Chapter Two – Creed

Jaxon Vichter was not entirely sure when he became so hideously miserable. Perhaps it happened slowly over the years, progressing undetected and hidden from light. Devouring every negative experience, and instead of expelling it, he nurtured and cared for it until it evolved. Fat and greedy as it ate away at his being. Time, they say, heals all wounds, but all time has done for Jaxon was to fuse into a constant mind-numbing echo of the day before.

Frowning, he suspected that the tedious financial paperwork in front of him might have aggravated his bitter mood. Taking a sip of Bourbon, he glanced at the wall of monitors. To the left was the main floor of Creed, housing six fighting cages, all lined up neatly and currently occupied with fighters, beating the living shit out of each other in bare-knuckle combat. Friday nights at Creed were Fight Night. Spectators plastered to the cages, shouting encouragements or cursing their luck. To the right, the nearly empty dance floor would fill up after midnight when the blood sport ended. In the center of the two was the U-shaped bar, manned by a careful selection of staff from both sexes. The club had once been his escape from himself, but as with all things new, over time they lose their shiny gleam.

As the light of his desk phone flashed, he felt a minute current of excitement–only security called the desk phone. “Yes?” Listening to the report, his gaze swept left once more, searching, he spotted the short man practically glued to one cage, apparently enthralled by the bloody fight in front of him.

“Fuck sakes,” Jaxon sighed into the receiver as the half-pint idiot’s eyes flashed with power. One look at the opponents on the mat and Jaxon spotted the motionless Malakai looking dazed. With a thud that Jaxon could almost hear over the sound of pounding beats, his opponent slammed a fist into the center of his blank face–out cold. He grimaced in sympathy as the sweaty flesh of the wide-chested beast of a man made jarring contact with the padded cage floor and flooded with nose blood. “Bring him up,” Jaxon ordered and watched the screen as the referee fell to his knees next to the fighter to assess his injuries. His focus shifted to the outside of the cage as security picked the man up and escorted him, feet dangling, up the stairs and into Jaxon’s office. A malevolent smile tugged at his lips. This would clear the echo for a little while.

Security deposited the squirming man into the chair and stood on either side to discourage even the mere thought of escaping. He wasn’t just short, Jaxon decided, he was an ugly son of a bitch. His oily black hair hung in dirty strips to his shoulders, his beady black eyes shone with defiance, a thick nose, and thin, grimacing lips gave him the appearance of a troll. Regarding the man with cold interest, Jaxon asked, “What is your name?” His lip was mid curl when the blood circulation to his heart was interrupted and resumed after an agonizing three seconds. Gone pale and damp, the man clutched a hand to his chest. “Let’s try that again, shall we?” Jaxon got up, dressed in a black button-down and dark gray jeans, he circled the desk and rested his back and palms on the edge, feet crossed at the ankles, and waited.

“My name is Finn Bailey,” he muttered.

“Well, Mr. Bailey, do you mind telling me why you used your abilities in my club to disable a fighter?”

Finn scoffed, “I didn’t do shit and you can’t prove anything.”

“If you think I need proof as a reason not to cut off the blood flow to your brain, you need to think again. Now, answer my question or you will not be walking out of this club tonight.” The threat was delivered in a stable tone, dripping with ice.

“I was told to.” He shrugged.

“By whom?”

“Can’t say.”

“I have hoped to avoid this, but you leave with no other alternative because I am far too impatient to drag the truth out of you.” Jaxon didn’t relish taking away free will, but he will allow no one to get away with such a blatant show of disrespect in his club. With a look as deadly as death itself, he silently demanded Finn to spill his guts. The creep’s mind was as weak as a child’s and it took little effort for the command to crawl through his mind and spread like little fires across his pathetic subconscious.

“I got a letter with cash,” he started without preamble as he sank into the chair like a petulant toddler. “No name, nothing. Said if I do this thing, you know, fuck with the fights, make some trouble tonight I’d get paid more.” Shrugging he said, “I need the money.”

Jaxon didn’t find it at all surprising that he obviously pissed someone off somewhere. “What is your ability?”

“Nothing to fancy. Just quick vegetation.”

Jaxon frowned, “Vegetation?”

“Ah, sorry, I mean brain function, I can stop it for a bit.”

“For how long can you keep it?”

“Four or five seconds at most. The fighter was distracted, so I pushed for more.”

Jaxon was still calm as a lake, his eyes a swirl of gray smoke. “What is the damage?” To which Finn shrugged. And that was the wrong answer, Jaxon’s eyes bled black as night, he lunged from his perch and grabbed Finn by the neck, his feet, once again, dangling above the floor. “You don’t know the fucking long term damage of your abilities?”

Trying to speak with his larynx being crushed, “I...” Finn choked, “God, I can’t breathe!”

Keeping his black eyes trained on Finn, he cut the flow to his heart for one, two, three, four, five...

“Jax!” a voice broke him out of his rage “Jax, brother. There’s an easier way. Let me.” Jaxon felt the pull on his arm, cajoling him to release his grip. “C’mon, I can find your answers, but if you kill him, I can’t.”

After another moment of consideration, Jaxon dropped a whimpering Finn on the floor. “Have at it.” He walked to his desk, poured a double, and took it in one swig. He pointed a finger at the security, still holding the empty glass. “Go check on Malakai. Get Thornton.”

Turning back to his brother, who had the man now sitting back on the chair Jaxon yanked him out of, Finn’s head clamped between Devyn’s hands, while he searched for the past in beady black eyes. Jaxon saw the flash of anger on his brother’s face before he dropped the head in disgust. “Go check on Kai.”

“I did, Thornton will come. Is it bad?”

“It could be. Finn’s memories are unorganized. I have seen some die and some live. I just couldn’t see why.” He sighed “Kai is fit and strong, I am sure he’ll be fine.” Jaxon wasn’t sure if Devyn was trying to convince himself or both of them. “What are we going to do with this?” He lightly kicked the chair Finn slumped in to signal the problem.

“Keep him in the basement.” After a moment, Jaxon added. “I’ll decide what to do as soon as Thornton examines Kai.”

“He told the truth about the letter and money. I couldn’t find anything to link it to a person.” He gave Jaxon a nervous look. “Who do you think it is?”

Jaxon shrugged “Fuck knows.” He walked over to the monitors and saw Rosaline saunter through the doors. Perfect.

“I have a meeting at Arcane tomorrow, I will ask around.”

“When are you going to get over your foolish need to attend these useless meetings?”

Jaxon couldn’t see Devyn’s face, but he could feel the resentment stabbing him right between the shoulders. “As soon as you get over your bitterness and do what is right.” Jaxon turned, stared blankly at his brother, and stepped out of his office, leaving Devyn to deal with Finn. He was hunting for Rosaline and careless release.