The sting of betrayal still burned fresh in Liam’s gut. He’d trusted Volkov. Well, as much as anyone could trust a man who oozed calculated cruelty, he’d believed in the deal. He’d swallowed his pride, choked down his conscience, all for Aisling. And Volkov, that snake, had intended to squeeze him dry and toss him aside.

Liam found himself holed up in a dingy, back-alley gym, the kind where the air hung thick with the ghosts of sweat and broken dreams. It wasn’t Blackwood. It wasn’t even respectable. But it was safe, for now. He wrapped his knuckles, the worn leather biting into his skin. He had to keep moving, keep planning. Volkov wouldn't let his little act of defiance go unpunished.

The iron door creaked open, letting in a sliver of daylight and a figure Liam hadn't expected to see. Razor Riley stood silhouetted in the doorway, his face etched with a weariness Liam had only glimpsed before.

"Close the bloody door, Razor, unless you're planning on inviting Volkov's goons in for tea," Liam said, his voice tight with suspicion.

Razor obliged, the slam of the door echoing in the small space. He leaned against it, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Liam. “Heard what happened. Heard you lit a fire under Volkov’s arse.”

Liam scoffed. “A fire? He’s got an army to put it out, Razor. And I'm pretty sure I’m the kindling.”

Razor pushed himself off the door, his movements slow, deliberate. “Maybe. But you rattled him, Liam. He doesn’t like things going off script. And that… that gives us leverage.”

Liam stopped wrapping his hands. "Us? Since when are you and I 'us', Razor?"

Razor sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of regret. “I’ve been with Volkov a long time, Liam. I’ve seen… things. Done things. Things I ain’t proud of. I thought I could control it, keep the worst of it away from the fighters. But it’s a cancer, Liam. It spreads. And you… you just showed me how far it’s gone.”

Liam watched him, skeptical but intrigued. Razor was a hard man, a product of the same brutal world he was trying to escape. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of genuine remorse, that made Liam pause.

"What are you saying, Razor?"

“I’m saying I’m done. Done with the rigged fights, the exploitation, the goddamn poison Volkov’s spreading through this sport.” He spat on the floor, a gesture of disgust. “I’m saying I’m gonna help you, Liam. If you’ll let me.”

Liam considered him for a long moment, weighing his options. He was alone, hunted, and facing a powerful enemy. Razor Riley, for all his flaws, was a valuable asset. He knew Blackwood inside and out, knew Volkov’s methods, knew his weaknesses.

“What’s in it for you, Razor?” Liam asked, his voice still laced with suspicion. "Redemption?"

Razor looked down at his hands, gnarled and scarred from years in the ring. "Maybe. But mostly… mostly I just want to see that bastard Volkov get what’s coming to him. And I think you’re the only one who can do it.”

Liam nodded slowly. "Alright, Razor. Tell me what you know."

Razor didn't waste any time. He laid out the intricate web of Volkov's operation: the fixed fights, laundered money, the network of corrupt officials who turned a blind eye. He revealed Volkov’s contacts within the Liverpool underworld, the debts he was owed, and the dirty secrets he used to maintain control.

The information was a dizzying torrent, a roadmap to the heart of Volkov’s empire. But it was also dangerous. Knowing this much made Liam an even bigger target.

"He keeps everything close, but there are a few pressure points. His money-laundering goes through a shell corporation disguised as a boxing gym in Toxteth. He has a particularly cozy relationship with a Detective Inspector Davies down at the station. And his biggest weakness… is his ego."

Liam listened intently, absorbing every detail. He scribbled notes on a scrap of paper, piecing together the puzzle. He’d been fighting blind before, but now, with Razor’s help, he could see the board.

“And The Butcher?” Liam asked, a chill running down his spine as he recalled the brute’s relentless pursuit.

Razor’s face darkened. “Andrei ‘The Butcher’ Volkov. Volkov's cousin. The man's a bloody psychopath. Stronger than an ox and twice as mean. He’s Volkov’s enforcer, his cleaner. He doesn’t think, he just obeys. Best way to deal with him? Avoid him at all costs.”

"Easier said than done, Razor. He seems to have a knack for finding me."

"Then we'll make sure he doesn't find you unprepared," Razor said, a spark of determination in his eyes. "We're going to train, Liam. We're going to turn you into something Volkov never expected."

And that’s what they did. For the next few days, the dingy gym became Liam’s sanctuary, his training ground. Razor pushed him harder than he ever had before, drilling him on technique, honing his reflexes, and forcing him to confront his weaknesses.

They focused on defense, teaching Liam how to anticipate The Butcher’s brute force attacks, how to use his agility and speed to his advantage. Razor showed him how to fight dirty, how to use the environment to his advantage, how to exploit an opponent’s vulnerabilities.

"Volkov thinks he's playing chess, Liam," Razor said during a break, wiping sweat from his brow. "But this ain't a chess match. This is a back-alley brawl. And in a brawl, anything goes."

Razor didn't just focus on the physical. He also challenged Liam mentally, forcing him to think strategically, to anticipate his opponent’s moves, to exploit their weaknesses. He made him watch fight footage, dissecting every move, every mistake.

"You've got the natural talent, Liam. You can mimic any style. But talent alone ain't enough. You need to be smart. You need to be ruthless. You need to want it more than he does."

Liam absorbed everything Razor threw at him, pushing himself beyond his limits. He sparred relentlessly, his body aching, his mind exhausted. But he refused to give up. He had a sister to protect, a debt to repay, and a score to settle with Viktor Volkov.

One evening, as they were wrapping up a particularly grueling session, Razor stopped Liam. He held out a small, worn leather pouch.

"What's this?" Liam asked, taking the pouch.

"Open it," Razor said.

Liam untied the string and poured the contents into his palm. A handful of old, tarnished coins glinted in the dim light.

"These are my winnings from my first real fight back in Galway," Razor explained, his voice thick with emotion. "I was your age, maybe younger. Used the money to help my family. They ain't worth much now, but… I want you to have them. Consider it an investment."

Liam stared at the coins, his throat tightening. It wasn't just the money. It was the gesture, the act of faith from a man who had spent his life in the shadows.

"I don't know what to say, Razor," Liam said, his voice choked with emotion.

Razor clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't say nothin'. Just use them wisely. And remember why you're fighting."

Liam nodded, clutching the coins tightly in his hand. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't run, couldn't hide. He had to face Volkov, expose his corruption, and bring him down.

But he wouldn’t be facing him alone. He had Razor Riley in his corner, a grizzled veteran who had seen the darkness and decided to fight back. And that, Liam knew, was a powerful weapon.

The fight was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning. But now, Liam felt a flicker of hope, a sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long. He was no longer just fighting for Aisling. He was fighting for himself, for the future of the sport, and for the chance to finally break free from the cage that Volkov had built. He would become the cage fighter who destroyed the cage.