The Unseen Face

The bell rang. Jax exhaled sharply, shaking out his hands as he stepped toward the center of the ring. Every inch of his body was screaming. His ribs throbbed, his legs were sluggish, and the taste of blood coated his mouth.

But he was still standing. Across from him, Vargas looked untouched. The man grinned, rolling his shoulders, his muscles flexing like a coiled spring. Jax had landed solid hits, but Vargas wasn't breaking.

Romano, seated ringside, watched with the calm patience of a man who already knew the outcome. Jax clenched his jaw. He thinks I'm finished. Let's prove him wrong.

Jax barely had time to react before Vargas launched forward. A freight train of muscle and rage. Jax sidestepped just in time, avoiding a right hook that could've caved his skull in. But something was off.

Vargas was too fast. Faster than before. Like he knew where Jax would be before he even moved. Jax ducked a left, then pivoted, throwing a quick counter—but Vargas was already blocking it.

Jax frowned. No way. He feinted left, then spun into a brutal body shot—but Vargas was there again, absorbing the hit like it was nothing.

Jax backed up. Something wasn't right. Then he saw it. Romano. He wasn't watching the fight—he was watching the referee.

Jax's stomach twisted. Vargas stepped forward, smirking. "Figured it out yet?" Jax clenched his jaw. He glanced at the referee—the man wasn't even paying attention. His eyes flickered toward Romano, waiting.

Then—Vargas moved. A sudden, devastating knee to Jax's stomach. Pain exploded through his ribs.

Jax gasped, nearly doubling over, but before he could recover, Vargas slammed a right hook into his face. Crack.

Blood splattered across the mat. The crowd erupted. Jax stumbled back, blinking blood out of his eyes. Why hadn't the ref stopped the knee?

Then it hit him. Romano had paid him off. Jax wasn't just fighting Vargas. He was fighting Vargas, the ref, and every single person Romano controlled.

Vargas didn't let up. Jax barely dodged a left hook—but then Vargas grabbed him.

Jax struggled, but Vargas yanked his head down—right into a brutal headbutt.

Jax's skull cracked against Vargas's forehead. Everything went white. He hit the mat. Hard. The crowd gasped.

Jax blinked rapidly, his ears ringing. Get up. MOVE. The ref stood still. No warnings. No calls for a foul.

Jax's stomach churned. This wasn't a fight. This was an execution. "One… two… three…" The count had started.

Jax forced himself up to his hands and knees, spitting blood. "Four… five…" He gritted his teeth. "Screw this."

Jax wasn't staying down. By the time Jax stood, Vargas was already waiting. The moment the fight resumed, Vargas lunged. Jax didn't dodge.

Instead, he grabbed Vargas's head and drove his thumb into his eye. Vargas howled, stumbling back.

The ref rushed forward—finally moving. "Watch the hands, Mercer!" Jax let out a breathless laugh. "Now you care about the rules?" Vargas wiped his eye, rage flashing across his face. "You wanna play dirty?" he growled. "Fine." He charged.

Jax sidestepped, planting his heel into Vargas's knee. The joint buckled.

Vargas cursed, his movement slowing for the first time. Jax didn't let him recover. A left hook to the ribs. A right hook to the jaw. An uppercut that rocked his head back.

Vargas staggered. The crowd screamed.

Romano sat up straighter. Now Jax had his attention. Jax backed up, breathing hard. He could end this. One more shot. But Romano had other plans.

Jax was about to move when a voice cut through his earpiece. Wait—his earpiece? The ref. Jax narrowed his eyes. The ref was listening to someone. Then the ref turned, gesturing to Vargas. A pause in the fight.

Jax's stomach dropped. What the hell? He turned to Mason in the crowd—his friend was shouting something, waving frantically. Jax's ears rang.

Then—the mat beneath him shifted. He barely had time to register the movement before Vargas lunged.

Jax dodged—but suddenly his foot slipped. His ankle twisted at the wrong angle. Pain. He hit the ground, gasping. They rigged the damn mat. Vargas stood over him, grinning. "Tough break, Mercer."

Jax barely had time to react before Vargas's foot slammed into his ribs. Jax choked on air. His ribs screamed in agony. He rolled to his side, coughing up blood. Mason was at the edge of the ring, screaming. "JAX, GET UP!"

Jax clenched his fists. The pain was unbearable. But this wasn't just about him anymore. Romano wanted to own him. Vargas wanted to bury him.

Jax wasn't letting either of them win. He pushed himself up. Slow. Painful. But steady. Vargas frowned. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jax spit blood onto the mat. Then he smiled. "You're getting tired." Vargas blinked. "What?" Jax moved. Faster than Vargas could react. A devastating left hook crashed into Vargas's ribs.

Then a right hook to the jaw. Then an elbow straight into his temple. Vargas stumbled. Jax saw the opening—and took it. A final, brutal uppercut. Vargas's head snapped back. He hit the ground. Out cold. The crowd exploded.

Jax stood over Vargas, chest heaving. The ref hesitated—then finally moved, raising Jax's arm. Winner: Jax Mercer.

But Jax wasn't looking at Vargas. He was looking at Romano. The crime boss sat still, watching, his face unreadable. Jax had won. But this wasn't over. What Comes Next?

Jax survived the fight, but the war wasn't over. He may have survived in the ring but Romano isn't done with him yet.