This Sunday’s fighting match wasn’t for amateurs—that was for sure. The fighters’ lineup was impressive, with the list revealing that current and former champions had come to Aspen Valley, Tennessee from as far south as Florida and as far north as West Virginia to compete. The notable competition meant one thing for Jacques: he had to be on his Ps and Qs. Concentration was key. Focus was crucial.

Last night’s fight hadn’t been exactly a shoe-in. He and his opponent went head to head for all five rounds before the judges officially declared him the winner. His winnings were enough to cover every liability he owed—both his and Grandma Kent’s. But seeing that he’d just been fired, he now needed to make a living.

Even though Dane’s long-term offer was significant and he’d already called to inform him that he planned to officially accept the last remaining official Omega title at the next Pack gathering, Jacques knew that nothing was forever. The future couldn’t be controlled. Anything could happen. And he’d learned more than a few things from being left behind by his own parents and being shit out of luck by jobs that didn’t last for one reason or another…

Thus, Jacques always had a backup.

His bruises still bothered him from last night’s fight with Gary “Gorilla”. The man had had forearms the size of…well, a gorilla’s. And he’d used every pound of strength to hammer Jacques whenever the opportunity arose. Jacques’s jaws were still stiff even after healing and most of the swelling hadn’t even gone down yet. The thing that mattered was there was no pain anymore, just the urge to fight again.

As Jacques entered the ring, he drowned out the noise from the overly excited crowd. While the referees and judges were consulting to the right of the caged ring, he took a glance at his opponent on the opposite side. Rod “the Ram” was his name. They were similar in size based on height and weight. They were even similar in that they were both shifters. Only about twenty percent of Jacques’s fights were with humans. Not too many humans wanted to contend with a non-human. There’d been too many accounts—some substantiated and others false—of shifters using their supernatural strength to overpower their opponent. But for Jacques—whenever he competed—he fought with mind over matter.

Lucky for his opponent, his coach was right there beside him dolling out what could only be encouraging remarks and strategies in his ear. The only coach Jacques had ever had was his inner critic.

The fight began promptly at the start of the bell and Rod came straight for him. According to some fighter’s backstage, Rod liked to rush straight at his opponent like a bull and ram them to the ground where he delivered the final heart-stopping blows. But as Jock, the fighter, he had his own reputation. Jacques was known for his endurance, speed, and knack for catching an opponent off guard. But their strategies conflicted. Rod was trying to close in on Jacques, and Jacques was trying to keep a good enough distance so he’d be able to use his speed and quick thinking when Rod least expected it.

Rod finally did close in on Jacques and Jacques took two quick jabs to the ribs and another to the chest. Jacques returned the blows, pound for pound. He was in it to win it and nothing would stop him now.

The fighting commenced with Jacques putting his full weight behind his punches trying to tire out the Ram. And Rod continued to rain down slow driving punches while trying to trip Jacques up and so that he could ram him to the floor.

Round after round, they jostling in the ring. Jacques had to hand it to him. Rod was a commendable opponent. On round four, the refs took longer to discuss scoring. The match was headed toward a tie. If something drastic didn’t happen in the next two rounds, they’d likely end up splitting the pot. That would be a first, but Jacques wanted to win.

He browsed the crowd as he waited for the fourth bell to ring and almost lost his mouthpiece when he spotted a woman with beautiful, long auburn hair sitting on the bleachers. The woman wore a hood, but the ends of her long hair still escaped the sweatshirt. His heart sped up and his breathing became sporadic as he switched his attention from regulating his heart rate to trying to confirm if what he was seeing was true. If this woman was Natasha.

And then their eyes met…from yards across the room.

One of the perks of being a shifter was that his eyesight was nearly perfect, and whenever he called onto the wolf to help him visualize better—like he was doing now—his vision became impeccable.

Natasha was here.

How…?

“You good, Jock?” the referee asked, nudging him on the shoulder. “Next bell in under a minute.”

Jacques nodded but still couldn’t take his eyes off her. And she knew he’d found her sitting in the bleachers. She lifted her hand and waved. The woman beside her leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Natasha responded by nodding. Jacques could tell by the look in her eyes that she was astonished…and maybe a little terrorized by seeing him—like this. Fighting. Bruised. Battered.

“Jock…”

He wasn’t ready to have her see him like this. Not yet.

“Jock!”

“Yeah.” Jacques stood up.

“And 3…2…1…”

Ding!

Fighting this time felt different. Something had changed within Jacques. He knew very well what it was. He was unfocused. And his lack of attention cost him. Rod “the Ram” used his brute strength to deliver blow after debilitating blow to his liver and chest. Jacques got in a few jabs here and there, but his energy had gone elsewhere.

One moment, he was on his toes. And in the next moment, he was on his back. He wasn’t going to stay down like a bitch. He shot back up because there was still fight left within him, but he hadn’t learned from his mistake. As he and his opponent shuffled around the ring, Jacques shook off the pain ringing in his right shoulder where he’d took the full force of the fall. Yet still, there was something else he couldn’t quite shake. An emotion he’d never felt before in the ring. He’d never learned how to diminish endearment and a blinding need for any woman. He’d never wanted any woman as much as he wanted Natasha.

Against his better judgment, his attention shifted once more to where Natasha stood with her friend. He couldn’t get over the look on her face. She was horrified and fearful…for him. He could almost smell it.

Jacques never anticipated his opponent’s next move because he wasn’t paying any damn attention whatsoever. A fist connected with the left side of his head, knocking the lights right out of him. A sharp, consistent ringing buzzed in his ear. As he slid forcefully across the dusty floor of the makeshift ring before colliding with the wire cage, he singled out one familiar shriek of distress from the crowd. He knew he was done for. The bell rang as he passed out cold on the floor.