The Caged Wolf

Day 26 – The Cost of Survival

Malcolm Reese was still alive.

That should’ve felt like a win.

It didn’t.

He stood in the middle of the town square, his hands still stained with Dane Holloway’s blood.

The crowd was silent, watching, waiting.

Not for Malcolm.

For Cole.

Because Cole wasn’t a man who let defiance go unanswered.

Malcolm had given him a problem.

Now, he was waiting to see how Cole would fix it.

Cole sat in his usual wooden chair, one leg crossed over the other, watching Malcolm with cold amusement.

"You like to make my life difficult, Reese," he mused.

Malcolm didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Because there wasn’t a move to make.

If Cole wanted him dead, he’d already be in the dirt.

Which meant Cole had other plans.

The bastard smirked.

"You’re a survivor," he admitted. "That much is clear."

He leaned forward slightly.

"So, tell me… what should I do with you?"

The town was watching.

The guards were watching.

Malcolm knew how this worked.

Cole didn’t just need to punish him—he needed to make an example of him.

If he killed Malcolm outright, it would be too easy.

But if he let him go, it would look weak.

That meant there were only two real choices.

Kill him slowly—drag him out into the woods, let his men “take care of him” in a way that would send a message.

Keep him close. Turn Malcolm into a weapon instead of a problem.

Cole tapped his fingers against his whiskey glass, thinking.

Then he smiled.

"Put him in the lockup," he ordered.

Malcolm’s jaw tightened.

Because that?

That was worse than death.

They dragged him into the old sheriff’s station, past rusted bars and walls covered in old bloodstains.

A cell door slammed shut behind him.

Outside, Cole stood watching.

Not gloating.

Not mocking.

Just watching.

"You should be dead," Cole said casually.

Malcolm leaned against the cold stone wall. "And yet, here I am."

Cole smirked.

"For now."

Then he turned to the guards.

"Make sure he stays comfortable."

Malcolm heard the hidden meaning.

And a second later—

A fist slammed into his gut.

Malcolm didn’t go down.

Not at first.

The first hit knocked the wind from his lungs.

The second sent him to his knees.

The third left a metallic taste in his mouth.

By the time the fourth hit landed, he was on the floor, coughing blood.

The guards finally stepped back.

Cole crouched down beside him.

"See, Reese," he murmured, "I want you to remember something."

He grabbed Malcolm by the jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"You don’t run this town."

He let go.

Malcolm spat blood onto the floor.

And smiled.

"For now."

Cole chuckled.

Then he stood, brushing off his jacket.

"Enjoy your stay."

And just like that—

He was gone.

Leaving Malcolm alone in the dark.