Page 2 of Torgash

She's about to find out what I do to threats.

I shake off thoughts of Sheriff Reyes. Came here to escape, not obsess. Time to finish my drink and head back to deal with real problems.

I'm pulling a twenty from my wallet when movement outside catches my attention. Through the grime-streaked window, I see them in the parking lot, two men flanking a girl who can't be more than twenty. She's fighting them, but quietly. Smart enough to know screaming will only egg them on.

Not my problem. This town's full of human drama I don't need to inherit.

But then the girl turns, and her eyes lock on mine. No panic. No pleading. Just cold, hard recognition.

Like she sees exactly what I am. Like she knows only a monster can save her from human men.

That's when I clock the setup. The way the men position themselves between her and any escape route. The glances they keep shooting toward the bar. Toward me.

Bait.

Organized. Clean. Like they've done this before. Like they're hoping the big, mean orc takes the bait so they can cry foul and call it justice.

They want to give the state an excuse to clean house in Shadow Ridge.

It’s almost clever enough to work.

The smart play is to finish my beer and ghost out the back. Let whatever happens happen. Keep my hands clean and my reputation intact.

But the girl's still looking at me. Still waiting.

And I'm tired of using my brain when my fists are much more fun.

I drop the twenty on the table and rise slowly, my leather cut creaking as I roll my shoulders. The knife on my thigh pulls on my belt. One truth remains: the best legal strategy is making sure there's no one left to testify.

The bartender looks away when I pass. The few remaining patrons suddenly find their drinks fascinating. Smart humans. Their survival skills are still intact. Unlike the assholes outside.

I push through the door into the humid Georgia night. The scent hits me immediately, fear-sweat, adrenaline, and an undercurrent of something else that makes my jaw clench.

The men turn as though they've been waiting. Big. Confident. Soon to be dead.

"Look what crawled out," one says. "The big green monster wants to play hero."

I answer with silence. There is no point wasting breath on corpses. The girl backs away, her part in this show nearly done. But her gaze stays on mine, and in it I see recognition. Pain that makes my teeth grind.

She's been hurt before. Broken. Used.

Just like us. Just like the ones who made it out of the camps.

Rage settles in my bones, cold and patient. These bastards think they can use her pain as a weapon against me. Think they can turn trauma into ammunition.

They picked the wrong fucking orc.

"You boys lost?" I ask, voice calm.

The bigger one grins. "Nah. Found exactly what we were looking for."

Then they move.

Fast. Coordinated. Not drunk civilians looking for trouble. Actual fighters with a death wish.

Too bad for them, I understand violence.

The smallest one speaks, voice tight with liquid courage and stupidity. "Shadow Ridge trash thinks he can drink where decent people live."

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