Jett had Stephen’s head cupped in a single hand, the fingers tight and unyielding. Max had Anton by the hair, hauling him forward like a ragdoll. For a heartbeat the two of them just stared at each other, the container-yard crowd holding its breath around the edges. The metallic hush of the night felt thicker than it had a second ago, everyone waiting for what either man would do next.
Finally, Jett let go. He released his fingers from Stephen’s skull and Stephen’s body dropped to the concrete with a dull thud. The air stirred with the small sound of someone sucking in a breath; someone else swore softly; others shifted, preparing for whatever would follow.
"So you actually managed to do it?" Jett asked, voice low and edged with a curious mix of irritation and respect. "You managed to get the slimy person that was behind all of this?"
His gaze flicked from Max to Anton and back again. The crowd watched, hanging on his every sentence like it was an auctioneer calling price.
"I assume you know, right? He was the one that kidnapped that damned girl, and the one that asked for you to receive a beating. I’m sure that man squealed quicker than you ever imagined."
Jett’s face twisted into a little smile that wasn’t friendly. It was the expression of someone who had been annoyed for a long time and had finally been given a reason to be vindicated.
"So it looks like you managed to save the girl," he continued. "But do you really think that changes the position you’re in right now?"
Jett sounded almost amused. The idea that rescuing Sheri might solve everything, might excuse what had happened to the rest of them, was a thought he considered laughable. For him this was business; for most of the others it was personal. Either way, Jett didn’t care which it was as long as he got what he wanted.
He was surprised, actually. This young kid, the one who had turned up with reinforcements, had done more than Jett had expected. For a while he’d assumed the Bloodline group’s attack on their bases was coordinated and part of a broader assault, and he had thought that the people he was facing were just another gang. This kid was beyond what Jett had expected: either a very talented private-security rookie or someone with hidden teeth.
"You must have gotten really cocky, though," Jett said, mocking. "Which proves that you’re still just a kid. So you save the girl, and you grab the man behind all of this, but does it matter?"
"This isn’t some game. This isn’t how the world works. You see, I got involved, and I still haven’t been paid."
He pointed with a callused finger, slower than his voice, toward Anton and then across the ring of beaten men.
"The whole point of kidnapping that girl was so I would be paid by the Billion Bloodline group. Because that man right there doesn’t have enough money to pay me. I knew that from the beginning, that’s why he even came up with this idea."
Jett’s tone hardened. He didn’t gloat; he explained facts. This was a man used to calculating chances and deciding when to flex teeth.
"And even if you saved the girl, what about everyone here?" he asked. "You saved one, and now the rest of you are still hostages, including you." He jabbed his finger in Max’s direction. The gesture was measured, deliberate.
"For all the people here, I wonder how much the Billion Bloodline will pay, right? Or maybe they won’t care for you at all and only care for that girl. If that’s the case, I’ll just have to get rid of all of you and take her again until I get paid."
"As for that man in your hand," Jett said, eyes narrowing toward Anton, "well, he’s just useless, and he’s not the tool you think he is."
Max’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, he let a sliver more of Anton’s hair drag through his fist. Then, with a small, controlled motion, he flung Anton by his hair so hard the man tumbled across the concrete and landed in a crumpled heap. Anton rolled once, twice, and stopped. He lay there, winded, face pale and eyes darting from Max to Jett to the people standing around, trying to understand the enormity of what had just happened to him.
When Anton didn’t move, when he stayed face-down and breathing shallow, it was clear he was too afraid to do anything but lie still. He worried Max would strike him again. He feared Jett might step over and finish what had been started. So he kept his head low and let the world spin above him.
Wolf watched all of this with a slow, sinking feeling. I hate to think about it...but Jett is right, he thought. I know Max is strong, and he’s been able to flip situations before and beat people who should have been out of his league. He bested those that were higher rank than him. But all of us were beaten here, even Na who is A-rank. Max defeated Dud at the same level, so at best Max can face A+ ranks. Fighting Jett? That seems impossible, even for him. The only person who could possibly help in this situation would be Aron, and even then I’m not sure it would be enough.
Wolf’s conclusion was quiet and bitter; he couldn’t find a pathway to victory in the clutter of bones and bodies and bruised faces before him. He wasn’t alone. Most people there were thinking the same thing.
That kid... Darno thought, watching Max. He’s strong enough to fight a few guards here and there, and he’s the last real fighter left, besides that green ranger guy. But it’s hopeless. He’d be better off getting out of here. He saved the girl, surely that’ll spare us. At least I hope so.
Darno’s mind beat against worry and hope, neither giving way to the other.
Max straightened. He was calm in a way that made his shoulders look broader. The fight had drained energy from everyone else; his own body felt tired too, but there was clarity in his fatigue. He let his fingers relax, but he didn’t lower his guard.
"I have no more tricks," Max said, lifting his hand slightly. It was not bravado. He meant it. He could gamble ten million of his money and it wouldn’t shift the numbers here. He saw the layout of the fight, the extent of their losses, and the way the tides had turned; he understood the only option open to him now.
"You said that you would leave as long as you got one thing, right?" Max addressed Jett, his voice steady.
Then, after a beat, he continued, "How about I pay you?"