Page 86 of Chaos

I have my red-haired tiger, and a baby with my eyes.

There’s no doubt I’ll win for them. It’s a fire inside of me.

Nothing can stop me.

“Remember what you’re supposed to do, Jax. No matter what he says.” Nikolai’s grip is tight on my shoulder as he smears Vaseline on my eyebrows. His thick finger points at me, inches from my nose. “Don’t let him get to you. I know you’re making this personal. Emotions are—” He turns his head in an obvious glance to Sofia. “—distractions.”

I nod as he slides my mouth guard between my teeth.

Mikhail told me to win. But, it’s so much more than that.

It’s for her. To show the Reapers I can protect her. Brody will be out there. He needs to see that I’m not to be fucked with.

A chant floats over the stands and covers any other noise.

There’s a buzz in the air walking towards the ropes. Everyone walking with me slips away as I find the bottom step and slide into the ring.

I recognize the man on the other side. He’s the asshole she was dancing for at Brody’s party.

It was the night I found her again.

Maybe I should thank him for being such a jerk she came back to me?

I’ll repay him in blood. Finally, I’m getting to take out my fury at his hands touching her, when deep down, I knew she was always mine.

The thought tightens my fists in front of my chest as a scantily clad woman walks between us with a placard.

First round.

I catch a glimpse of Sofia standing between Nikolai and Alexei, then send her a wink as the bell dings.

The Reaper stalks forward, his oiled body towering over mine. His arms weave, guarding his chin as we start to circle.

Tossing a few jabs, I start to see his weakness. He drops his elbow to his ribs just before he swings.

Stupid fucker.

The next time he does it, I make my first move. Ducking from his punch, I land three hard blows to his stomach and a solid hook to his jaw as he gasps.

Screams rise from the crowd. Some cheering, others groaning.

His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as he regroups. Pounding his hands together, he comes back for more.

“You won’t win,” he grunts before his arm drops.

Landing another volley on him, his dazed look flies around the arena as he backs away.

“That looked like it hurt,” I jeer at him.

A tiny cut begins to ooze over his left brow that furrows into a glare. Charging at me, he wildly swings.

When I dance out of his reach, he doesn’t relent, but manages to hit me in the stomach a couple of times and a glance off of my temple.

“If you don’t drop, we know how to get to you,” he grits past his mouth guard. Backing away in long strides, his right arm points out at Sofia.

That motherfucker.

Rage clouds my vision.