill him, or second-best, his brother who’s waiting for me out in the cage, but if I do that, he’ll hurt Lola. I can’t let that happen, so as much as this kills me, I’ll throw the fight. I’d do anything to save Lola. Anything at all.

My hand falls from my head when a fight promoter pops his head into the locker room. “It’s time to go.”

While sucking in a long, ragged breath, I follow him out of the room. Hank shadows closely behind me, removing my phone from my hand and replacing it with a pair of gloves. When the promotor stops just outside the arena to wait for me to be introduced, I'm too impatient to wait. I make a beeline for the cage, my heart pumping in tune with the music booming around me. Curtis is in the cage, awaiting my arrival. Even the officials knew he wasn’t the drawcard for our act. The fans are here for me, not a man unworthy of their praise.

When I enter the cage, Curtis lifts his gaze to me. He has a condescending smirk etched on his mouth, convinced he has the world at his feet. He does—for now. Once Lola is safe, all bets are off.

The crowd boos at my unusual bad sportsmanship when I refuse to tap gloves with Curtis. I’ll make it up to them later, but right now, right here, nothing but Lola is on my mind.

When the referee announces the start of the fight, I slam Curtis with a brutal left and right combination. Callum said the crowd had to get a show. I’m keeping my end of the bargain, dispelling my anger over seeing a gun pointed at Lola’s head.

Curtis stumbles back, his glare more worried than cocky. When the first round comes to an end, and Curtis is sporting a black eye and a split lip, he stares me down across the cage with nothing but hate in his narrowed gaze. While returning his glare, I plan my next attack. Before I have all my stones lined up, he makes a throat-slitting gesture, harnessing any desires of a beatdown. I swore years ago to protect Lola any way I could. I plan to keep my promise.

I protect my face as much as I can during the second round, but I grant Curtis unlimited access to my body. He instills punch after punch after punch until we’re dragged apart by the referee. The third round follows a similar routine... until I become distracted by Hank moving away from Noah in the front row. Curtis uses my distraction to his advantage. He strikes my left temple hard, sending me to the ground with a sickening thud.

When I stand, my vision blurs, and my stomach lurches.

“Do you want to tap out?” The referee holds my gloves in his hands as he coerces my eyes to him. "You with me?"

“I’m good.”

My brain rattles in my head when I shake it to clear the fog inside. The referee watches me cautiously when I make my way to Curtis with my hands held high to protect my face. He pummels me the entire round, hitting me with a grueling combination of swings, kicks, and tumbles. He works me over real good, but it’s got nothing on the mess crippling my heart.

Just before the bell rings, announcing the end of the third round, Curtis whispers, “Next round,” instructing it’s time for me to throw the fight.

When I stumble to the edge of the cage, Hank doesn't mop up the blood streaming down my cheeks, he just points to something on my phone. “She’s at the gym.”

Through the blood obscuring my vision, I take in the photo Callum sent me with more diligence. I don't see what Hank's showing me until he taps the screen twice, zooming in on the smallest portion of a Hank's Gym logo in the background.

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