Jackson (Mercy Ring Book 1)
Jackson: Chapter 12

The wooden steps creaked beneath Jackson’s feet as he headed down into the basement. It was finally Friday night and one of Mickey’s guys, Brooks, led him to where he needed to go.

He scanned the room, noticing a small crowd had already gathered, even though he was early. There were rows of chairs lining every side of the ring. The wire cage around the raised platform was high, easily seven feet tall.

Impenetrable. That was his first thought.

Dec, Cole, and River weren’t due to arrive for another hour. He’d already spoken to Mickey about her attending. The guy wasn’t happy, but when he realized it was both of them or neither, he’d reluctantly conceded.

Jackson had barely reached the basement floor when he felt eyes on him. Like hot beams hitting him from the side.

Immediately, he shot his gaze to the corner of the room, spotting three men. All looked to be in their early forties. All looked less than impressed by the sight of him.

Who were they? Was one of them Elijah?

He dragged his gaze away, but not before committing each man’s face to memory.

“There are rooms down this hall,” Brooks said, walking forward without checking that Jackson was following. It seemed a lot of people weren’t impressed by his appearance. Brooks had been sneering at him since the second he stepped foot inside the club.

“How many other fighters are there?” Jackson asked.

“Nine. Five fights a night. Because of the…nature of the fights, every fighter only goes one bout, then waits until next week.”

The guy seemed happy about that. Pleased about people getting their asses kicked.

Asshole.

Cage fighting was a mix of different forms of martial arts. The fighters wore shorts and hand wraps. It was dangerous. And most fighters didn’t last the average three to five rounds.

Brooks shot a look over his shoulder. “Wait until you see Thunder. He’s massive. And he doesn’t fight fair or show mercy.” He stopped outside a door, smiling.

The guy thought Jackson was going to lose. Well, Brooks was in for a little disappointment.

“Good. The dirtier the better. I got a lot of pent-up rage to get out of my system. And it’s no fun taking down an asshole who’s smaller, is it?”

The smile slipped from the guy’s mouth.

Jackson looked away, casting a quick glance down the long, narrow hall. There were multiple doors off to one side, and right at the end were some stairs.

Where did they lead? Back into the club?

Jackson looked back to the guy in front of him. “Where do those stairs go?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

Brooks opened the door, and Jackson stepped into the room. It was larger than he’d expected. Four guys stood around the space, some wrapping their hands, others getting changed.

“We never place you in a room with your opponent,” Brooks said, stepping inside behind him. “The rest of the guys have another room down the hall. Bathroom’s two doors down. We’ll call you when it’s your turn. You’re the third fight.”

“Who the fuck’s this?”

Jackson turned his head to see a bald guy in shorts standing up from a bench. Tattoos covered his body from head to toe.

“This is Ryker’s replacement.”

The guy scowled. “He just gets to go straight into his position?”

Brooks’ eyes narrowed. “Take it up with Mickey, it was his call.” Then Brooks left.

The guy’s gaze remained on Jackson, studying him, before his jaw hardened and he sat back down. He shook his head. “Why the fuck do I care if you wanna get fucking killed tonight?”

So Jackson getting his ass beat was the common consensus then. Turning, he lowered his bag to the nearest bench.

“Shut the fuck up, Wall.”

Wall grumbled. Jackson shot a look at the man who spoke. The guy was big, probably close to six four. Tattoos covered half his chest and his right shoulder, and he had a piercing in his right eyebrow.

He looked up, catching Jackson’s gaze. “Ignore him. It took him a long time to reach his rank and he’s a jealous fucker.”

Jackson nodded.

The guy straightened. “I’m Erik.”

“Jackson. You been fighting here long?”

“Maybe a year.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s good money and I’m a good fighter, so works out well.”

“You had a lot of experience in a cage?”

He laughed. “I was a professional boxer for a while, so yeah, you could say I have some experience. Although this is a completely different ballgame.”

Yeah, so he’d been told. He tugged his shirt over his head. “You fought Thunder before?”

The guy sneered. “Yeah, the guy’s a mean son of a bitch. He likes the front kick to the face and the side kick to the knees. Protect those points. He won’t hesitate to do some permanent damage.”

Jackson stored those tips away. “Thanks.”

The guy nodded before turning back to his own bag.

Jackson spent the next half hour wrapping his hands and warming up. He wanted to get out of the room. See what else was there. No one had told him he couldn’t, so when everyone else was busy, he moved into the hall, heading away from the fighting area. The first thing he did was slip up the stairs. He tried the handle on the door at the top, not surprised to replace it locked.

Next, he moved back down the hall, scanning the empty rooms. A couple held filing cabinets and beer kegs. A couple more were locked.

He did a quick scan of the desks, noticing most were empty. He was betting the important stuff was in what River had assumed was an office beyond the ring. A room he was sure would be locked.

When he reached the main room with the cage, he saw that more people had arrived. He scanned the crowd for Dec, Cole, and River but didn’t spot them. What he did see was Mickey deep in conversation with some guys to the side of the room. And not just any guys. The ones who’d been watching him when he arrived in the basement.

Mickey seemed to be speaking quickly, and even though Jackson couldn’t hear what he was saying, he could tell the guy was angry. They all were.

When Jackson looked past them, he saw a man leading a small group toward the office. His entire body iced over when he realized who it was.

His father.

River was sandwiched between Jackson’s friends as they moved through the club, Cole in front of her and Declan behind. Neither of them smiled. Both scanned the place like they were waiting for a threat to jump out at any moment.

Which was fair enough. The place was packed.

When they reached the hall, there was a line to get to the basement. The men remained silent. She kind of felt like a celebrity shielded by her bodyguards. The thought almost had her laughing.

When they reached the front of the line, she recognized Johnny by the door and almost groaned. She didn’t like any of Mickey’s guys. In her opinion, they were all jerks with guns and too much power. But she disliked Johnny in particular. There was just something about him that made her suspect he was a slippery bastard.

When Johnny’s gaze fell on her, his eyes narrowed.

Yeah, I don’t like you either, buddy.

His jaw ticked, but he nodded them through. The second River stepped onto the top step, her eyes widened. From what she could see of the room, the place was packed. Like, packed-packed. God, there had to be a couple hundred people here, at least. Some sat, a lot stood around talking, waiting for the first fight to start.

Cole turned his head. “Stick close.”

Uh, was it even possible to get away in this crush?

When they reached the bottom, the guys shifted closer as Cole led them over to some seats. Any closer, and they’d both be touching her. Full-on body against body as they walked.

When a guy rushed past, he brushed against River, shoving her straight into Declan, who caught her.

Cole grabbed the guy, getting in his face before giving him a strong shove. “Watch it.”

The guy’s chest puffed up, but there was a hint of fear when he saw how big both Cole and Declan were. He walked away quickly.

Yeah, she was definitely safe with these two.

When they reached the chairs, River almost breathed a sigh of relief as she sat down.

“You okay?” Declan asked.

She was quickly realizing Declan was the talker between the two. The lighthearted one. Cole, on the other hand, was a brooder.

“I’m okay.” Kind of. Not really. Okay, she was totally crapping her pants at the idea of Jackson stepping into that cage and fighting some guy who had probably spent a large chunk of his life fighting criminals.

Why the hell had he agreed to this? Surely there were other ways to get the information they needed. Fighting in this club had ended with Ryker’s funeral, for Christ’s sake.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to calm her nerves. A second passed before Cole’s hand covered hers, lifted it from her leg, and gently straightened her fingers before releasing her.

She looked down, seeing the red nail marks on her skin. She hadn’t even realized she’d been digging her nails into her own thigh.

Declan nudged her shoulder. “He’ll be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen Jackson fight. He’s been trained by the best and he’s fought the meanest assholes in the world. He knows how to take a hit, and even more than that, he knows how to give one.”

Cole crossed his arms. “This time tomorrow, he’ll be bragging about his battle scars to anyone who’ll listen.”

River scoffed. “Well, it won’t be me. After tonight, I never want to hear about this fight again.”

The logical side of her brain knew they’d probably be back. That the Ryker puzzle wouldn’t be solved in one night. But the part of her brain that didn’t want to think about Jackson getting hurt was in denial. A solid, Jackson’s-never-stepping-in-that-cage-again denial.

When the crowd started to quiet, River glanced up to see Mickey walking into the ring. Her lips thinned at the sight of him. God, she couldn’t stand the guy. Not just because he’d hit her. But because if a man hit a woman once, he’d do it again, and had probably done it before. She imagined what would have happened if she was a woman of lower self-worth and had stayed with him.

Her fingers curled into fists.

“Welcome, everyone. Tonight we have five excellent matches lined up for you, including one exciting new fighter.” Mickey scanned the crowd, eyes falling on River for a second before moving away. “First up, we have the Tornado and Mike. Let’s get loud for them.”

The crowd did exactly that. Yelling and cheering as two men stepped out from the hall and climbed onto the platform. Jesus, they were huge, both in height and breadth. And they looked…rough. As in, there was no way in hell she’d want to be caught dead in a dark alley with either.

She shifted back further into her seat, suddenly loving that she was sandwiched between two former Deltas.

Both men in the ring spent a moment glaring at each other, puffing their big chests like they were animals in the wild. It wasn’t until Mickey ducked out, closing the cage door behind him, and a whistle blew, that they started inching toward each other.

River sucked in a sharp breath at the first hit. The punch was thrown by Tornado. It was hard, and it was powerful. And it took her by surprise. For some reason, she’d expected a pause before fighting. Weren’t they supposed to dance around each other? Take a few moments to intimidate their opponent?

Even though Mike’s head flew back, he rebounded immediately, throwing a punch of his own.

The fight continued like that, fast and violent. At one point, Tornado lifted Mike off the ground, flipping him over his shoulder. He quickly followed it up with a stomp to the ribs.

River cast her eyes away, wincing. That’s when she saw him—Jackson, standing in the hall, watching the fight. Studying it.

Her next breath was more of a shudder. Because soon, that would be him in there. Fighting a man just as big. Just as dangerous.

As if he felt her eyes on him, Jackson tore his gaze from the fight and looked straight at her. For a moment, they just remained like that. The roaring crowd, the lights, the action, all of it faded around them, as if it were just the two of them. Her heart was pounding with the need to go straight over there and march him out. Put him in a little bubble of safety.

He winked at her, and a smile curved his lips as if he could see her fear and was trying to ease it. It didn’t work. Not even a little bit.

When the second fight rolled around, it was much the same as the first. A flurry of fists and blood and gut-wrenching violence.

Every minute that passed had the bile in her throat rising. She pushed it down.

You asked to be here, River. Deal with it.

But she’d only asked because she’d known that sitting at home would be worse. Instead of watching Jackson get the crap beaten out of him, she’d be imagining it. And it would have been all the worst-case scenarios. The panic would have suffocated her.

When the second fight finally finished and Mickey returned to the cage, River bit her lip, tasting blood. Her fingernails bit into her thighs again, tiny gasps of air rushing in and out of her chest.

Declan leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Breathe.”

She gave a quick nod, knowing full well she wouldn’t be sucking in any easy breaths until Jackson was safe.

The man himself entered the cage, shirtless, cords of muscle bulging from his chest and arms.

Then his opponent stepped in.

And yep, River was pretty sure she was going to throw up right there and then. Not only because the guy was just as big as Jackson and looked like he’d just been released from prison, with scars and tattoos riddling his body, but because River was certain this guy wouldn’t be fighting fair.