{CHAPTER EIGHTEEN}

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"Satisfied?"

A sinister laugh ensued, and a sense of contentment shone on his face. Laughter filled the room as Jackson's uncle energetically pounded the table. With a joyful chime, he spoke out, "I had faith in you. Did you notice her tone? It was obvious she's already head over heels for you."

"Are you satisfied now? You can see our plan is unfolding smoothly, can't you?" Jackson's voice sliced through his uncle's laughter, clearly displeased by the call with Hanna happening right in front of him to check on the plan's progress. Unable to contain his thoughts, he queried, "Don't tell me you doubt me?" his voice pricked with disappointment.

The laughter quickly subsided as his uncle took his place at the office desk, "why the outrage? I only suggested you call her here. It's not about doubting you; I just wanted to ensure the plan's moving along."

Jackson brushed off his uncle's remarks, moving away from the wall he had been leaning on and casually stashing his phone in his pocket. "You see it all coming together now, right? Everything seems to align smoothly during the phone conversation with her. No need to worry," he reassured.

"My love?" His uncle's laughter rumbled through the room, triggering uncontrollable tears. "You called her 'my love' and the naive girl fell for it. Ohh, if only she knew you were the one steering the train that night," he chuckled, rummaging through his office drawer. "Oh, damn! I'm out of cigarettes."

Jackson's gaze lingered, a blend of frustration and anger etched on his face as he watched his uncle rummage through the drawer, the corners of his mouth quaver in annoyance. "Perhaps it's about time you concentrated on kicking that smoking habit of yours and let me handle my matters," Jackson spat out.

His uncle disregarded him and his words, engrossed in his search for a cigarette.

"You know, you could ask the young man assisting you to fetch another cigarette. I mean, isn't running errands for you, part of his role?" He then added. Noticing his uncle's silent response, he said, "I must take my leave; I have plans with Victor."

The room fell into stillness as he left, prompting his uncle to pause his search for the cigarette. With the drawer ajar, he reclined in his seat, his chin propped on his knuckles. A crafty grin crept across his face, "He acts so clever, yet how dumb he is," he rumored.

Jackson stepped into a gloomily bright boxing room, with hand wraps strew in every corner and punching bags positioned just across the ring. The place appeared quite empty, lit only by a light hanging in the center of the ring. The floors were noticeably wet, hinting at leaks from the roof, accompanied by an unpleasant sound coming from the old, dusty AC unit that offered little ventilation, making the room warmer than usual.

As Jackson moved forward, he caught sight of Victor unleashing punches at a punching bag, drenched in sweat from the rigorous movement. In his step, Jackson inadvertently collided with a weathered chair, adorned with a half-empty, uncapped bottle of water, leading it to topple over and spill its contents on the floor.

"Oh, my word, look at that mess," he gasped as the water spilled from the bottle. "Don't worry about it," he then reassured, reaching down to retrieve the fallen bottle, a lone droplet lingering inside.

Meanwhile, Victor's intense concentration stayed locked on the boxing bag, his fists pounding it with unwavering determination. Inhaling deeply, he responded, "No worries, I have an extra one."

Halting his exercise, he cast a quick look at Jackson, signaling him urgently to step up the pace with lively hand gestures.

Drawing near Victor, Jackson's hands slid into his pockets, a shrug apparent in his movements. He gazed upward at the ceiling, withdrawing a hand from his pocket to gesture towards the roof with his index finger. "I thought it didn't rain. Why are the floors damp?"

"Oh, that? Nah, it didn't, but there was a drill last night," Victor replied, clarifying the situation with the wet floors.

Nodding his head in agreement with Victor's words, he sauntered over to retrieve a punching glove nestled in the corner and slid it on. "So, tell me. Why choose here over all places? You even ditched the bar for this, quite unlike you," he said stepping closer, landing a light punch to the bag, preparing himself for what lay ahead.

Victor's grin broadened as he mused, 'Why else, if not to ensure you weren't suspecting me.' Before he could dwell further, Jackson's powerful punch on the bag broke his reverie. "Uhm, I figured you needed a release, and this spot sets the stage perfectly. We've got little time; I practically begged my buddy who runs this joint for just 20 minutes," he revealed, adjusting his boxing gloves.

"So, we're down to 17 minutes," Jackson noted, stealing a glance at the clock on the wall.

"Alright! Let's head up to the ring," Victor proposed, fully enthusiastic. Closing the distance with Jackson, he lightly tapped his cheek with the boxing glove. "Release it all, okay?"

Ascending to the boxing ring, their steps synched. Jackson initiated the exchange by throwing the first punch at Victor, connecting with his jaw as Victor staggered slightly from the impact, his jaw twitching in discomfort. "Okay, I like that. Keep going," he encouraged with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

In the realm of abilities, Jackson was a versatile man, skilled in various pursuits. However, Victor outshone him in one particular area – boxing. Victor's athleticism and prowess in sports activities surpassed Jackson's. He attributed his proficiency to the orphanage where he spent his formative years.

The ring throbbed with the pulse of their powerful legs, fists whizzing through the air, the room thick with breath, and the scent of sweat hanging in the atmosphere. One could practically taste the tension in the ring. Victor, sensing the charged atmosphere, posed the question, "Any leads on the young man assisting your uncle?"

"Not yet," Jackson's voice filled the ring, spurring a relaxed smile from Victor. "But... time will tell before I get to find out about him." Jackson summed up.

"Agreed," Victor quipped, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps it's best to heed your uncle's advice and wrap this up quickly," he proposed effortlessly sidestepping Jackson's punch, causing him to slide across the ring, and deftly use the ropes for balance.

"Psst, like I have a choice," Jackson muttered, edging nearer, maintaining his position. "He made it clear that if I didn't go through with the scheme, he'd have them killed, but honestly, I'm at a loss."

"Loss?" Victor scoffed, his eyes searching for answers. "Killing them is pointless; they just get to die without facing consequences for their actions..."

"Yeah, I was on the same page, and I genuinely think we should approach this cautiously. To think of it, why the resemblance to my uncle in your tone?" he questioned, a touch of mockery in his voice. "Any family ties there? My uncle would surely admire having a niece like you, someone who's quick to heed instructions, unlike me." He cracked up.

Victor thrust with precision to land a punch on Jackson, who skilfully dodged it, leaving Victor momentarily flustered. "Ah, I see you're stepping up your game," he joked in a playful tone.

A moment of quiet settled between them, the air thick with unstated words, only to be broken by Victor's inquiry. "Tell me, how are you handling the girl?" The banter between them continued its lively dance.

"She slept over at my place three nights ago," Jackson's words startled Victor, his face a mask of shock. "She did what?" Victor's shock was clear in his question.

"She did. It was quite late, so she had to stay the night," Jackson explained, gesturing for Victor to draw near, their breath catching from the intensity of the training sparring.

Soon enough, things got heated, as the empty room vibrated with the sounds of punches and heavy breathing.

"Did you let your uncle in on it?" Victor asked again, connecting a solid punch on Jackson's elbow, causing Jackson to rub his sore elbow. With a wince, he groaned, "Owwww... He doesn't need to know about it."

Unperturbed by Jackson's unease, Victor resumed his punches, "You know, sometimes I don't get you. You claim you don't love her, yet your actions and demeanor suggest otherwise," Victor expressed, blending confusion and concern in his tone.

After a moment of hesitation, Jackson replied, his gaze turning solemn, "Just as I mentioned before, loving her would be the end of me."

"But your eyes say otherwise," Victor mentioned during their conversation. He then questioned, "If you don't love her as you claim, why do you keep pushing your uncle away and keeping him in the dark?"

"I don't push him away. It's just...I don't seem to understand him. His greed is starting to get to him..." Jackson's speech was unexpectedly silenced by a fierce punch to his face, causing him to stagger, blood trickling from his nose. Victor advanced, gripping him by the collar, his words dripping with intensity. "Greed!? Do you know what he had to endure? Do you know the pain he suffered!? And you stand here, labeling him as greedy." Victor's voice grumbled with resentment and pain as he pummeled Jackson with his fists, his eyes ablaze and tears restrained.

In a sudden moment of clarity, he took in the scene before him: Jackson sprawled on the ground, battered and drained, eyes shut, enduring the relentless blows.

Quickly rising to his feet, he distanced himself from the sight of Jackson's condition. Scratching his head and breathing heavily, he stammered, "I-I didn't mean to."

Jackson remained on the floor, fighting to stand, blood trickling from his eyes. "You don't need to apologize, bro, I deserve it," he uttered, tears mixed with blood, falling onto his chest. His hand ran through his hair as he shouted in exasperation, "I'm lost, man, totally lost! I feel like a fool questioning my uncle, the one who saved me, but... it feels like he's going too far."

"What kind of far-fetched idea is that?" Victor sneered, "All I see is a man who's been by your side since your parents passed." He squatted next to Jackson, who remained seated on the floor, "I'll ask you again and I need a sincere answer; are you starting to fall for this girl?"

"I'm lost, dude, completely lost," Jackson's voice faltered, tears streaming down his cheeks. He implored Victor, "Hit me once more, maybe it'll clear my thoughts, punch me, right in the face!" he shouted, urging Victor's hand towards him, eagerly seeking the impact.

With an intense blow, Victor struck Jackson across the face, sending him collapsing to the ground, his head spinning. "You asked for it," Victor stated, giving Jackson's chest a light tap. "You've got a choice to make; it's either your uncle or Hanna. We're finished here; the key is on the hook by the door. Take your time to think it over, then you can go. I'm out," Victor declared, wiping his brow with a towel, snatching his shirt, and exiting the room.

As Victor made his way out, his fingers glided over his phone, typing out a message in a hurried fashion that said, 'This ain't about what I think anymore. It's very clear he's totally into her. We have to act fast. Time's running out, Dad.'