𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You stood pressed against the bars of the boxing ring, the cold metal digging into your ribs as bodies closed in around you. The basement reeked of sweat, beer, and smoke, the air so thick with heat it made it hard to breathe. Cherry was grinning like a kid on Christmas, her eyes locked on the ring as if this was the best night of her life.

You, on the other hand, were questioning every decision that had led you here.

Why the hell did I let her drag me into this?

You weren’t even close friends—just acquaintances who’d started hanging out outside of the bar. And somehow, that had led to this: an illegal underground fight night tucked away beneath a rundown warehouse on the edge of Charming. You liked books. Quiet music. Coffee shops. Not… this. Not sweaty bikers and outlaws screaming for blood in a basement.

But you owed her. Last week, you’d dragged Cherry through a flea market and two dusty used bookstores. Tonight was her payback. Apparently, bare-knuckle fights in a smoky pit were her kind of fun.

Funny thing was, her nickname was Cherry—sweet on the outside, but her hobbies were anything but. Still, everyone here treated her like royalty. She and whoever she brought along always scored front row, no questions asked. A perk, maybe. Not that being this close made it any easier to stomach.

Finally, after what felt like forever, a harsh white light snapped on above the ring, and the crowd roared to life. A man in a cheap leather jacket hopped inside, microphone in hand, working the room like he owned it.

“Alright, boys!” His voice dropped, gaze flicking to the two of you in the front row. “And ladies.” He flashed a grin at Cherry, who returned it without missing a beat, before his rough edge slid back into place. “We’ve got five fights tonight instead of the usual three—so you lucky bastards better make some noise!”

The cheers were deafening, rattling the walls.

One after another, fighters were introduced. The first few bouts were brutal and bloody, over too quick for the kind of pain left on their faces. By the fourth fight, you were silently begging for it to be over so you could crawl back out into the fresh night air.

Then the announcer strutted back into the ring, grinning as the blood-streaked floor was mopped up half-heartedly.

“And now, for the one you’ve all been waiting for! The final fight of the night—” His voice boomed, sending the crowd into a frenzy. “In the right corner… Charming’s undefeated champion… Jax Teller!”

The room erupted. Cheers, whistles, fists slamming against the bars. The concrete floor seemed to shake beneath your feet.

Your head snapped up, the name hitting you like a punch straight to the chest.

Your high school boyfriend’s name.

Jax?