Won the battle, Now I win the War
Following the Street Fight Match Climax Control 420
The medical staff wanted to check them out, but LJ wasn’t having it. Not yet. He sat on a steel equipment case in the dimly lit hallway, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands still wrapped in bloodstained tape. His knuckles ached from every punch he threw. His ribs burned with every breath. He could still taste the copper of his own blood on his tongue.
Beside him, Ally leaned against the wall, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. Blood from a gash on her forehead had dried in streaks down her cheek, but the exhaustion in her eyes was mixed with something else—satisfaction. They had won.
The low hum of the arena still buzzed in the distance, but back here, at this moment, it was just the two of them. Just the wreckage left in the wake of a fight they had owned.
LJ exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair even for as short as it was before shaking his head. “Not enough,” he muttered.
Ally lifted a brow. “Not enough?”
His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against his knees. “I wanted more,” he admitted, voice low, raw. “Beating them, making them bleed, shutting those two bitches up for once—that was good. It felt good. That was real good.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “But I’m not done. Not with him.”
Ally studied him for a moment before nodding, the knowing glint in her eyes saying she understood. She had her war with Brooke. She’d settle her scores in her own way. But LJ’s fight? His wasn’t over.
A sudden movement in the periphery caught his attention—a camera crew, creeping closer, capturing the moment. Good. He wanted them to.
He slowly sat up, rolling his shoulders, wincing but forcing himself to lean forward, elbows on his knees as he stared directly into the lens. The sweat and blood made his expression even more menacing, his blue eyes piercing through the camera like a blade.
“Logan,” he said, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “I know you’re somewhere back there, getting stitched up, trying to pretend like tonight didn’t happen. Brooke is probably screeching like the harpy she is and you are trying to decide between ibuprofen or Aleve to mix with whiskey because that is the ONLY way you can cope with everything that just happened. I know you are trying to convince yourself that it was just a fluke. That you weren’t just outmatched, outgunned, and out-fucking-classed.”
He smirked, though it lacked any real humor. “But you know the truth, don’t you? You felt it. Every punch. Every shot we took at one another with everything but the kitchen sink. Every single second of that fight, you felt what it’s like when you come at me and fail.”
His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white. “And yet… it’s still not enough.”
The smirk faded, replaced by something colder. Sharper.
“Blaze of Glory. Last Man Standing,” he said, his tone almost casual, but the fire behind it undeniable. “You and me, Logan. If you are smart there will be no Brooke to distract. No excuses. No way out.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering something, then let out a slow breath through his nose.
“You like to talk, Logan. You like to run your mouth about how big, bad, and untouchable you are. But after tonight? I think you’ve figured it out.” His lips curled into something almost predatory. “I won't stop. I don’t break. And I sure as hell don’t back down.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, forcing the camera to lean in with him.
“This ends when you don’t get back up.”
A long pause. A beat of silence, thick and suffocating.
Then, he sat back again, stretching his arms before glancing at Ally. “You ready to get patched up?”
She smirked, shaking her head. “Are you?”
He chuckled, wincing slightly. “Yeah. Guess I should, since I gotta make sure I’m in one piece when I put that son of a bitch down for good.”
With that, he pushed himself off the crate, slinging an arm around Ally’s shoulder as they walked toward the medical area, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his final warning.
Back to Vegas
Last Week.
The air in the house was heavy, thick with exhaustion and frustration. The long, yet short, drive back from the mid-town Las Vegas Police Department had drained them both, but it was more than just the miles on the road weighing them down.
Miles sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His fingers interlocked, tense, like he was holding onto something unseen. His jaw was tight, his shoulders hunched. LJ could see it—feel it.
His brother wasn’t just tired. He was defeated.
LJ grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and tossed it to him. “C’mon, mate, hydrate. You look like hell.”
Miles caught it without looking, rolling it between his hands before sighing. “Feels like hell.”
LJ dropped into the chair across from him, leaning forward. “Miles… we’re not giving up.”
“I don’t even know where to look anymore, LJ.” Miles ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick with frustration. “We’ve been going in circles for weeks. We finally got something solid, and now? He’s gone. L.A. is massive. That kid could be anywhere.”
LJ rested his elbows on his knees, nodding slightly. “Yeah. He could be. But we know where he was going. That’s something.”
Miles shook his head. “And if we get there too late? If something happens before we find him? If he took off from his da already, who knows what the hell is going to happen with him going back.”
LJ exhaled sharply, choosing his words carefully. “He may have gone back to his dad for all we know. BUT at least we know we did everything we could. And we keep doing everything we can. We owe him that.”
Miles let out a bitter chuckle. “Owe him?”
LJ tilted his head. “You said it yourself. That kid… he didn’t ask for the life he got stuck with. And maybe he doesn’t even want our help. Maybe he doesn’t trust anyone. I mean, would you if your life was nothing but people failing you over and over again?”
Miles was silent.
LJ pressed on. “I know this is eating at you. But you’re the last person who should be doubting himself here. You saw him, Miles. You saw him, and you didn’t just let it go. You chose to do something. You don’t get to give up now just because it’s hard.”
Miles let out a slow breath, rubbing his face before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
Before LJ could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening cut through the room.
Carter stepped inside, tossing his keys on the counter as he took in the sight of them. His gaze flicked between them, and his brows furrowed. “Okay… what’s going on?”
LJ and Miles exchanged a glance. Miles had asked LJ and even Kristjan not speak to Carter because of the sensitive situation it was with the kid, his family and more specifically Kevin’s mother who was currently spending 7-10 in Florence McClure Women's Correctional Center for what she and one other attempted to do to Carter. But they hadn’t heard the door and got caught with the conversation.
Carter folded his arms. The silence was palpable. “Seriously, what the heck is going on? Because I walked in on you,” he pointed at LJ, “telling him not to give up. And given how he looks like someone just kicked Ms. Thang, I’m assuming this isn’t about wrestling.”
LJ leaned back in his chair, giving Miles a look that said it’s time.
Miles shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… complicated, love.”
Carter raised a brow. “Try me.”
Miles hesitated. His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee. “It’s about that kid I told you about. The one who stole my wallet that night on Fremont.”
Carter nodded slowly. “Yeah. What about him?”
LJ watched as Miles clenched his jaw, struggling with the words. This wasn’t easy.
LJ sighed and decided to push him forward, reaching over and nudging Miles’ knee. “Miles, just tell him.”
Miles exhaled, running both hands down his face before finally looking at Carter.
“Babe, it was Kevin,” Miles said. “The son of the woman who got locked up for attacking you not that long ago. He was the one that ran into me”
Carter’s expression didn’t change at first. He blinked once. Twice. Then, slowly, his arms lowered as he processed what he just heard.
The silence was suffocating.
LJ sat back, watching Carter’s reaction closely. Miles looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Carter’s voice, when he finally spoke, was eerily calm. “Say that again.”
Miles swallowed. “Apparently after Karen was tossed in prison for everything, the rest of the family left for L.A. ....however Kevin apparently ran away for some reason and came back to Vegas. It was just by chance that we ran into one another that night...LJ’s been helpin me find him but...”
A beat. Miles looked up and then over at LJ who’s been looking at Carter the whole time
Then, Carter let out a long breath, looking between both brothers before settling his gaze on Miles.
“…Well. Shit.”
Let’s Fucking Finish It
Somewhere, Late Night
The rhythmic sound of a heavy bag being struck echoes through the dimly lit gym. Sweat drips from LJ’s brow, his hands wrapped tightly, his knuckles bruised but relentless as he drives fist after fist into the bag. His ribs still ache from the war he went through in the Street Fight, but he doesn’t care. Pain is nothing new. Pain is a constant companion.
The camera catches him in a moment of pause, chest heaving, muscles tense. He wipes the sweat from his face with a taped-up hand, then turns toward the lens, his eyes sharp, filled with something more than just determination—something darker. Something raw.
“Three times, Logan. Three times we will have stood across from each other, and this? This is the one that matters the most. You took the first. I took the second. And now? Now we settle it. Last Man Standing.”
He rolls his shoulders, rotating his neck as if shaking off the very idea of weakness.
“I won’t lie. I feel every second of what I put myself through in that Street Fight. The bruises? The cuts? The stiffness in my ribs when I breathe too deep? It reminds me that I walked through hell and kept standing. And now I get to do it again—but this time, Logan, it’s you who’s gonna be feeling every damn second of it.”
He smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. Just intent.
“You love to run your mouth. Hell, Brooke runs her mouth more than you do and yet, you are the one that remains under my skin. Brooke isn’t my problem anymore and if you are wise...you’ll keep her out of this. Ally may have her hands full but she will have my back fully and with how her mindset is lately, Brooke would be better off locking herself into a room and not coming out until the dust is settled to peel what is left of your broken beaten body off whatever area of flooring you will be on.”
“You love to play these games, thinking you can get under my skin, but the truth? I’m past the mind games. I’m past the bullshit. I’m past pretending that I need to prove myself, especially to the likes of you. What I need—what I want—is to shut you the hell up once and for all. And this match? This match is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”
He turns back to the bag, throwing a vicious elbow before spinning back around.
“This isn’t about titles. It ain’t about rankings. It never has been. This is about respect. And you? You don’t have any. Not for me. Not for anyone who came before us. Not for this sport. Not for the damage we do to ourselves every damn night. And the amazing thing about ALL of this...You think you’re untouchable, that you can weasel your way into people’s heads and coast your way to victories. You are nothing more than a nepo baby that has never had to actually put the fucking work in. That is until you ran head first into me. What we are about to endure...this match at Blaze for Glory? This is a Last Man Standing match, Logan. And I don’t coast—I endure. I fight. I survive.
And when that final count is made, when you’re broken on that mat, staring up at the lights, while I’m the one standing? You’ll know. You’ll finally know.
You were never on my level.”
He steps forward, closer to the camera, his voice lowering but filled with venom.
“You like to make people doubt me. You like to make it seem like I’m just a guy trying to find his footing. But after I leave you broken, I want you to ask yourself one question: Was it worth it? Was it worth the cheap shots? The games? The jabs? Was it worth picking a fight with a guy that had just been through hell and was about to just fucking walk away, ALL for you and your bitch to make a cheap name for yourself? Because when you wake up and realize that I’m still standing and you’re not, all that talking won’t mean a damn thing.”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair before cracking his knuckles.
“No more questions. No more doubt. No more Logan Hunter.
Last man standing?
That’s gonna be me.”
The scene lingers as he turns back to the bag, unleashing another brutal flurry of punches. And when he lands the hardest of punches, it just goes black.
