No Good Choices

Day 26 – A Life for a Life

The rope dangled in front of him, swaying gently in the morning light.

Malcolm Reese didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Because he already knew—whoever grabbed it first was as good as dead.

"Boss wants one of you," Grady called down, his voice mocking.

Hannah and Jonah stood rigid beside Malcolm, their bodies tense, eyes flicking between each other, the rope, and the guards above.

"Guess I’ll pick for ya," Grady mused.

His hand moved toward Jonah.

The boy flinched, backing away.

And that’s when Malcolm spoke.

"Take me."

Grady’s grin widened. "Aw, how noble."

Malcolm kept his face blank.

This wasn’t nobility.

This was strategy.

Because if he was going to die today—

He wasn’t going alone.

The moment Malcolm’s boots hit the ground, two guards grabbed him.

They weren’t gentle.

One of them—Tucker, a stocky bastard who had always enjoyed hurting people—drove an elbow into Malcolm’s gut before dragging him forward.

Malcolm didn’t resist.

Not yet.

Fighting now would get him killed in seconds.

He needed a moment. An opening.

Because right now, they weren’t just dragging him to die.

They were parading him through town.

And that meant people were watching.

The town square was already full.

Men, women, even children stood in uneasy silence, watching as Malcolm was hauled toward the old courthouse steps—where Cole was waiting.

The bastard sat on an old wooden chair, boots kicked up, a glass of whiskey in hand.

"Reese," Cole greeted. "Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon."

Malcolm kept his expression blank.

Cole smirked. "Tell me—was it worth it?"

Malcolm didn’t answer.

Because right now?

His focus was on the crowd.

The faces.

Some were scared. Some were angry.

But none of them were cheering.

And that’s when Malcolm knew.

Cole’s grip was slipping.

If Malcolm could push it—just enough—

This wouldn’t just be an execution.

It would be a spark.

Cole took a slow sip of whiskey.

Then he stood, facing the crowd.

"Jackson Ridge has one rule," he announced. "You follow orders, or you face the consequences."

Murmurs rippled through the onlookers.

Malcolm could feel it.

The uncertainty.

The doubt.

Cole’s gaze flicked back to him.

"But I’m feeling generous today," he mused. "So here’s the deal, Reese. You fight. You win? Maybe I let you live."

The crowd tensed.

Malcolm’s stomach twisted.

Because he knew what this was.

Not a trial.

Not an execution.

A lesson.

Cole wanted him to be broken, humiliated—beaten in front of everyone.

And when it was over?

He’d kill Malcolm anyway.

Unless Malcolm did something first.

The guards dragged him to the center of the square.

Cole turned to the crowd.

"Who wants to remind Reese what happens to traitors?"

A figure stepped forward.

A massive man, bald, scarred from years of fighting.

Malcolm recognized him.

Dane Holloway.

One of Cole’s best men.

A human wrecking ball.

Malcolm exhaled slowly.

This fight wasn’t about winning.

It was about surviving long enough to make a move.

Because he wasn’t getting another chance.

Cole was too smart for that.

The crowd went silent.

Dane cracked his knuckles.

Cole smiled.

"Go ahead, Reese."

Malcolm tensed.

Then Dane swung.

Malcolm barely dodged.

Dane’s fist grazed his ribs, but it was enough to send a jolt of pain through his entire body.

Fast. Strong.

If Dane got a clean hit, Malcolm was done.

The big man came in again—

Malcolm let him.

Waited.

At the last second—

He moved.

Dane’s momentum carried him forward—

And Malcolm drove a knee into his gut.

The man stumbled.

The crowd gasped.

Cole’s expression flickered.

Malcolm pressed the advantage.

He grabbed the knife from Dane’s belt—

And drove it into his thigh.

Dane roared in pain.

Blood spilled onto the dirt.

And just like that—

The fight changed.

Malcolm stood over Dane, knife in hand, blood dripping down his fingers.

The crowd was dead silent.

Cole’s smirk was gone.

Because this wasn’t a lesson anymore.

This was a mistake.

Malcolm saw it in their eyes.

The townspeople weren’t just watching anymore.

They were waiting.

For someone to make the first move.

Malcolm took a slow, steady breath.

And turned toward Cole.

For the first time in weeks—

Cole didn’t look so damn invincible.

Maybe he wasn’t.