JAXON | IRON SAINTS

Connections was alive beneath them.

Bass shook the walls of the private second floor, neon bleeding beneath the cracks of the darkened doors. Downstairs, the club was packed with bodies, liquor, smoke and money. Up on the second floor, none of that mattered. The private VIP room smelled of whiskey, cigarette smoke and gunpowder. Jaxon sat forward in his chair, forearms resting against his thighs.

Across from him, the man tied to the chair was barely holding himself together. The second floor was different. Quieter. Darker. Private. Jaxon sat in the centre of one of the VIP rooms, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. Lachie stood behind the man tied to the chair. Jake lounged against the bar, lazily rolling a knife between his fingers. Lucas stood near the door, arms folded, watching everything.

The man in the chair was bleeding from his mouth, his hands trembling as they gripped onto the armrests of the chair his wrists were currently bound to. A dark bruise bloomed beneath his right eye, swelling beginning to puff, evidence of a nasty collision of fist and face.

"You've had three chances, mate." Jaxon said, his Australian accent thick. His tone was a low octave, leaning back in his chair with one leg raised, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. He regarded the bound man before him as if he were a piece of discarded gum on the floor.

"I told you, I don't know where it went!" The hostage leaned forward, yanking against the ropes desperately. Sweat dotted across his forehead, glistening under the dim lighting of the room.

Jaxon stared at him. "You stole two kilograms from me." — "I didn't steal shit." Jake gave a quiet laugh. "You're still going with that?" The man glared at him with panicked breaths escaping his chapped lips. Jaxon lifted one hand; Jake immediately shut up. Jaxon took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward.

"You walked into one of my warehouses." He tapped ash into the crystal ashtray with a dismissive flick of his finger. "You took something that wasn't yours."

"I was going to pay it back." The man butt-in, snapping his attention back towards Jaxon, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "No." Jaxon's voice was almost bored, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. He took a long, slow drag, allowing the silence to settle.

"You were going to sell it." He exhaled a cloud of smoke purposely into the man's face, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when the man scrunched his nose in response to the smell. He said nothing, that silence told Jaxon everything.

Lucas finally spoke from across the room. "He's been moving product through Central Park." Jaxon's eyes shifted toward him, allowing the cigarette to sit with a slight slack between his fingers. "How much?"

Lucas scoffed, a casual shrug lifting his shoulders before allowing them to drop. "Enough to make him stupid." Jake smirked, his eyes still lingering on the blade he slowly rolled. "That explains the balls."

Jaxon looked back at the man, a slow, unimpressed, almost bored sigh leaving his lips as he pressed the burning end of his cigarette into the ashtray. "You know what your problem is?" The man swallowed. "You thought because I wasn't standing over the deal, nobody was watching."

Jaxon pressed his hands to the armrests of his own chair, smoothly pushing himself up. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he then moved to approach the now trembling man, his breathing became frantic. "Jaxon, listen—I can fix it. I'll give you everything back."

"You can't." Jaxon stopped directly in front of him, his hand shifting to flick back his jacket. His hand found the hilt of his gun, snatched to his waist behind the waistband of his jeans. "Because you already sold it."

The man's face changed. Jaxon saw it. That tiny flicker of confirmation. The handgun came free, the metallic click of the slide snapping back into place after Jaxon's free hand pulled it backwards almost casually, as if he wasn't preparing to put a bullet in someone's skull.

Lachie didn't move. Jake stopped playing with the knife, his gaze finally lifting. Lucas' expression remained completely blank. The man began struggling against the restraints, his eyes widening as Jaxon raised the barrel, pointing it directly at the man's forehead.

"Wait!—"

A single gunshot tore through the room, a single flash signalling the release of a bullet. The man's head snapped back violently, the strain of bone forcing his head to bounce back forwards before he slumped downwards in the chair. Silence followed.

Jaxon lowered the weapon. He stared at the corpse for a moment, eyeing over the hole occupying the centre of the male's forehead before calmly wiping his thumb across the side of his mouth. "Get rid of him." Lachie nodded. "On it..." Jake pushed himself away from the bar. "Christ."

Jaxon turned toward the table. And then the door opened; every man in the room froze. Jaxon's head turned sharply towards the door, his sharp eyes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway. Before she had a chance to even think of turning, Jaxon's free hand shot out towards her.

His fingers coiled around her wrist, and with a sudden bone-jarring force he yanked her into the room with enough strength to slam her body against his own. Lachie moved, his hand grasping the door and slamming it shut behind her, flicking the lock and positioning himself in front of the door.

"You've got very bad fuckin' timing, Luv." Jaxon spoke low in irritation, his voice rumbling deeply in his throat. His grip on her wrist tightened enough to bruise. He suddenly released her wrist, reaching up instead, and caught a fistful of her hair near the back of her head, using the grip to keep her attention fixed on him. "Look at me."

His voice was low. Controlled. Dangerously calm. "You don't get to walk into my room, see what you saw, and decide you're simply going to walk back downstairs." His grip tightened. "That isn't how this works." He yanked her head by her hair backwards, pulling her in a way that forced her down onto her knees before him. "You want to know what happens now?"

His gaze didn't leave hers. "I could put a bullet in your skull, just like our friend here." He gave a vague gesture to the corpse still slumped in the chair with the gun still in his hand. "Make sure you don't around with the pigs, ay..." A faint smile appeared.

"But I don't think I'm going to do that." Jaxon tilted his head. "Not yet, anyway. So don't piss me off, Sheila..." There was something about her being here that had changed the situation. The sensible thing would have been to remove the problem. Instead, Jaxon found himself wanting to know more.

Who she was. Why she'd come upstairs. And, perhaps most importantly, what would happen if he kept her close? He glanced toward the locked door, between his boys, then back at her.

"You're going to stay." His tone left no room for negotiation. "Jax—" Lachie attempted to intercept. "Fuck up, Lachie..." Jaxon snapped, his gaze briefly flicking towards Lachie who quickly shut his mouth before he crouched down in front of her. "What do you think of that, mouse?" He cooed with an almost teasing lilt.

His hand remained tightly locked in her hair, his other hand now flicking the gun towards her, pressing it harshly beneath her chin, the cold of the metal biting against the underside of her jaw. His teasing lilt dropped, replaced by something colder and authorative. "Name." It wasn't a question; it was a demand.

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