Page 40 of Isaac

And if Thoreau is somehow involved in this, he’s way dirtier than any monster lurking in the darkest corners of my imagination.

But I don’t have the time to dwell on these things. I walk over to the door and push it slightly open, just enough to squeeze through. Then I turn off my flashlight and slip outside.

Fuck…

A figure emerges from the shadows of the opposite storage unit. Guard’s uniform. And he’s got a couple of inches on me. Maybe a few pounds too.

People who own this facility know to hire the right muscle for the job.

"Who the hell are you?" he barks out.

My instincts kick in before I can even register what's happening—I lunge forward, needing to eliminate him before things get out of control.

Adrenaline surging, I throw a first punch.

But he's quicker than I anticipated, and his fist connects with my jaw before I can react.

Pain radiates through my face, and I taste blood in my mouth from where I've bitten the inside of my cheek from the impact.

I stagger backward, hitting the wall of the storage unit, but I don't stay put for long. Just can’t afford it. With a swift push, I propel myself off the surface, ready to face whatever comes next.

"You’re trespassing," the figure growls, launching another attack. His movements are swift and calculated. He’s clearly no amateur.

Neither am I.

We engage in a deadly dance, exchanging blows and dodging attacks with lightning speed. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, mingling with the blood still trickling from my split lip.

If I fail here, everything could be lost.

Each punch I throw carries with it the weight of everything that's at stake—not just for me, but for all those who would suffer if Isaac Thoreau is indeed involved in the human trafficking ring.

We continue our brutal dance in the darkness for a few more minutes. The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoes through the alleyway, bouncing off the tall storage walls.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I narrowly dodge a particularly nasty blow.

And then he does something I don’t expect. He pulls out a knife and swings it at me.

The cold metal of the blade flashes dangerously close to my face, and I can feel the lethal intent behind it. He’s determined to end me here.

"Who sent you?" he grunts through clenched teeth while I aim a hard punch at his midsection. My knuckles collide with what feels like steel rather than flesh; he’s as tough as he's fast.

"Doesn't matter," I hiss out, knocking away his fist as he sends a vicious kick at my ribs. I narrowly avoid it, feeling the air rush past where my body had been only moments before.

He’s angry now. He swipes at me again with the knife, and this time I'm not quick enough to avoid it. A searing pain slices across my cheek. Blood trickles down my jawline and neck. The bandana's cut, slipping from my face to hang around my neck.

I paw the side of my face, wiping away the warm liquid before backing away for a second to reassess my strategy. The pain serves as a reminder that failure isn't an option—not when lives are at stake. Mine included.

"Is that all you got?" I spit out the question, feeling both the exhilaration of the fight coursing through my veins and the growing frustration, which only fuels my resolve.

"I’ll end you," he growls, his voice low as if meant only for me although it’s just the two of us here.

Okay.

Enough.

It’s time to get serious.

I can see the exhaustion beginning to wear on my opponent; his movements are no longer sharp, his breaths more labored.

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