Cost of victory

Jax Mercer sat on the battered wooden bench in the underground locker room, his breath still heavy from the fight. His knuckles were a mess—split, raw, coated in blood. Some of it was his, and most of it wasn't. The Butcher was supposed to be unstoppable. Jax had just proven otherwise.

The crowd's roars had faded, replaced by a suffocating silence. Something about it felt wrong. Usually, after a fight like that, the locker rooms would still be buzzing—betters collecting their winnings, fighters nursing bruises, and the next match already being set up. But tonight, the energy was different. It was tense. Watchful.

Jax could feel it crawling up his spine before the door even creaked open. He looked up as two men stepped inside.

Suits.

Not the usual lowlifes or bookies. These men weren't here to shake hands or slip him his winnings. They had an air about them—clean, sharp, dangerous. The kind of men who didn't fight in places like this, but owned them.

Jax straightened slightly, his muscles aching from the brutal fight. He kept his face blank, but his instincts were already screaming at him.

The first man was lean and wiry, his features sharp and severe. His dark eyes settled on Jax with cool detachment, like he was assessing something—someone—worth measuring. The second man was massive, built like a freight train, his suit struggling to contain his bulk. He said nothing, just crossed his arms and waited.

Jax exhaled through his nose. "You're not here to pay me."

The wiry man smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement, but there was no warmth in it. "No, Mercer. We're here to collect."

Jax held his gaze. "Collect what?"

A slow, deliberate sigh. "Do you have any idea who you just put in the dirt tonight?"

Jax rolled his shoulders, stretching the stiffness out of his muscles. "Yeah. The Butcher. Big guy. Mean left hook. But a little slow on his feet."

The big one let out a low, rumbling chuckle, but the wiry man's smirk faded. "Cute," he muttered. "But you don't get it. The Butcher wasn't just another fighter. He was property. And you just cost some very important people a lot of money."

Jax's expression didn't change, but his stomach tightened. He had fought who they told him to fight, take his punches, and won. He never asked questions. It never mattered before.

But this was different. The wiry man stepped forward. "Mr. Romano wants to see you."Jax felt the name hit like a hammer.

"Vincent Romano"

Everyone who fought underground knew the name, even if they never saw the man. He was the kind of power that didn't need to show up to be felt. He owned these fights. Controlled the money that ran through them. Fighters who crossed him disappeared. Some washed up in the river, some never turned up at all.

Jax flexed his sore fingers. "Not interested."

The big guy let out another low chuckle, shifting his stance. Jax could tell by the way he moved—casual, confident, predatory—that he was just waiting for an excuse.

The wiry man's smirk returned, but this time there was something sharp behind it. "That wasn't a request."

Jax's jaw clenched. His body ached, exhaustion creeping in, but he wasn't stupid. He had a good right hook, but against these two, in this state? He wasn't walking out of here in one piece.

He exhaled slowly, then stood, rolling his shoulders despite the sting of bruises forming beneath his skin.

"Let's get this over with."The wiry man nodded approvingly. "Smart choice."The big guy stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. Jax knew better than to hesitate.

They led him out through the back entrance, where the night air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the distant hum of the city. A black sedan waited in the alley, sleek and polished, its tinted windows swallowing the dim glow of the streetlights.

Jax stopped at the sight of it. He had been in enough bad situations to know what a car like that meant.

The wiry man caught his hesitation and smiled. "Relax, Mercer. If we wanted you dead, you wouldn't have seen us coming."Jax didn't relax. The big guy pulled the back door open. A silent invitation.

Jax weighed his options. Running wasn't one of them. Fighting was worse. So he climbed in. The door shut behind him with a soft click, sealing him inside.

The interior smelled of leather and cologne. The heat was up just enough to keep the chill out, but not so much that it was comfortable.

Across from him, sitting in the dim light, was Vincent Romano. The man didn't need an introduction. Jax had never seen him in person before, but he recognized the face—slick dark hair, angular features, a presence that demanded attention without needing to raise his voice.

Romano regarded him with mild curiosity as if Jax were an interesting puzzle he hadn't decided whether to solve or break apart.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Romano sighed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "You're a hard man to get in a room, Mercer."

Jax rested his elbows on his knees, keeping his expression neutral. "I don't like rooms like this."

Romano chuckled. "Fair enough." He studied Jax for another moment before tilting his head. "You're good. I'll give you that. You fight like a man who's got nothing to lose."

Jax didn't answer. Romano's smirk faded. "That can be useful. Or dangerous."Jax met his stare, waiting.

Romano leaned forward slightly. "The Butcher was an investment. One that made me a lot of money. Now he's dead weight, and you're the one who put him there."

Jax tensed, ready for whatever came next. But Romano just smiled."I should have you killed."Jax didn't blink.

Romano let the words hang between them before continuing. "But I don't like waste. And I think you could be worth something."Jax exhaled slowly. "I'm not for sale."

Romano chuckled again, shaking his head. "You misunderstand. This isn't an offer. It's a debt. You cost me money, and I don't like being in the red."

Jax clenched his fists. "What do you want?"

Romano's smile returned, slow and calculated. "There's a fight coming up. A big one. One I need my guy to win. But my guy isn't as good as you."Jax already knew where this was going.

Romano leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "You fight for me. You win. You give me my money back. Then we're square."

Jax stayed silent. Romano arched a brow. "Or you refuse, and I collect my debt another way."The threat was unspoken, but crystal clear.

Jax exhaled, jaw tight. He had fought his way through hell and back to survive, but this was different. This wasn't just another fight. This was being owned.

Still, looking at Romano, at the cold finality in his gaze, Jax knew one thing for sure. He didn't have a choice. Jax nodded once. "When's the fight?"Romano smiled."Soon."

And just like that, Jax Mercer belonged to Vincent Romano.

For now.