Chapter 20 Jonah
Chapter Twenty: Jonah
The front door slams open hard enough to crack the wall behind it.
I'm on my feet before I register moving, reaching for a weapon I don't have. Jagger is faster, gun already drawn, pointed at the doorway.
A man fills the frame.
He's massive. Not quite as tall as Jinx but broader, built like a brick shithouse wrapped in a leather jacket.
His head is shaved, his nose crooked from multiple breaks, and his hands are covered in faded tattoos that look like they came from a prison cell.
He surveys the room with flat, dark eyes that miss nothing.
"What the fuck," Jinx says from somewhere behind me, "are you doing here?"
The man's gaze lands on Jinx. Amusement flickers in his expression.
"It's my cabin, dickhead."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Jagger hasn't lowered his gun. Jace has appeared from nowhere, knife in hand. Elliot is pressed against the far wall, eyes wide. And Jinx is standing in the middle of the living room, looking like someone just punched him in the gut.
"Your cabin," Jinx repeats flatly.
"My cabin. My contact. My safe house." The man steps inside, closing the door behind him with deliberate care.
His boots are heavy on the wooden floor, each step measured.
"Did you think Margot owned this place? She's my aunt.
She called me when three men and a wounded journalist showed up needing somewhere to hide. "
"She didn't mention—"
"She didn't know I'd come." His eyes haven't left Jinx. There's history in that stare, the kind that cuts deep. "But here I am."
"Why?"
The question hangs in the air. The man leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the posture of someone who knows exactly how much space he takes up and doesn't give a shit about making anyone comfortable.
“Because I wanted a vacation.”
Jinx rolls his eyes. “Dick. You could have called.”
“Sorry, didn’t have your number.” The man says, his mouth a thin line.
Elliot clears his throat. “Sorry, ummm, how do you two know each other?”
"Jinx tried to kill me in the Foundry pits," he says, addressing the rest of us.
His voice is gravel and smoke, rough like it's been dragged over broken glass.
"Put me down three times. Broke my nose twice.
Cracked four ribs and dislocated my shoulder.
" He pauses, something dark flickering in his eyes.
"But he didn't finish it. Let me get back up.
Walked away when he could've put me in the ground. "
"So? If you hate me that much, why the fuck did you let us crash here." Jinx growls.
"So I figured I owed you one." Asher's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Been waiting years to pay it back. Looks like my chance finally showed up."
Jace lowers his knife slowly. "You fought in the pits."
"For six years. Started when I was fifteen. They pulled me out of juvie, told me I could fight or I could die. Wasn't much of a choice." His jaw tightens. "I fought. I survived. And when I was twenty-one, I walked out the front door because I'd killed enough men to earn my freedom."
"They let you leave?"
"Yeah, I was too damaged according to psych reports and slated for erasure.
And then lo-and-behold, some shit went down and I was the least of their concerns.
They thought I'd be dead within the year.
Ex-pit fighters don't exactly have transferable skills.
" That sharp smile again. "They underestimated how angry I was. "
He pushes off the doorframe, moving further into the room. He moves like a fighter, like Jinx moves, weight balanced, always ready, always aware of every angle of attack. But where Jinx is chaotic energy barely contained, this man is controlled. Patient. A different kind of dangerous.
"I'm Asher. Asher Madden. And you're the other Harrison brothers. The whole Syndicate is talking about you. The Reaper, the Architect, and the Enforcer, gone rogue. Very dramatic. Very stupid. But also very entertaining."
"We didn't go rogue," Jagger says, gun still raised but no longer aimed. "We made a choice."
"Same thing, from where they're sitting." Asher stops in front of Jinx, close enough that they're nearly chest to chest. They're almost the same height, almost the same build, two mountains staring each other down. "You look like shit, by the way."
"Fuck you."
"Maybe later, if you ask nicely." Asher's grin is all teeth, sharp and challenging. "Right now, I want to know what you're planning and how I can help blow it all to hell."
Jinx hasn't moved. His whole body is rigid, coiled tight, the way he gets right before violence erupts. But there's a brief moment when something more complicated than anger flashes in his eyes. It looks a hell of a lot like lust.
"We don't need your help," Jinx says.
"Bullshit. You need all the help you can get.
You've got four facilities to hit, a Ministry hunting you, and maybe two weeks before they figure out where you are. And yes, I do know all of this because you’re not the only one with friends left on the inside.
" Asher tilts his head. "I know people. Fighters.
Survivors. People who'd love nothing more than to tear down the system that chewed them up and spat them out. "
"And what do you want in return?"
"A front row seat when it all burns." Asher's voice drops, something darker threading through it.
"They destroyed me. Made me fight kids like me for the entertainment of men in suits.
I watched friends die in that pit. Killed some of them myself.
" His hands clench at his sides. "I want to watch them lose everything.
I want to be there when their whole world comes crashing down. That's what I want."
The room is silent. I look at Jagger, who's watching the exchange with calculating eyes. He's reading the situation, weighing variables, doing whatever it is his brain does when it's processing strategy.
"He's useful," Jagger says finally.
Jinx turns on him. "You don't know him."
"Neither do you." Jagger holsters his gun. "But he's right. We need people. We need resources. And if he's willing to provide both, we'd be stupid to turn him down."
"This isn't a fucking democracy."
"No. It's a war. And in war, you take allies where you find them." Jagger's gaze shifts to Asher. "You said you know fighters. How many?"
"Twelve I'd trust with my life. Another twenty who'd show up if the price is right." He cracks his neck, a casual gesture that somehow manages to be threatening. "Enough to cover three of the four facilities. Maybe all four, if some of them bring friends."
"And they'll follow your lead?"
"They'll follow anyone who gives them a chance to hit back." Asher's jaw tightens. "We were all disposable to them. Entertainment like some modern day gladiator shit. Some of us want to be more than that. Some of us want to prove we were always more than that."
"Then you're in." Jagger extends his hand. "Welcome to the rebellion."
Asher takes it. The handshake is brief, firm, two predators acknowledging each other as equals.
Jinx makes a sound of disgust and stalks out of the room. A moment later, the back door slams hard enough to rattle the windows.
Asher watches him go. His expression shifts, just for a moment, into something that looks almost like regret.
"He always that friendly with you?" I ask.
"Worse, usually." Asher turns to face me, and for the first time, I get the full weight of his attention. It's like being assessed by a very large, very dangerous rhino. "You're the journalist. The one they erased."
"That's me. Jonah Chen. Recently un-erased and twice as annoying."
"My contact mentioned you, went through your file. You’re tougher mentally than your scrawny body allows for."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Sure." Asher glances toward the back door, where Jinx disappeared. "I should probably go talk to him. Before he breaks his fists on a tree or some dumb shit."
"You think that's a good idea? He looked ready to murder you."
"Wouldn't be the first time." His smile is rueful before the hard ass slams back in. "But he didn't kill me then. He won't kill me now. He had his chance and he chose different."
"What does that mean?"
Asher doesn't answer. Just heads for the back door, moving with that fighter's grace, and disappears into the evening light.
Later, when the chaos has settled and Asher has been given one of the spare rooms and Jinx has stopped breaking things in the barn, Jagger finds me on the front porch.
The sun is setting, later tonight than last. The air is cool but not cold, carrying the smell of spring. I'm sitting on the steps, watching the light fade, thinking about everything that's happened and everything still to come.
Jagger sits beside me.
"That was unexpected," I say.
"Most things are, lately."
"You trust him? Asher?"
"I trust that he wants the same things we do. For now, that's enough." He pauses. "Jinx doesn't agree."
"Jinx looked like he wanted to put his fist through Asher's face."
"That's how Jinx shows affection."
I snort. "That explains a lot about your family."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. The sky darkens, stars beginning to emerge. Somewhere inside, I can hear Elliot and Jace talking quietly, the clink of dishes being washed.
"We're really doing this," I say.
"We are."
I shake my head. "When I was a journalist, I thought exposing the truth was dangerous. This is something else entirely."
"Scared?"
"Terrified." I turn to look at him. "But I'm also... I don't know. Ready. I feel like I'm doing something that matters."
"You've always done things that matter."
"Maybe. But this is different. This is..." I struggle for the right word. "Personal. They took everything from me. My name. My memories. My mother. I want it back. I want to make them pay for what they did."
"And after?" His voice is quiet. "When it's over. When the dust settles. What do you want then?"
I think about it. About the life I had before, the one they erased. About the life I have now, built from broken pieces and impossible choices.
"I want a house," I say. "Something small. Somewhere quiet. With a garden and a stupid dog and enough space to breathe." I reach over, take his hand. "And I want you. For as long as you'll have me."
His fingers tighten around mine. "That could be a very long time."
"I'm counting on it."
He pulls something from his pocket. A ring, simple silver, worn smooth with age.
"This was Marcus'," he says. "The man we thought was our father. I found it in his things after he died. I've been carrying it for years, not knowing why." He turns it over in his fingers. "Now I know."
"Jagger—"
"I'm not proposing. Not yet. We're in the middle of a war.
We don't even have a mailing address." He presses the ring into my palm.
"But I want you to have this. As a promise that when this is over, when we've burned it all down and built something new, I'm going to ask you properly.
With a real ring. And a house. And maybe that stupid dog. "
My throat is tight. I look at the ring, at his face, at the future he's offering.
"Yes," I say.
"I didn't ask yet."
"I know. But the answer is yes. It's always going to be yes." I lean in and kiss him, soft and sure. "I love you, Jagger Harrison."
"I love you too, Jonah Chen." He pulls back, smiles. "Now put the ring somewhere safe. We have a war to plan."
I slip the ring onto my finger. A perfect fit.
The stars come out. The night settles around us. Inside, the sounds of family continue, voices and laughter and the occasional crash that suggests Jinx has come back inside and found Asher again.
We're not safe. We'll probably never be safe again. But we have each other. We have a plan. We have allies, old and new, ready to fight.
And that’s just going to have to be enough.
***
Find Book Three: The Deadly Game here