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Chapter 4: Jaxon

The office is luxurious, every inch of it dripping with wealth and power—the kind that demands attention. The dark leather chairs, the polished mahogany table, the gold fixtures—all of it reeks of a kind of luxury designed to intimidate. Scattered throughout the room are women in barely-there dresses, moving between the men with practiced ease, offering trays of drinks, lighting cigars, and setting down platters of expensive food. They smile at every man they pass, laughing at their crude jokes, pouring their whiskey with perfect hands, and sliding lit cigars between their fingers with an obedient tilt of the head.

I barely look at them, their presence more a part of the scenery than anything else. It’s all routine. The women, the liquor, the lazy arrogance of men who think they’re untouchable. I’ve seen it all, lived among it for as long as I can remember.

Silas sits a few seats down, exuding his usual lazy arrogance as he lounges next to his father, Tobias. Tobias is the real power here—the man who took me in all those years ago and carved me into what I am now. His voice cuts through the laughter in the room, calm but sharp enough to command attention, talking about territory, power, what’s owed to the Vipers. “We need to make this move cleanly,” he says, his voice low and calculating. “There’s a section of the north side that’s ripe for taking. It’ll mean wiping out a few Crimson Circle strongholds.”

At the mention of the Crimson Circle, something prickles in me. I sit up just a little, enough to let the words sink in. They’re the ones who left me an orphan, who turned me into Tobias’s cold, empty weapon. And now they’re sitting on land that Tobias wants.

The men around the table nod, expressions smug as they toss back drinks and murmur agreement. One of them, old and eager to impress, raises his glass in a mocking toast. “Crimson Circle wouldn’t stand a chance. We take what we want, wipe out the men, and bring back the women and children for the Vipers.” He grins, eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “Make them ours.”

I don’t flinch, but the disgust sits heavy, mingling with the faint satisfaction of what’s coming for the Circle. This is the kind of man I’m surrounded by. The kind who talks about lives as if they’re coins in his pocket, ready to be spent however he sees fit.

Silas speaks up, his tone smooth, reining the room back in. “We don’t want another war on our hands, gentlemen. Not if it’s avoidable. We can take what we want without spilling unnecessary blood.”

“But why negotiate?” another voice says, an edge of arrogance there. “They don’t deserve our time. We can take it all, make them submit. Why the hell would we meet with them?”

Tobias’s gaze is sharp as he cuts in. “Because we don’t need a full-blown gang war. A meeting shows strength, not weakness. And if things don’t go as planned, we’ll make sure we’re prepared.”

The murmurs of dissent ripple around the room, but Tobias doesn’t give them a second glance. His eyes flick to me, and I catch the spark in them. “Jaxon will be there, just in case.”

Silence falls, thick and weighted. I see the tension ripple across the faces around the table, their disapproving looks aimed squarely at me. One of them, the old man who made the toast, scoffs openly. “Him?” he spits. “He’s not even a real Viper. He doesn’t carry the name.”

I meet his gaze, utterly unfazed. I don’t need their approval, and I don’t need the Viper name. I don’t want it.

But this meeting, this chance to sit across from the people responsible for my parents’ deaths, to see them and know they’re in the palm of my hand—that’s something I’ll take.

Tobias silences the grumbling with a wave of his hand. “Jaxon will do what he does best. And he’ll be exactly where I want him.” His voice is firm, final. It doesn’t matter what they think of me; I know my role in this place.

I let myself smirk, just enough for the old man to catch it, just enough to let him know that if I had to, I’d take him down the same way I would any threat. My reputation doesn’t care about names or titles. I was raised to be something they all fear, something they rely on but never quite trust.

Silas watches me, an amused glint in his eyes, but I ignore him. The conversation shifts, voices growing softer as the men relax, sinking back into their chairs, nodding to the barely dressed women who flit around the table, topping off their drinks, lighting cigars.

I’m already done with this room, the arrogance, the opulence, the pathetic games. But that glimmer of interest hasn’t faded. I’ll be at that meeting, one way or another. And when I’m face to face with the Crimson Circle, I’ll be one step closer to finally looking my past in the eye.

As I drain the last of my drink, I glance around the table one more time, the dismissive laughter, the lazy grins, and I feel the familiar flicker of contempt rise. They have no idea what’s coming.

After the meeting clears out, the men drifting away with their cigars and laughter, it’s just Tobias, Silas, and me. The room feels quieter, the weight of the earlier conversation still hanging in the air. Silas slouches in his chair, relaxed as ever, but I can see the glint in his eye. This isn’t small talk now.

Tobias slides a folder across the table to me. “Let’s talk specifics. You’ll be at this meeting, Jaxon. These are the people you need to know.”

I open the folder, and a stack of photos stares back at me, ten faces I don’t recognize but instantly dislike. Tobias points to the first one, a bearded man with a scar along his jaw. “That’s Oscar Alvarez. He’s been with the Crimson Circle almost as long as I’ve been running the Vipers. Good with logistics—smuggling, weapons trade, the usual. But spineless. He won’t make a move without approval.”

He moves on, introducing me to the rest of them: Victor Morales, their second-in-command, bald and built like a tank; Edgar Soto, one of their top enforcers, eyes hard and dead. As I scan their faces, I find myself wondering which of these men, if any, could have been the one who pulled the trigger that night. The one who left me sitting in a pool of blood, clutching my mother’s body. The memory is hazy, broken images blurred by time, but the anger has stayed as clear as ever.

I keep my expression blank, moving to the next photo. This one is Marcus Taylor. Tobias speaks about him with particular disdain. “Marcus is the Crimson’s prized manipulator. That’s their way of keeping him close. Real piece of work.” I nod, filing away the details. Taylor could be anyone in that dark memory—any of them could. It’s a thought that scratches at the edge of my mind, unsettling.

Then I reach the last photo.

A blonde girl with long, straight hair that falls past her shoulders, a few wisps escaping to frame her face. Her lips are full, a deep pink, and her eyes—green, intense, something almost sad behind them. She looks out of place, like she doesn’t belong anywhere near the people in this folder.

I raise an eyebrow, glancing up at Tobias and Silas. “She from the wrong pile?”

That earns a laugh from both of them. Silas grins, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “She does look like she could serve other purposes, doesn’t she?” he chuckles. “But no, she’s their translator.”

I blink. “Translator?” I say, letting the word hang, waiting for the rest of the explanation.

Tobias nods, as if it’s perfectly logical. “Crimson Circle protocol. Paige Taylor. She’s been translating for them for years now. Skilled in languages and negotiations—good at keeping things civil.” His lip curls slightly, unimpressed. “Pretty little thing, but nothing more than a pawn.”

Silas shakes his head, clearly amused. “They use her for every big deal. Crimson Circle insists on keeping her around. She’s… their secret weapon, I guess.”

I study her picture. The men in the photos—they all make sense. Dangerous, hardened, the type to do whatever it takes. But her? She’s just a face. A pretty face, maybe, but fragile in a way that doesn’t add up. I don’t need a translator to deal with the Crimson Circle—I need to eliminate them, end their line where it stands. If that means her too, then so be it.

If she’s there, she’s part of it, and that makes her a player in the game, whether she realizes it or not.

I close the folder, looking back up at Tobias. “Anything else?”

Tobias gives a curt shake of his head. “Show up, listen, watch. If they try anything, you know what to do.”

I nod, slipping the folder under my arm as I stand. “Got it.”

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