Chapter 5
Jaxon
This man is going to get us both killed tonight. The thought sits heavy in my chest, pressing down until it’s hard to breathe. Why won’t he just leave? Why does he care?
It doesn’t make any sense. Not in a place like this. Not with men like Henry and Manny pulling the strings. People don’t step in unless they want something or unless they’re stupid enough not to understand the cost. And he doesn’t look stupid.
I drop my gaze back to the floor, shoulders tight, hands still wrapped and aching where they rest against my thighs.
I don’t move to take them off. Don’t move at all.
Because it doesn’t matter, Henry will be back soon.
Then my name will be called again. I’ll get up, walk into that cage, and do what I’ve been doing for months now.
A slow breath pulls into my lungs, heavier than it should be.
Maybe this is the night it ends. Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.
The decision to end my life will be taken out of my hands.
My fingers curl slightly against the tape around my hands.
Because at least then I wouldn’t have to keep doing this anymore.
But even as that thought settles in, I can still feel him standing there.
Months of him standing on the other side of the ring, staring holes into me, and now he decides to talk to me.
God, he’s even more gorgeous up close. The dim lighting doesn’t hide any of him.
If anything, it makes him sharper, harder.
Every line of muscle under that tight t-shirt stands out, stretching the fabric like it’s barely containing him.
I shouldn’t be noticing that. I definitely shouldn’t be noticing him at all right now. I can’t stop. I keep my head down, like I’m still ignoring him, but my eyes lift just enough to take him in.
His legs first. Jeans hugging thick thighs that look just as solid as I imagined.
Strong. The kind of strength you feel more than see.
My gaze drifts higher before I can stop it and fuck.
I look away too fast, heat creeping up the back of my neck.
Not the time nor the place, I remind myself.
A bitter thought cuts through it just as quickly.
Too bad it doesn’t matter anyway. Because whatever this is, this pull, this distraction.
It’s not something I get to have. Not in this life.
“You need to leave,” I tell him again.
My voice is low. Tighter this time. I don’t look up at him.
I keep my eyes locked on the same cracked spot in the concrete.
He doesn’t move. God, why won’t he just go?
Then I see them. Henry’s wingtips step into my line of sight.
My breath catches sharply in my chest before I can stop it. Shit. And he’s not alone.
“Conor.”
Conor. I repeat it in my head, turning it over once, twice, like I need to memorize it. Conor. It fits, strong and solid. The kind of name that doesn’t bend.
My eyes lift just enough to catch the shift in his stance when the other man speaks.
Subtle but there. It’s a tightening, an awareness snapping into place.
So he’s not just some random guy who wandered in here.
Of course, he isn’t. Men like him don’t end up in places like this by accident.
Something uneasy settles low in my gut. This just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
“Danny,” Conor says, like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just step into a situation that could go sideways in a heartbeat.
“What’s going on? Who are you?” Henry cuts in, puffing up like he’s got any real authority here. My stomach tightens. This is bad.
“Doesn’t matter,” Conor replies, voice flat, controlled. “But he’s not doing another fight.” Silence hits for half a second.
“Fuck you,” Henry snaps. “He’s fighting again. It’s already arranged.”
I swear the temperature in the room drops. It’s not just Conor’s size. It’s not just the way he stands, solid and unmoving like nothing in this place could touch him. It’s something else, something heavier. The kind of presence that makes people shut up without being told to.
Henry’s too stupid to see it. Or too blinded by borrowed power to care.
My pulse starts to pick up. Because I’ve seen men like Conor before.
Men who don’t raise their voice, he doesn’t need to.
The dangerous ones aren’t loud. They’re quiet right before everything breaks. And Henry just stepped right into it.
“The fuck you say. He can barely stand. Danny, you can’t be okay with this.” Conor turns towards the other man. I think he’s one of the guys who backs these fights.
“I came over to talk to Jaxon. Just to make sure,” Danny says, glancing between us. “But Henry’s right. Four fights were signed up for, and we’ve only had three.”
“Who’s the last match against?” Conor asks.
Why does it matter? My stomach drops. It doesn’t matter who it is. I already know I don’t have anything left. I know my body. I know my limits. Right now, it could be anyone, even someone half my size. I’d still go down.
“Edward’s boy. Tyson.” There’s a beat of silence.
“Fuck that. Change the card. I’ll take Jaxon’s place.”
My head snaps up. Before I can even process what he just said, he’s already moving, grabbing my bag, and pulling out the roll of tape.
“Now hold on a fucking minute,” Henry barks, stepping forward. “You can’t do that.”
Conor doesn’t even look at him. “I can and will.”
Henry sputters, scrambling for control, but Conor finally turns his head just enough to pin him with a look.
“Unless you’ve already placed bets that Jaxon’s going to lose,” he adds, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Is that why you’re pushing so hard? You bet against your own fighter?”
The words hit like a punch. The air shifts. People nearby start paying attention now. That’s not a small accusation Conor just made. Conor tilts his head slightly, voice dropping just enough to carry.
“You know how that’s going to look, right?” he continues. “Wearing your fighter down just to make a profit off him losing.”
Henry goes still. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks uncertain. As I sit here, staring at Conor, something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Because no one has ever stepped in for me like this before. Not even Trent when it really mattered.
“You didn’t do that, did you, Henry?” Danny’s voice cuts in, sharp now. Controlled, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there before. “Stacking a bet is not something I tolerate. I run clean here.”
Danny steps into Henry’s space. Close enough that Henry has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes, and even then, he doesn’t hold it. He shifts and takes half a step back. There it is. The truth, plain as day.
“No, I didn’t,” Henry says, too fast, too stiff.
His eyes flick around the room, looking anywhere but at Danny.
Lying. Everyone can see it. The nearby crowd goes quiet, attention shifting, sensing something more interesting than the fights themselves.
Danny’s jaw tightens. Conor doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him beside me.
Steady, unmoving, like he already knew how this would play out.
My gaze drifts back to Henry. And for the first time since I got dragged into this mess, he looks small.
“Good,” Danny says, his voice still edged with warning as his gaze stays locked on Henry. “Since that’s the case, Conor will take the spot. Unless you’ve got something else you want to tell me?”
The look he gives Henry is enough to make even my spine straighten, a quiet kind of menace that doesn’t need to be loud to be felt. Henry hesitates, just for a second, like he’s weighing something, before shaking his head.
“No. It’s fine.”
Coward. He turns and disappears into the crowd without another word, and the tension he leaves behind hangs in the air for a moment before it slowly starts to loosen. Danny exhales and shifts his attention back to Conor, studying him in a way that feels sharper now, more curious than before.
“What was that all about?” he asks, brows pulling together slightly. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you take such an…” His gaze drops to me briefly. “…interest in the fight cards.”
Conor doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even glance my way before answering.
“He’s gassed and shouldn’t be fighting again,” he says evenly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m actually looking out for your best interest. You should be thankful and not ask so many damn questions.”
Danny watches him for another beat, like he’s trying to decide if there’s more beneath that answer, something he’s not being told, but then he lets it go with a short nod, stepping back like the matter is settled.
Just like that, something in my chest sinks before I can stop it.
So that’s it. It was never about me. It was about the fights and the money.
Of course it was. I don’t know why I let myself think, even for a second, that it could be anything else.
Still, I let out a slow breath, my shoulders loosening as the reality of it settles in, because regardless of the reason, I’m done for the night.
No fourth fight. No stepping back into that cage with nothing left in the tank.
No pushing my body past the point where it might not recover.
Relief spreads through me, heavy and quiet, settling deep in my bones.
“You’ll wait for me here.”
I keep my eyes on the floor, assuming he’s talking to Danny, because there’s no reason he’d be talking to me.
No reason he should be giving me orders like I’m his to command.
That is, until I feel it. His hand cupping my jaw.
Firm. Unyielding. It’s not enough to hurt, but more than enough to leave me with no choice.
My breath catches as my head is forced up, my gaze dragged from the floor until it collides with his.
Conor’s eyes are locked on mine. Bright green and focused in a way that feels almost physical, like the weight of his attention is something I can feel pressing against my skin.
It hits something inside me I don’t understand.
Something I don’t want to understand. Especially not here. Especially not with him.
“Don’t leave until I get back,” he says, his voice low, controlled, carrying a promise more than a threat. “I’ll only hunt you down, and I won’t be happy. Understand?”
There’s no room to argue. No space to push back. The words settle heavy in my chest, and for a second, I just stare at him, caught somewhere between resisting and something else I don’t want to name. I feel like I’ve gone from the frying pan straight into the fire.
It was already bad enough being under Henry’s thumb.
Bad enough knowing Manny ultimately controls all of this.
But now there’s him. Conor. And somehow, that feels more dangerous than both of them combined.
My jaw tightens as he finally lets go, but the sensation of his grip lingers.
Just how much more fucked can my life get?