Jax set his fork down with a deliberate, heavy clack. His eyes narrowed, the friendly "vet" persona vanishing to reveal the cold precision of a hunter.
"Enough, Daby!" Zona snapped, slamming her palm onto the table. The bistro, usually a hum of polite conversation, went tomb-silent. "What I do is none of your business. Walk away before you lose the other arm."
She didn't wait for a reply. Grabbing her designer bag, she snagged Jax's hand and pulled him toward the exit. Daby, ever the glutton for punishment, stepped into their path, his face twisted in a sneer.
Jax didn't even break stride. He reached out, snagged Daby's expensive lapel, and with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed the man into a neighboring display of overpriced wine. They walked out to the Banshee without looking back, leaving Daby's curses to echo against the Italian marble.
As Jax settled into the driver's seat, his phone buzzed. It was Jimmy. Based on the kid's track record, he didn't call to chat; he called when the world was ending.
"Jax! Jax, man, you gotta help!" Jimmy's voice was a jagged mess of terror. "My dad... I think he did something bad. There are scary guys in suits everywhere!"
"Deep breaths, Jimbo," Jax said, his voice dropping into a calm, professional register. "Tell me exactly what's happening. I'm on my way."
"Mom and Dad had this huge blow-up this morning—something about an affair? I don't know! Then a red car sped off, and Dad and Franklin chased it in the work truck. When they came back... these guys showed up. They look like cartel, Jax!"
Jax's grip tightened on the wheel. He knew this beat. Michael had just pulled a multimillion-dollar villa off the hillside to spite a tennis coach, not realizing the house belonged to the most dangerous man in the city.
"Stay inside, Jimmy. Lock the doors."
Jax floored it. The Banshee screamed, its speedometer climbing past 65 mph as he wove through the dense, lunchtime traffic of downtown Los Santos. Beside him, Zona's knuckles were white as she gripped the door handle, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and exhilaration.
They reached the De Santa estate in record time. The courtyard was a standoff. Michael and Franklin were backed against the garage, surrounded by men who looked like they chewed glass for breakfast. Leaning against a black Gallivanter Baller was the man himself: Martin Madrazo.
"Michael," Madrazo said, exhaling a plume of expensive cigar smoke. "You have a very peculiar way of resigning from retirement."
"Look, Mr. Madrazo, I am incredibly sorry, but—"
Madrazo didn't want an apology. He stepped forward, taking a metal baseball bat from a subordinate. "I want to ask you, Michael... why would you pull such a magnificent villa down into the canyon?!"
Madrazo wound up, the bat whistling as he swung it directly for Michael's temple.
[Super Dynamic Vision: Activated.]
The world turned to static. The birds froze mid-flight. Jax blurred across the driveway, his hand lashing out.
THUD.
The metal bat hit Jax's open palm with a bone-jarring ring. Jax winced—Brute Force gave him the power to stop the swing, but it didn't make his skin bulletproof. A sharp, stinging heat radiated through his hand, but he didn't let go.
The world sped back up. Madrazo stared at the kid who had just caught his killing blow with bare fingers.
"You bastard," Madrazo hissed, dropping the bat. "Who the hell are you?"
"I think I know you, Martin," Jax said, shaking out his stinging hand. "A 'law-abiding' businessman who's currently committing aggravated assault on my uncle's property. Am I right?"
Madrazo's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "You've got guts, kid. But you should learn to respect your elders." He crooked a finger at the heavy hitters behind him. "Break him."
Michael tried to step in front of Jax, but it was like trying to move a marble statue. "Don't worry, Uncle," Jax said, patting Michael's shoulder. "I've got this."
Just as the thugs closed in, a voice cut through the tension—one that made Madrazo freeze.
"Uncle Martin? What the hell is going on?"
Zona had stepped out of the Banshee, her arms crossed. Madrazo turned, his jaw dropping in genuine shock. "Zona? What are you doing here?"
"I came with my... uh... boyfriend," she said, gesturing toward Jax.
Madrazo's head whipped between the two of them. "Boyfriend? Since when do you have a boyfriend? Does that old fossil you call a father know about this?"
Zona opened her mouth to lie, but her eyes went wide at the scene behind Madrazo.
"Don't tell me your boyfriend is this yellow-skinned—" Madrazo started to turn, shouting at his men to stop, but the words died in his throat.
The courtyard was littered with his top enforcers. They were clutching their chests and groaning on the pavement, moved with such clinical speed that Madrazo hadn't even seen the hits land. Jax stood in the center, looking like he'd barely broken a sweat.
"This... this skill," Madrazo whispered, his anger momentarily replaced by professional curiosity.
Suddenly, Madrazo's phone erupted in a frantic ring. He stared at Jax for a long moment before pulling the device from his pocket...