Jase

I'm always jittery before a fight, but tonight I'm driving myself crazy. I pace restlessly, shadowbox, and get told several times not to warm up too early. I know I shouldn't, but nerves are eating at my insides. This fight is a big deal. Even before I met Lena, it was going to be the biggest of my career so far, but now my girl's honor is on the line. I will win this fight for her. I intend to smear Karson Hayes's blood all over the floor and roll around in it. Then, and only then, will I deserve to have her back.

As time passes, the back corridor rooms empty. First the amateurs leave, then the pros. Eventually, a medic comes by to check my blood pressure and make sure I'm uninjured. An hour before I'm due to make my grand entrance, Seth wraps my hands. Though I'm capable of doing my own, wrapping his fighter's hands is a ritual for Seth at events like this. It calms him. He can be a raging psycho otherwise.

"You got this," he murmurs as he winds tape around my knuckles, then loops it between each of my fingers. "You trained hard, just stick to the game plan. Get him on the ground and keep him there. Don't let up. Karson is best on his feet. He's a distance striker. If you give him the chance, he'll toy with you. Don't let that happen. You hear me?"

I nod. "Loud and clear."

He puts the finishing touches on one hand and moves to the other. "He'll try to piss you off, and get in your head. Ignore him. If he says anything, all you hear is 'blah blah blah.' Got it?"

"Yeah." I already know this. Karson will want to run his mouth. Talk smack about Lena. He'll want to put me at a disadvantage. For some people, anger motivates them to victory, but it clouds my vision. I need to keep a clear head.

"You remember how to start?"

"Throw a strike to catch him off guard, then take him down."

"Atta boy." He finishes my wraps and jerks his chin at someone over my shoulder. "Dev, come and spar with Jase. Nice and easy. I want him limbered up and ready to go, but not tired."

"Yes, sir." Devon salutes him, but Seth doesn't smile. In fact, he looks ready to crack a jaw. "Tough audience."

Devon slips on a pair of padded boxing gloves to lessen the impact of his strikes and moves in. I bounce on the balls of my feet and, when he's ready to go, throw an overhand punch. Devon ducks, and I trip him. He falls neatly to the floor and rolls, coming back up before I can pounce. Excitement blazes in his eyes. Devon is crazy when he fights. He seems to love being in the cage regardless of whether he's doing the pounding or being pounded. That's how he got his nickname: Dangerous. There's nothing more dangerous than a fighter who doesn't care if he gets hurt.

I strike again, and he counters. We circle each other, and Seth barks out orders to me while Gabe coaches Devon. By the time we stop, a sheen of sweat covers my body and my muscles are loose. All except the ones in my stomach. My fucking anxiety hasn't gone anywhere. Aren't I supposed to be above that shit by now?

The promoter's assistant sticks his head through the door and tells us we're due out in five minutes. Seth helps me into my fight jacket and rubs Vaseline over my cheeks and forehead. My heart is a steady thump in my chest. Despite being nervous, I've done this routine plenty of times before, and I know what comes next. It's all so familiar to me. Gabe and Devon check the contents of my spit bucket. Ice, liquid adrenaline, water, Vaseline, mouthguard, first aid kit. They form a line behind me, with Seth at the head and Devon at the rear. I jog lightly on the spot to stay warm.

The assistant returns, and checks my hands to make sure we're obeying regulations, then gives the nod of approval. Together, we make our way through the corridors, past a number of trainers from other gyms who nod and mutter encouragements. We pause out of sight of the arena and wait. After a moment, my walk-out song plays over the loudspeakers.

Immediately, adrenaline floods my body, the same way it always does when I hear this song. It's my cue to enter warrior mode. I rock in time to the beat and wait for the perfect moment, right as the music crashes down from a crescendo. I stride out, chin up, shoulders back, and inject every bit of swagger I can into my walk. The audience roars for me. I don't smile, because this moment sets the tone of the match. Up ahead, Karson is already in the cage, waiting. He waves his fists in the air and stomps his foot. He's always been a show pony.

Asshole.

Then I hear a familiar voice amid the crowd.

"Jase!" she screams. "Smash him, Jase! You've got this in the bag!"

Glancing down, I spot Lena. Our eyes lock, and a powerful charge passes between us. I nod to her, and a strange calm descends over me. She's right. This fight is mine. Because I'm fighting for her, and you know what that means?

I can't lose.

I'm fucking invincible.

She'll be waiting for me after, and I don't care how sore I am, I'm going to keep her in bed all weekend. I'll fuck her so thoroughly, she can't remember there's a world outside the bedroom.

Seconds later, I'm in the cage. The announcer yells my name, and then Karson's. The umpire summons us to the center and gives the usual spiel. We don't bump fists. Karson doesn't deserve that honor. We each return to our corner, then a beeper sounds, and I rush forward.