Page 24 of The Scout

I pushed off the brick wall, slipping into the flow of pedestrian traffic a few paces behind him.

He had no idea I was there.

That was the thing about guys like him. They were trained, sure. But they weren’t conditioned. They didn’t know how to feel when they were being watched, followed.

I did.

I tracked him down King Street, keeping a steady distance as he turned onto a quieter block. His posture was loose, relaxed—completely unaware. He was talking now, phone pressed to his ear, his voice light and smug.

“Yeah, man, you should’ve seen her,” Ralston laughed. “Fucking gorgeous. Tight little uniform, legs for days. She was eating it up.”

A slow burn started in my chest.

“She played it coy, but I know the type. She’ll put up a little fight, make me work for it, but in the end? They always fall.” He chuckled. “Think I just found my next lay.”

I moved before I even realized what I was doing.

One second, he was walking. The next, he was airborne.

I grabbed him by the collar and ripped him off the street, yanking him into a narrow alley between two buildings. His phone clattered to the pavement. A strangled sound left his throat, but it was swallowed by the noise of passing cars.

“What the?—”

My fist crashed into his ribs, cutting him off mid-sentence. The breath whooshed out of him, his body folding like a cheap chair.

I didn’t stop.

I slammed him against the brick wall, my forearm crushing against his throat. His hands clawed at my wrist, his eyes wide with confusion, with panic.

“Who the fuck?—”

“Say it again.” My voice was low, rough. “Say what you just said about her.”

Ralston wheezed, his body twisting. He tried to plant his feet, tried to shove me back, but he was out of his depth. Too used to sparring in clean, padded gyms.

I pressed harder, let him feel the weight of me. The truth of the situation settled into his features then, his cocky mask cracking straight down the middle.

“Y-you got the wrong guy, man,” he gasped, struggling.

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

Then I threw him to the ground.

He landed hard on his side, choking out a pained curse. He barely had time to roll before my boot connected with his stomach.

He grunted, curling in on himself.

I crouched down, grabbing a fistful of his jacket, dragging him up just enough so he had no choice but to look at me.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked quietly.

His lips were split, a thin trickle of blood trailing down his chin. “You’re fucking insane?—”

I drove my fist into his face.

His head snapped back against the pavement with a sickening crack. A sharp, wet cough rattled out of him, blood streaking his teeth.

I barely felt the impact. My knuckles were already numb, my breath steady, controlled.

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