Chapter 2: The Servitude Contract

Lukas’s POV

The click of the locker room door behind me sounded like a gunshot. Or a coffin lid closing.

I stood there, still dripping with sweat, the heavy scent of ice clinged to my skin. 

I had thrown the game. I had betrayed my team, my fans, and the only thing I had left: my dignity.

"You're late, Lukas."

The voice came from the shadows by my stall. I jumped, my heart nearly leaping out of my throat. Jaxson was sitting there, lounging in my chair like he owned the place. He’d ditched his helmet, and his dark hair was a mess, damp and clinging to his forehead. He looked different without the cage….more human, which somehow made him ten times more terrifying.

"I came as fast as I could," I snapped, my voice cracking more than I wanted it to. "Now give me the damn files, Jaxson. I did what you wanted. I’m the most hated man in New York. Are you happy?"

Jaxson didn't answer immediately. He just stood up, moving with a slow, predatory grace that made me want to back out of the room. He walked toward me, the heavy, stainless steel handcuffs dangling from his left hand, clinking softly. The sound made my skin crawl.

"Happy? No, Lukas. I’m just getting started," he said with evil all in his eyes.  He stopped right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He was a head taller, a mountain of muscle that made me feel small for the first time in my life.

He held out a thick, leather-bound folder with his other hand. "Read it."

I stared at the folder. "I don't need to read it. Just tell me my father is safe."

"Read. It. Aloud," he commanded. "I want to hear you say the words, Captain."

My hands shook as I took the folder. The leather was expensive, cold. I opened it, and the first page was titled in bold, black ink: PERSONAL SERVICES AND PROTECTION CONTRACT.

"Go on," Jaxson prompted. He reached out, his thumb grazing the line of my jaw. It wasn't a soft touch; it was firm, a reminder of who was in control. My skin burned where he touched me, a dark wave of hate and disgust filled me but I had to control myself.

"I, Lukas Moretti..." my voice was a whisper.

"Louder."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a jagged rock. "I, Lukas Moretti, hereby agree to enter into a period of total servitude to Jaxson Vane for the duration of 365 days. In exchange for the suppression of legal evidence regarding the Moretti embezzlement case, I surrender all rights to my professional career, my public image, and my personal autonomy."

I stopped, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "This... this is insane, Jaxson. 'Total servitude'? What does that even mean?"

"It means you don't breathe without my permission," he said, his hand moving from my jaw to the back of my neck. He gripped the sensitive skin there, pulling me a fraction closer. "It means you retire tonight. You tell the world you’re done. And then, you move into my penthouse. You sharp my skates, you prep my meals, and you stay in the shadows where you belong."

"You want me to be your servant?" I let out a dry, hysterical laugh. "I’m a Captain in this league! My face is on the cover of every sports mag in the country!"

"Not anymore," Jaxson whispered, his face inches from mine. "Tomorrow, your face will be the symbol of a traitor. You’re going to be the equipment manager who threw a championship. No one will touch you. No one will talk to you. You’ll have nowhere to go but to me."

I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to fight him until we both bled out on the floor. But then I thought of my father in that gray cell, his heart failing, the "accidents" that happen to loose ends in the general cell.

I looked back at the paper. "Section four... "The party of the second part agrees to reside at the Vane residence and maintain 24-hour proximity.”

"I want you where I can see you, Lukas," Jaxson said, his fingers tightening on my neck. His gaze dropped to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. "The people who framed your father? They aren't done. You’re a liability to them. Under my roof, you’re my property. And I take very good care of my property."

"You're crazy," I breathed, "You're an obsessed fool."

"Maybe," he shrugged, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "But I’m the only one standing between you and a shallow grave. Now, finish the contract. Read the clause about the public announcement."

I turned the page, my vision blurring. "I... I agree to make a public statement of retirement effective immediately, citing personal failures and a lack of commitment to the sport. I will accept a role as an assistant to the Rangers’ training staff under the direct supervision of Jaxson Vane."

The humiliation was more than a death sentence. I was going to have to work for his team. I was going to have to be the guy who cleaned his jerseys while he took the glory I should have had.

"Sign it," Jaxson said, pulling a pen from his pocket.

I took the pen. My hand was trembling so much I had to grip it with both hands. I signed my name…the name my father gave me, the name I had just dragged through the mud—on the dotted line.

As soon as the ink was dry, Jaxson snatched the folder back. He looked at the signature with a hungry sort of satisfaction. Then, he looked at me.

"Now," he said, tossing the handcuffs onto the wooden bench beside us. They landed with a heavy clack. "Strip."

I froze. "What?"

"You heard me, servant. That jersey doesn't belong to you anymore. You lost the right to wear the Titans' colors the second you let that puck slide. Take it off. Every bit of it. I have a suit waiting for you in the car. From now on, you only wear what I provide."

"Jaxson, please... not here," I whispered, looking at the lockers where my teammates' gear still hung.

"Strip, Lukas. Or the files go to the DA before the press conference starts."

I reached for the hem of my jersey, my fingers clumsy. I pulled it over my head, the damp fabric sticking to my skin. Then the shoulder pads. The chest protector. I stood there in nothing but my base layer pants, shivering in the cold air of the locker room.

Jaxson’s eyes moved over me like a physical touch. He didn't say a word, but the intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle. It wasn't just dominance. It was something else something raw and dangerous that made my stomach flip. I hated him. I hated him so much I wanted to die. But as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace the bruised skin on my ribs where he’d hit me earlier, I didn't pull away.

"You're a masterpiece of a disaster, Lukas," he murmured.

He handed me a sleek, black garment bag. "Put this on. We have a press conference to attend."

The walk to the media room felt like a walk to the gallows.

*****

I was wearing a black suit that fit me perfectly too perfectly. Jaxson must have had it tailored weeks ago. He had known exactly how this would end. He walked beside me, his hand resting heavily on the small of my back, guiding me through the bowels of the arena.

Every staff member we passed stared. They didn't see the Golden Boy anymore. They saw the man who had choked. I could hear the whispers behind us. How could he? He was our Captain.

We reached the wings of the stage. Through the heavy curtains, I could hear the roar of the reporters. It was a shark tank, and I was the bait.

"Remember the script, Lukas," Jaxson whispered in my ear. He stayed in the shadows, hidden from the cameras, but I could feel his eyes on me. "One wrong word, and your father is gone. Say it like you mean it."

I stepped out into the light.

The camera flashes were blinding, a barrage of white light that felt like physical blows. I walked to the podium, my legs feeling like lead. I looked out at the sea of faces the people who had cheered for me for years. Now, they looked at me with nothing but contempt.

I leaned into the microphone.

"I... I have a statement," I began, my voice sounding hollow in the cavernous room. "Effective immediately, I am retiring from professional hockey. The failure tonight... It was mine alone. I have realized that I no longer have the heart or the commitment required to lead this team. I have let down the fans, my teammates, and the sport."

The room erupted. Reporters were screaming questions, their voices a jagged wall of sound.

"Lukas! Did you throw the game?" "Are the rumors about your father true?" "How can you walk away now?"

I didn't answer. I just stared at a spot on the back wall, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise. I caught a glimpse of Jaxson in the wings. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a shark-like grin on his face. He was watching his legacy grow while mine turned to ash.

"I will be taking a position with the Rangers' support staff," I continued, my voice trembling. "To learn the game from the ground up... and to attempt to make amends for my failures."

I turned and walked off the stage, the boos starting up again, louder and more vicious than before. I didn't stop until I hit the shadows where Jaxson was waiting.

He didn't say a word. He just grabbed my arm, his grip iron-tight, and led me toward the back exit. We pushed through the doors into the cool night air, where a black SUV was idling.

"You did well, servant," Jaxson said as he shoved me into the back seat. He climbed in after me, the door closing with a final, heavy thud.

I slumped against the leather, my head in my hands. "It's over. My life is over."

"No, Lukas," Jaxson said, reaching out to tilt my chin up so I had to look at him. In the dim light of the car, his eyes were predatory, triumphant. "Your old life is over. Your new one... well, that’s just beginning."

He leaned in, his face inches from mine, and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. My breath hitched, my body betraying me with a surge of heat I couldn't explain. 

But he just reached past me, his hand brushing my thigh as he buckled my seatbelt.

"Welcome home, Lukas," he whispered.

As the car pulled away from the arena, I looked back at the billboards. My face was still there, glowing in the night. But I knew that by tomorrow, they’d be tearing them down.

I was no longer the Golden Boy. 

I was a ghost in a black suit, sitting next to the Devil…