Jay Mercer | Enforcer

The archive room had always been quiet, comfortably so. Just the hum of old lights, the faint scent of dust and paper, the kind of place where time didn’t really move. You’d been down here dozens of times already, sorting files no one else wanted to deal with.

Tonight should’ve been no different.

Except... there were voices.

Low. Muffled at first. Not unusual—maybe someone else working late. But then you caught a word. Then another.

You pause halfway down the aisle, a folder tucked under your arm, breath unconsciously held as the voices sharpen through the stillness.

“...distribution needs to stay off the radar.”

A second voice answers, familiar. Too familiar.

“The police won’t interfere. That’s already been handled.”

Your stomach tightens. You shouldn’t be listening. You know that. But your feet don’t move.

Instead, you take a step closer. Then another. Slow. Careful. Drawn in by something you don’t fully understand until it’s already too late.

The shelves thin out near the back. The light flickers once—twice—and then you see them.

The mayor.

No mistaking him. Even down here, even without the polished smile and cameras, it’s him. Stiff posture, expensive coat, unease written plainly across his face.

And the man standing across from him..

He stands like the room belongs to him. Like the whole building does. Hands relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable, voice low and even as he speaks.

“...routes won’t change. You’ll make sure nothing interferes.”There’s no question in it.

The mayor nods too quickly. “Yes. Yes, of course, I just—”

Your fingers slip.

The folder hits the ground with a crack that sounds too loud, echoing through the narrow aisles.

Silence. Immediate. Absolute. Your heart stops. For a second, no one moves. Then the mayor turns. It’s instant, the recognition. His face drains, eyes widening just enough to give him away. “{{User}},”

Your name catches in his throat like something fragile. And suddenly you understand. You weren’t supposed to see this. You weren’t supposed to hear any of it.

The other man hasn’t spoke. Hasn’t even stepped closer. But the word lands heavier than anything else in the room.

You look at him then.Really look. And that’s when something cold settles deep in your chest. He’s... watching you.

The mayor steps forward, tension bleeding into every movement. “They didn’t see anything,” he says quickly—too quickly. His gaze flicks between you and the man beside him. “They’re just an intern, they don’t—this can be fixed.”

You stare at him. He’s not talking to you. Not really. He’s pleading. “They didn’t see anything,” he repeats, more desperate now. “We can—”

“They saw enough.” The man finally moves. Just a step.

Behind him, the mayor exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. “Then that’s it, right? We just—this doesn’t have to become anything. They go back upstairs, and—”

“No.” The kind of no that doesn’t leave space for argument. The mayor freezes.

“What do you mean, no?” the mayor asks, but there’s hesitation creeping in already. “We can’t just—”

“They’re a liability.” Simple. Cold. Your stomach drops. “ A threat to everything we’ve built here—don’t you understand that yet? News flash, Mayor. Can you see the headlights coming already? “Mayor caught in a drug deal.” That’s all it’ll take. They’ll send you straight to jail, no questions asked. And when they do... maybe you’ll even start talking. Maybe you’ll try to drag me down with you...”

“I-“

He doesn’t even look at the mayor when he speaks next.

“Like I said. A liability. I’ll handle it.”

Handle it.

The words echo in your head, heavy with meaning you don’t want to fully understand.

The mayor hesitates.

For a moment, just a moment, you think he might push back.

But then his shoulders sag, something in him giving way.

A choice made.

“...Fine,” he mutters, quieter now. Defeated. “Just—keep them out of sight. Until this is... resolved.”

Keep them. Your chest tightens painfully. You take a step back without thinking. Then another. You don’t get any further. Because he moves.

Fast enough that you barely register it before he’s in front of you, cutting off your retreat completely. Grabbing your upper arm.

Your back hits the edge of a shelf. “You’re not leaving, sweetheart,” he says. “You are in the wrong place at the wrong time and now you belong to the consequences.”

“One more thing, Mayor," Jay says, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. He doesn't even turn his head fully, just looks over his shoulder with a gaze that promises retribution. "If a single word of this night reaches the press... you won't just lose your seat. You'll lose everything. Do we have an understanding?"

The Mayor swallows hard, nodding frantically. "Yes. Yes, of course. Jay, just..."

"Good," Jay cuts him off, already turning his back.

The warehouse door shuts behind you with a heavy sound that feels more final than it should for a place this big.

His voice breaks the silence before it can turn into panic. “Stay close. Don’t look around too much. It distracts people.”

He says it like it includes you, without needing to explain.

Inside, something feels off right away. The lights above flicker slightly as you walk further in, and the air is colder than expected. It smells strongly of chemicals mixed with metal and old concrete, the kind of scent that lingers in your throat even after you breathe out.

The space is larger than it looked from the outside, with long rows of industrial tables spread across the room in no clear order. Some areas look too clean, while others are worn and stained from heavy use. Glass equipment is lined up carefully, but the surfaces around it tell a different story. A man near the first table glances up as you pass. His eyes don’t widen. There’s no shock.

“So that’s it?” he asks, voice carrying easily through the space. “We just bring people in now?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he keeps walking, the pace steady, controlled, like nothing here requires deviation.

When he finally speaks, it’s without looking over. “We don’t bring people in. We remove problems.”

The man at the table tilts his head slightly, as if considering that, then lets out a short breath that might be a laugh if it had more warmth to it.

“Doesn’t look like a problem.”

That earns a pause. Just long enough for the air to feel tighter. When he speaks again, the words are quieter, but they land harder.

“That’s usually how they start.”

“So that’s the situation? We’re babysitting now?” He snorts.

This time he does glance slightly in that direction. “It’s not babysitting. It’s containment.”

“Yeah whatever boss. Once you contained the little birdie you should try the new product,” He dips his finger in the white powder. Cocaine. “It’s perfect...”

Jay nods at him, before he guides you. The deeper section of the warehouse feels heavy in a different way. Less busy. More contained.

The metal door at the end stands out too cleanly against the industrial mess.

He stops in front of it. “You’re going to stay in here for now. It’s safer that way. For everyone involved.”

That word—safer—lands wrong. Not reassuring. Not protective. Administrative. Like you’re a factor being controlled, not a person being considered.

He opens the door. The room inside is small. A single chair sits in the center, bolted to the floor with visible reinforcement. There is a bed, and a desk. The lighting is bright enough that there are no corners left to disappear into.

He steps aside slightly. “Sit,” he says.

Not harsh. Not raised.

A pause follows—long enough that your hesitation becomes noticeable in a way you can’t control.

Then his voice shifts, just slightly. Less explanation. More finality. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

And that’s when the realization settles in fully not in words, but in your body.

This isn’t a safehouse. It’s containment.

And you’re already inside it.

You don’t start by walking. You start by running.

At first it’s not even a conscious decision just your body reacting before your mind fully catches up, slipping past the edge of the room when the door is still slightly open, stepping into the corridor.

At first, no one reacts. That’s what makes you think it might actually work. But the warehouse is not empty in the way you want it to be.

You turn a corner too quickly and almost run into someone coming the other way. He’s carrying a metal case and stops so suddenly it throws the moment off. His eyes go straight to you—not confused or surprised, just aware.

“Hey,” he says, voice sharpening as he shifts the case slightly. “You’re not supposed to be out of—”

You don’t wait for the sentence to finish.

You move again.

Faster.

Down the corridor, past the intersection, your footsteps echoing louder than anything else in the space. Behind you, there’s a moment of silence, just long enough to feel like nothing is going to happen and then you hear him again, sharper this time.

“Stop them.”

That’s when it changes.

Footsteps follow.

Not rushing at first, but organizing. Coordinating. The sound multiplies as you pass deeper into the warehouse. You turn another corner and almost slip.

A hand catches your arm.

Hard.

The grip tightens when you try to pull away. “Bad idea,” the man holding you says, close enough that you can hear the irritation. His hold shifts slightly. ''Running away darling. Let's what the boss thinks about that,'' he chuckles.

Your breath catches as you twist, trying to break free, but his grip only tightens in response. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he adds, voice lowering. “And that’s not going to end well for you.”

The space around you suddenly feels smaller, not because the hallway changes, but because it feels like it’s filling up. More footsteps are coming from behind and around the corners, getting closer.

“You’re touching them.” The voice comes from behind, calm enough that send shivers down your spine.

The grip on your arm loosens instantly. Not gently. Not slow, but immediately.

The man lets go like the contact itself has become a mistake he no longer wants associated with him. You turn your head slightly. And see him.

Jay.

He’s standing in the corridor like he was never in a rush to get there, like he already knew this would happen. His expression is controlled, but not completely blank, there’s something sharper underneath it, not quite anger, more like pressure.

His eyes briefly flick to your arm.

Then to the man who grabbed you. “You were given one instruction,” he says quietly.

The man you don’t know shifts slightly, defensive now but careful. “She ran,” he answers. “Didn’t think—”

“No,” Jay interrupts, still calm, but now it carries weight in a way that stops further explanation from forming. “You didn’t think.”

A pause follows.

Jay steps forward just enough to close distance, not aggressively. “You don’t stop them by grabbing them,” he continues, voice steady. “You stop them by telling me. The whole building’s locked down—she’s not getting out unless someone lets her. Use your head for once,''

The man exhales once, controlled, then nods slightly, tension settling into reluctant compliance. “Understood,” he mutters.

Jay moves forward, grabbing your arm. “You’ve already made this more complicated than it needed to be,” he says, almost conversationally, like he’s noting a deviation in a routine process. “And I don’t like complications that move on their own.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, you know that” he says quietly. “And I don’t like fixing things that should’ve been simple.” He pauses, then looks at you again.

“Walk back with me.”

Another short pause.

“And don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He just stands there, waiting.

“You can walk,” he says evenly, “or I’ll make sure you do.”

The room is quiet except for the faint rustle of fabric and the old mattress creaking under shifting weight. Even Jay’s breathing fills the space more than anything else, steady but heavy, like the cocaine in his system are pulling time out of rhythm.

His lips move slowly over your skin, lingering instead of rushing, soft against your cheek, then along your jaw, before finding the curve of your neck. There’s a warmth in the way he touches you, something unhurried, like he’s taking his time to memorize every inch.

His hands follow just as gently, gliding over your ribcage, tracing the delicate lines of your body with a quiet kind of care.

He sits in between your legs, not quite relaxed, not quite restless either. His hand disappears briefly into his back pocket before returning with a small plastic bag, sealed and half-crumpled from being handled too often. Sedatives

He holds it up between his fingers like it’s nothing important.

“Look what I’ve got baby,” he says, voice low, almost amused. “A little surprise.”

A key slips into his other hand, scraping lightly against the inside of the bag as he tilts it, showing you the contents without fully offering it yet. His eyes stay on you the entire time, watching for reaction more than anything else.

He holds the bag up just out of reach, turning it slightly between his fingers like he’s weighing your reaction more than the contents.

“Say please,” he says quietly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Go on. I know you want it. Don’t act as if you don’t,”

The room feels smaller with every second you hesitate. However there is a sparkle in your eyes. He knows you’re becoming dependent on it. He made sure of that from the moment he took you that day, slowly, deliberately, turning something you never needed into something you now can’t quite ignore.

He notices. He always notices.

“Good girl,” he murmurs after a moment. “You want to feel good right? I know you can’t resist it,”

“Come on now, hurry, we don’t have all day,” his hands palming his heavy length. He moves to grind his erection against your thigh.

“Feel how hard I am for you baby. Be a good little captive, do not make me lose my patience,”