FUCK IT, BRUCE

CHAPTER 3

Bruce watched Jaxon walk away, eyes lingering on the confident roll of his hips, the way every step carried effortless swagger.

“Fuck it, Bruce,” he muttered to himself. “Business partners only. No strings. Keep it clean.”

At the bar, Jaxon leaned one elbow on the counter, lifting his glass for a slow sip. The amber liquid caught the dim lights as he tilted it, expression cool and distant.

The bartender offered a refill. Jaxon nodded once, eyes still forward.

He wasn’t drunk—just letting the night unwind. Or pretending.

“It’s really him—Jaxon from GOLDEN ECHO. No way,” Pinky (Bruce’s younger brother) exclaimed, barely containing his excitement.

“He looks even better up close,” Sab added, eyes wide.

Jaxon smirked—not at their fangirling, but at the faint scent that hit him.

“You two smell like you just finished something messy,” he said flatly, downing the rest of his drink and signaling for another.

Pinky flushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’re your biggest fans, man. Huge honor. Selfie?” Sab asked, already holding up his phone.

“Sure,” Jaxon said easily.

They snapped several shots—Jaxon posing sharp and effortless, the two of them grinning like idiots.

“Gonna shove this in Evan’s face tomorrow,” Pinky muttered under his breath, smirking.

“Teach us how to be like you,” Pinky blurted suddenly.

“Yeah—what’s the trick? How do we get that energy?” Sab asked, completely serious.

Jaxon’s smirk grew. He glanced between them.

“You really want to be like me?”

They nodded fast.

“Promise not to tell a soul,” Jaxon said, dropping his voice low.

“I swear—if I spill, let my brother drop dead,” Pinky said dramatically, hand on his throat.

Jaxon bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. Bruce would be thrilled to know his little brother was cursing his life over onions.

“Here’s the remedy,” Jaxon leaned in. “Each of you chops twenty onions—at the same time—and licks every single tear that falls. Do that, and you’ll be exactly like me.”

Pinky and Sab froze. Swallowed hard.

Pinky barely knew how to hold a knife.

“Knew you couldn’t handle it,” Jaxon said sweetly, patting Pinky’s shoulder.

“No—no, I’m doing it. Anything for the vibe,” Sab saluted, grabbing Pinky’s arm and dragging him off.

The moment they were gone, Jaxon let the laugh out—deep, genuine, echoing.

They’d just made his whole night.

Then he felt it—a heavy, piercing stare settling over him.

Leonard.

Their eyes met across the crowded room. Ice against fire. Leonard’s lips curved into the smallest, most dangerous smirk… then he turned and walked straight out of the party.

Jaxon shivered. Goosebumps raced up his arms and neck.

One look. That was all it took to rattle him.

How the hell did Kai handle that kind of intensity day after day?

“What are you thinking about?” Kai’s voice slurred beside him.

Jaxon glanced over. Kai was swaying lightly, beer bottle loose in his fingers, cheeks pink from drinking.

“Let’s head home, Kai,” Jaxon said, taking his arm gently.

“But I don’t wanna leave yet,” Kai whined, pouting.

Jaxon sighed, pulled out his phone, and dialed.

“Car. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

THE WILSON KITCHEN  

[Later that night]

A cutting board was piled high with onions.

Sab was on his second one, eyes streaming, face red.

“God—my eyes are burning!” he wailed, wiping tears with his sleeve and—true to the dare—licking them off his fingers.

Pinky couldn’t even grip the knife right. His hands shook badly.

“Argh!” Pinky growled, chucking the knife toward Sab.

Sab dodged fast.

“What the hell?! You almost took my head off!” Sab snapped.

“Sorry—got nervous,” Pinky mumbled, actually sounding sorry.

“Whatever,” Sab muttered, going back to chopping.

CLIFFORD MANSION  

[Dining Area]

Evan and Lionel sat at the long table, arms crossed, untouched food gone cold.

They were clearly pissed.

Leonard walked in—hands in pockets, same unreadable face.

“You promised dinner with us,” Lionel said quietly, disappointment thick.

“But you went to a party… with your boyfriend,” Evan added, voice sharp.

Leonard exhaled slowly.

His expression flickered—almost soft—then locked back into neutral.

“Sorry,” he said, short and direct.

Evan and Lionel’s eyes widened at the same time.

Did Leonard just apologize?

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Evan recovered, holding out his hand.

Leonard sighed again, pulled two black credit cards from his wallet, and placed them in their palms.

“Not done yet,” Lionel smirked. “I want your boxers too.”

“Fuck off,” Leonard muttered.

GOLDEN ECHO MANSION  

[Vincent’s Room]

Vincent—Korean-born and raised in Seoul until he was 16, then moved to the US with his family—now GOLDEN ECHO’s manager. He’d spent years in the underground K-hip-hop scene before transitioning to management.

His room reflected it: posters of BTS, Stray Kids, ATEEZ, NCT, TREASURE. A sleek electric guitar in the corner. A small Korean flag beside a stack of lyric notebooks.

Soft music played from his speakers—an old track he used to perform, remixed with modern K-hip-hop beats.

♪ Dopamine rushing through my veins  

Give it to me, pour it all over  

Dance for me, lose control  

Yaka-yaka, going crazy… ♪

He sang every line perfectly—smooth Korean flow, English hooks, voice low and precise.

A knock at the door.

He frowned. This late?

He opened it.

Jaxon, Kai, and Ryu stood there—each holding a bottle of Spanish wine, grinning like troublemakers.

“Rude, Vin. Partying without us?” Jaxon teased, pushing past him into the room.

Kai and Ryu followed.

Vincent felt butterflies erupt in his stomach. His cheeks heated instantly.

Jaxon popped his bottle open—not to drink. He poured it straight over his head, letting the wine run through his hair, down his neck, soaking his shirt. Then he started whining his hips like he was owning a stage.

Kai gave him a playful smack on the back. “Go Jaxon!”

Ryu chanted: “Go Jaxon! Go Jaxon! Go Jaxon!”

Vincent’s mouth fell open, eyes wide.

NEXT DAY  

[Outside Clifford Enterprise]

Jaxon cursed under his breath—multiple times.

His car had broken down right in front of the massive Clifford building.

He’d already called Vincent for a replacement ride. Still waiting.

He stared up at the glass tower.

Leonard stepped out—flanked by Chinese investors. Quick handshakes. Polite nods. They left in their cars.

As Leonard headed toward his own vehicle, Jaxon made his move.

He jumped out and rushed over.

By the time he reached it, Leonard was already inside.

Jaxon didn’t hesitate—he opened the door and slid into the back seat right beside him.

“Drive me to Bruce’s studio,” Jaxon told the driver, casual as if it was his car.

Leonard turned slowly, one brow arched.

“You entered my car without permission. Now you’re giving orders to my driver… How low can you go, short witch?”

Jaxon rolled his eyes and leaned back comfortably.

“Sir, where to?” the driver asked cautiously.

Leonard’s gaze stayed locked on Jaxon.

“Didn’t you hear him? Bruce’s studio.”

TO BE CONTINUED...