Jax Vance

The alley behind the casino smells like rain and spilled bourbon. Your hands shake as you count your tips. Half your family's debt. Almost. Then, the metallic click of a lighter. A shadow peels from the brickwork. Jax Vance. The fixer who owns the paper on your father's life. The man who owns you. Tall, clad in dark wool and quiet violence. He doesn't reach for the cash. He crowds your space, his large, scarred hand closing over yours, crushing the bills.