NEW RELEASE: “Wonder Boy: Owned”
NEW RELEASE
Book Title: Wonder Boy: Owned
Author: Calan Mercer
Publisher: Valleyburn Press
Cover Artist: Neslihan Yardimli for BookCoverZone
Release Date: September 15, 2026
Tense/POV: third person, past tense, three alternating POV
Genres: Contemporary MM Dark/Erotic Romance, BDSM
Tropes: Forbidden love, workplace, boss/employee, age gap, power exchange, possessive mmc, insta-obsession (touch him and die), psychological, hurt/comfort, aftercare heavy
Themes: Identity, Belonging, Complicity, Power as intimacy, Self-destruction, Legacy and ownership, Survival
Length: approx. 129 000 words
It is book one in a trilogy. It ends as an HFN where it is clear there is more to resolve.
Heat Rating: 5 flames
Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited
He came for the job. He left owned.
Blurb
Alex Mercer was supposed to be untouchable: the golden heir to his family’s powerful law firm in Los Angeles, two years of associate experience under his belt, dispatched to Las Vegas to bring the chaotic Global Combat League to heel.
Instead, he met Jack Doyle.
Compact. Battle-hardened. Close-cropped dark hair just beginning to gray. The cold, calculating stare of a man who built an empire from nothing and never learned how to lose. One command from across the desk and Alex’s perfectly tailored world began to unravel — jacket, tie, shirt — every step an exit offered and refused, every refusal a choice Alex made with open eyes.
What started as an interview ended with Alex stripped bare on Jack’s desk, claimed so thoroughly he could still feel it weeks later. What started as a contract became something neither of them had a name for. And what started in Las Vegas wasn’t going to stay there.
Some men break you. Jack owned him. And the worst part? Alex let him.
A dark MM romance about power, possession, and the cost of being chosen by a man who doesn’t share what he claims.
Excerpt
“Kid,” Jack said. “You any good at not fucking up?”
Alex registered the question for what it was, not the interview he had prepared for, but the one underneath it, the one that wanted to know whether he was going to give a law school answer or an honest one. He had prepared the law school answer on the flight. He looked at Jack and set it aside.
“Depends on the definition,” Alex said. Then he looked at Jack and reconsidered. “Yes, sir.”
Jack’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Sir. I like that. Most of these Ivy League pricks walk in here calling me Jack like we’re old pals.” He held the look. “What does ‘yes’ mean to you?”
“It means you tell me what’s coming before it arrives, I keep it from becoming a problem. You call me after it’s already a problem, I make it go away.” He held Jack’s eyes. “Either way works. I’d rather the first.”
Jack regarded him for a moment. Then he set down what he was reading and leaned back.
“Marco says you’re good,” he said. “That means something, coming from him. I know your father. I know his firm. They’ve been handling my contracts for three years.” He picked up his mug and took a drink. “If you’re even half the lawyer Richard is, you’re worth the conversation.”
“I’m not my father,” Alex said. There was no edge to it. He was stating a fact. “But I can do the job.”
Jack looked at him with the full quality of attention he would come to understand was Jack’s primary mode: complete, unhurried, costing the subject of it nothing and requiring everything. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Alex said.
Jack almost smiled. He set the mug down and leaned forward, elbows on the desk.
“Alexander Mercer. Thirty. Top of your class at USC Law. You know why you’re here?”
“My father said you needed a personal attorney. Available at all hours. Fighter issues, sponsorship conflicts, anything that doesn’t go through the league office.”
“That’s the version that goes on paper.” Jack tapped the desk once with two fingers. “Off paper it’s simpler. You work for me. The league, the fighters, your old man — none of them own you. I do. I snap my fingers at three in the morning because some idiot heavyweight punched a casino bouncer, you’re already in a car. I need an NDA before breakfast because one of my champions knocked up a ring-girl, you’re already writing it. You breathe when I say breathe. You eat when I say eat. You exist for the GCL. The GCL is me. I need someone I can trust completely to have my back. Not the league’s back. Mine.” He let that land. “You want this job, Mercer?”
Alex had known, somewhere on the flight over, that he wanted it. Not only the money, though the money was real. It was the room he was sitting in. The building below, with its blood smell and its training cages. The man across the desk, who had not yet said a single thing that was anything other than exactly what he meant. Alex had spent two years in an environment that prided itself on precision and had not yet been in a room where precision was this unconcerned with its own appearance.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I want the job.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, dark and unreadable. He let the words hang in the air for a long ten seconds, the air conditioner droning in the background. Then he smiled, slow and predatory, a smile that had closed million-dollar deals and ended careers in the same breath.
“Good,” Jack said. “Then you’re going to prove it.”
The shift in the room was immediate, like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Alex’s mouth went dry. He’d expected a hard interview. Maybe some locker-room hazing. Not… this. Whatever this was.
Jack stood up. He came around the desk, without announcement, without the excess of motion that would have signaled awareness of being watched. He stopped three feet away and crossed his arms and looked at Alex the way he had been looking at him since Alex walked in, which was completely and without apology.
“Take off your jacket.”
Alex blinked. Once. His heart slammed against his ribs like it wanted out. Not standard. A line. A test. The kind powerful men drew in the sand to see who’d cross it and who’d run.
Jack’s voice stayed even, almost conversational, but there was steel underneath. “You heard me. Jacket. Off. Or you can stand up right now, walk out that door, tell your Daddy I’m a crazy prick, and we’ll both pretend this meeting never happened. Your call, kid. Last chance to keep your suit clean and your dignity intact.”
About the Author
Calan Mercer writes dark, character-driven romance about powerful men and the things they can’t control. A nine-year Army veteran with deployments to Iraq and Kosovo, he earned his MFA in creative writing from San Diego State University and has spent years ringside, drawn to the brutal intimacy of combat sports and the speed of the ice.
Wonder Boy: Owned is his debut and the first book in the Global Combat League series. He lives in San Diego with his husband and four very opinionated cats.
Author Links
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Twitter/Pinterest/TikTok @calanmercer
Instagram/Threads: @calanmercerwrites
