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Silence.
The air in the private booth became so heavy it felt like it was pressing the oxygen out of the room. Rebecca lowered her head, her small frame tense, but then she forced herself to look up, her one good eye burning with a stubborn defiance. She wouldn't let the Queen see her flinch.
Kiwi sat like a statue, her mask hiding any expression, focused entirely on the rhythmic glow of her cigarette. Pilar's usual twitchy energy had vanished; she sat unnaturally still, her fingers digging into the fabric of her pants. Dorio's gaze darted to Maine, her hand resting near his, ready for whatever command—or disaster—came next.
Sasha, meanwhile, took a delicate sip of her drink, looking for all the world like she was elsewhere. But Jax knew better. Sasha's intelligence was a jagged blade; she understood the power dynamics in this room better than anyone. She was just playing the part of the "lazy kitten" to keep the target off her back.
Only Jackie was out of the loop. He wasn't a fool—his years on the street had given him a keen nose for trouble—but the shift from "we're hanging with the Queen" to "the Queen might execute us" was giving him whiplash. His excitement had curdled into a cold knot in his stomach. Should I tell her I'm just the driver? he wondered. Then he looked at Jax and Maine. No. Loyalty, mano. You don't walk out on brothers.
Jackie opened his mouth to crack a joke, to vent the pressure, but Maine beat him to the punch.
"You knew this mission was a trap," Maine said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You let Kerfu bait us into a meat grinder. Isn't that breaking the rules of the biz?"
Rogue didn't blink. "Was this mission issued through Afterlife channels?"
Maine looked at Pilar. Pilar's mouth twitched. The job hadn't come from the Afterlife. It had come from Wakako Okada, the old auntie of Japantown who had introduced the "Many-Faced" Fixer to Pilar.
Everything clicked for Jax then. The traps, the 6th Street ambush, the Tyger Claws... it wasn't just bad luck. It was a targeted hit.
"This job went through Wakako's hands," Rogue sneered, her eyes flashing with a cold light. "If you want to cry about injustice, don't do it in my booth. Go talk to the lady in Japantown."
"Why would Wakako harm us?!" Rebecca blurted out, her voice shrill with disbelief.
"Rebecca!" Pilar hissed, grabbing her arm. But it was too late.
Pilar felt a wave of exhaustion. Rebecca was loyal and fierce, but she was fundamentally kind. She still believed the elders of the street looked out for their own. She didn't see that to a Fixer like Wakako, mercenaries weren't family—they were assets to be balanced on a ledger.
"Why?" Rogue looked at Rebecca, her expression almost pitying. "If it were just you and your brother, she wouldn't have a reason. You're good kids. Good investments. But you forgot something. Your team has an extra variable."
The crew's eyes drifted to Jax.
"Why are you looking at him?" Rebecca shouted, standing up. "Jax is part of us!"
"Sit down, Rebecca," Maine commanded, his hand like a lead weight on her shoulder. He looked at Rogue, his posture straight. "Jax is my man. Kerfu's death, the garage—we did it together. Whatever fallout there is, we bear it as a crew."
Pilar's fingernails drew blood from her own thigh. She finally understood. Jax had a blood feud with the Tyger Claws. Wakako ruled Japantown, the Tyger Claws' heart. To keep the peace with the gang, Wakako had offered up Maine's crew—specifically Jax—as a sacrifice to Kerfu's "suicide mission."
Rogue clapped her hands, a slow, rhythmic sound. "Good. I like guys with spine."
"Mercenaries killing a Fixer... normally, that's a career-ender. No Fixer in this city would touch you after that. This business relies on the middleman being untouchable. But," Rogue paused, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, "I used to be a solo. And I've always hated the rules that protect the cowards behind the desks."
Rogue crossed her legs, leaning back. "So, here's the deal. You're in a bad spot. Kerfu's dead, but the people behind him—the ones who wanted that data—they have long memories."
"You mean...?" Maine started.
"Exactly. You cleared a 6th Street stronghold and performed a high-rise assassination. You're overqualified for the gutters of Santo Domingo. I need hitters like you. Real ones."
"You work for me," Rogue said, her voice dropping an octave, "and I vouch for you. From now on, my word is the law. Nobody touches Afterlife assets."
Maine's face lit up. This wasn't just survival; it was a promotion to the premier league. "No problem. We're in. But... the payout?"
"Standard rates. No 'Fixer tax' to protect you," Rogue said. "I have my own rules here. If you're fast and you're clean, you get paid. If there's a problem, you come to me."
The tension in the room snapped. Dorio let out a breath she'd been holding since the clinic. Jackie was practically vibrating with joy—the Queen of the Afterlife had just invited them to join her inner circle!
"Good. From today, you belong to the Afterlife," Rogue said, her eyes glowing yellow as she initiated a secure link. "Take your own street jobs if you want, but when I call, you drop everything. Understood?"
Before Maine could say yes, a new voice echoed in the room.
"What wind blew you here?"
Slow, gentle, and utterly cold. It was Wakako Okada. Rogue had pulled her into the call on speaker.
"Two things, Wakako," Rogue said, her voice turning into a whip. "First: stop messing with my people. If you try to bait one of my crews into a crossfire again, I'll cut off your claws myself."
"I don't understand, Rogue," Wakako's voice quickened. "How could I touch your people?"
"The kid from the Moxes," Rogue said, glancing at Jax. "He's mine now."
"What? But he's clearly—"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Rogue roared. The speaker hissed with the silence from the other end. "Don't you dare interrupt me again."
"Second thing: Kerfu and the Tyger Claws," Rogue continued, her tone regaining its terrifying calm. "I let your little games slide because I give you face. But a Fixer does a Fixer's job. Gang politics have nothing to do with you. Keep your hands clean, or I'll clean them for you."
A long pause. Then, Wakako's voice returned, humble and subdued. "Thank you for the guidance. You are right. A Fixer should have no stance. I was ignorant. It won't happen again."
Rogue hung up. The room was silent as the crew stared at her. Jackie was in a state of religious awe—the Padre was a god in Heywood, but Rogue had just treated one of the city's top Fixers like a disobedient child.
"Fixers, I can handle," Rogue said, turning back to Jax. "But the Tyger Claws? I won't manage your gang wars. Those punks are like the Maelstrom—they fight for the sake of the fight. As long as you keep your head down, you'll survive."
Rogue looked at Jax with an expectation he'd seen before. She'd read his file. She knew he was a "natural" who could climb fifteen stories and move faster than a man with a Sandevistan. She saw the shadow of someone she used to know—a man named Morgan Blackhand. She was looking for her own legendary solo to lead her into a new era.
But Jax looked at her with eyes that were clear and unclouded by the fame she was offering. He shook his head slowly.
"Rogue," he said softly. "It's not about them letting me go. It's about me not letting them go."
"Like you said, gang matters are gang matters. And I, from the beginning to the end, belong to the Moxes."
"I won't stand by while they bleed my family."
Rogue's face fell. The warmth in the room vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp disappointment.
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