King of the Underground

Chapter 1: The Return

The prison gates opened with a scream of rusted steel.

Jaxon Creed stepped into the blinding daylight, squinting as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years—because he hadn’t. Five years in a Russian hellhole, the kind of place that erased men and carved demons into their skin. His beard was thicker, his body leaner, harder. Tattoos crawled up his neck like war paint, scars stitched into muscle like badges of survival.

He didn’t flinch when the gates slammed shut behind him.

No one waited for him. No car. No woman. No crew.

He walked.

The Russian cold bit through his cheap prison coat, but he kept moving, boots crunching gravel with every step like a warning to the world. He was coming back.

And he wasn’t the same man who left.

He landed in Cape Heights two days later.

The city smelled the same—smog, sweat, and ambition. The skyline had changed. More glass, more towers, more money. But the underbelly? Still the same. It still whispered in alleyways. Still bled in backstreets. Still remembered who ran it before the fall.

Jaxon Creed.

He didn’t go home.

He didn’t have one.

Instead, he found himself outside The Copper Fang—an old boxing gym that used to front his operation. The windows were dark. The paint peeled. But it was still standing. That meant something.

He pushed open the door.

Inside, the sound of fists hitting bags echoed like distant thunder. A young guy—lean, maybe twenty—was sparring in the ring. A coach barked commands, eyes sharp. But the moment Jaxon stepped in, time stopped.

The coach stared. The fighter froze mid-punch.

“Jax?” the coach croaked, dropping the towel in his hand.

Jaxon nodded once. “Hello, Damon.”

Damon looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Not yet.”

The young fighter slid out of the ring, nervous. Damon waved him off and stepped closer, squinting like he didn’t believe it. “They said you were rotting in some Siberian dungeon.”

“I was.”

“They said you sold us out.”

“I didn’t.”

Silence. Thick enough to choke on.

Jaxon broke it. “Where’s my brother?”

Damon stiffened. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I didn’t come back for hugs, Damon. I came for my empire.”

Damon rubbed his face. “He’s not the same kid you used to protect. Kade’s... he runs everything now. Your clubs, your runners, your docks. He’s partnered with foreign muscle. Politicians. He’s ten steps ahead.”

Jaxon’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll take eleven.”

“You don’t have a crew, Jax.”

“I don’t need one.”

Damon laughed—short, bitter. “That’s the old you talking.”

Jaxon stepped forward, inches away. “No, Damon. The old me would’ve burned this place to the ground. The new me? I want my throne back. And I want every bastard who touched it to bleed.”

Damon looked into his eyes—and saw it. The same fire. But colder. Sharper.

“You’ve got two people left who haven’t betrayed you,” Damon finally said. “Me... and her.”

“Who?”

Damon hesitated. “Lyra.”

Jaxon’s chest tightened. “Where is she?”

“She works at Eclipse. Kade’s top club downtown. She... she’s not the same either.”

“None of us are.”

That night, Jaxon walked into Eclipse like a wolf in a lion’s den.

Neon lights bled from the ceiling. Bass pounded in his chest. Bodies writhed under flashing strobes, dancing for money, power, or escape.

He didn’t dance.

He stalked.

The bouncers didn’t recognize him, not at first. But something in his stare made them step aside. The bartender flinched when she met his eyes, like she saw the grave behind them.

And then he saw her.

Lyra.

She stood behind the VIP bar, mixing drinks with the same grace she used to use to clean bullet wounds. Her black dress clung to her like smoke. Her eyes—dark, unreadable—swept the room.

They stopped on him.

Her hand froze.

For a moment, everything else vanished. The music, the lights, the people. It was just them—two ghosts colliding in a place built on lies.

She walked toward him slowly.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

“I was,” he said. “Now I want answers.”

She didn’t smile. “You’re five years too late, Jax.”

“Then let’s catch up.”