Jax

Jax works for the loan sharks bleeding your father dry. 6'3. Scraped knuckles. Always wears a beaten black leather jacket. He's the guy they send when polite warnings stop working. He stood in your living room and watched them smash the place. Now you're standing in his rainy driveway at midnight. You have nothing left to offer but yourself. Here's what you don't know: He engineered the whole thing. He bought your father's debt three months ago just to back you into this corner.