Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

She snorted out a laugh. The shorts she wore were barely bigger than some of her boy-short underwear, but she couldn’t stand loose fabric when she fought. At some point, she’d become immune to prancing around in the ring in a sports bra and itty-bitty spandex shorts.

Zach put his head close to hers. “You good? Nerves under control?”

After flicking a quick glance at her opponent, Izzy nodded. “Think so. She’s a beast.”

He cupped the balls of her shoulders in his large hands and squeezed. Though he was hot, she felt nothing for the man as far as attraction, but it was nice to have the support. Her wayward brain couldn’t help but wonder how her body would respond if it were Jig’s hands on her.

“But she’s on the bulkier side. Big shoulders, thick legs. I bet she’s slow as shit,” Zach replied.

“You think?” On the other side of the ring, her opponent stretched her arms high and bounced on the balls of her feet. Zach might be right. Due to the bulk of her deltoids, she didn’t have quite the range of motion Izzy did.

“See?” He bumped her hip with his.

“Yeah.” The buzz of excitement that had been absent from the night started to flow through her. She needed this bad. The release, the physical exertion, even the pain.

Maybe she needed to work on getting laid instead of beating her frustrations out of her system.

“How’re you on the ground?” he asked. She’d mostly been working on her strikes at his gym. She’d have to find a sparring partner soon, but she was still confident in her groundwork. “Pretty damn good,” she said.

“There you go, girl. Seeing some fire in your eyes now.” He turned her to face the announcer and rubbed the muscles in her shoulders. “Go win me some cash. My woman’s got a birthday coming up.”

Izzy laughed. “And here I thought you were just interested in the sport.”

Zach snorted. “Think green thoughts, babe.”

Waving them to the center, the announcer spoke into the mic. “Okay, ladies, no biting, no eye gouging, no weapons. Anything else is fair game. Fight’s over if one of you two fine things taps out or goes limp. Understand?” Both women jerked their chins in understanding.

Izzy inhaled a deep breath, pursed her lips, and blew it out to the count of six as she slowly rose to the balls of her feet. She liked to be ready to spring straight into action when the fight began.

“Feel free to throw in a tit grab or two. Give the crowd a thrill,” the emcee said into the mic as he wagged his eyebrows. The man wore a button-up shirt that screamed seventies porn star, complete with gold chains and bushy mustache.

Izzy rolled her eyes. Over the years, she’d come to expect asinine comments at these games. Didn’t mean they weren’t annoying as shit. The crowd of mostly men laughed and screamed catcalls, though she swore she heard one voice above them all shout, “Shut the fuck up. Let ’em fight.” If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn it was Jig. But the man was way too stoic for an outburst.

The announcer called for the fight to begin, and Izzy blocked out everything but the woman out for her blood. They danced in a circle once, twice, sizing each other up and seeking the perfect in. Never one to wait for someone else to make a move, Izzy lunged forward and caught her opponent with a jab to the midsection followed by a rib-crushing cross, then a quick hook to the side of her head.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” Zach screamed out. “Stay light on your feet, girl.”

Right. She ducked a lightning fast hook that flew at her head and aimed another well-placed strike at The Razor’s ribs. Her opponent grunted and stumbled back a step.

Not getting away from me, bitch.

Izzy came at her with another wicked combination. This time, The Razor crouched low and came in hard for the takedown. Izzy saw it coming a mile away and lifted her knee as The Razor opened her arms and tried to grab hold of Izzy’s waist. Quick as the crack of a whip, Izzy’s knee slammed into The Razor’s chin, sending her head snapping back.

“Fuck yeah,” Zach yelled. “Take that bitch down, girl. Get her on the ground.”

Razor didn’t lose her footing as Izzy hoped she would, but sprang up and down, shaking off the jarring knee to the face. She caught Izzy with a solid jab to the side.

“Ooof.” That shit hurt.

Izzy couldn’t help but smile as she breathed and absorbed the pain. It fueled her, chased away her demons, gave her something to work with. She was fucked in the head. A psychiatrist would have a field day picking around in her brain to find out why she enjoyed the pain of taking a punch.